“What the blazes are you up to?” he cried.

“It’s all right, sir,” said the panting cook; “old Jem’s had a drop too much and got down aft, and I’m getting ’im for’ard again.”

“Jem?” said the astonished mate.  “Why, he’s sitting up here on the fore-hatch.  He came aboard with me.”

“Sitting,” began the horrified cook; “sit—­oh, lor!”

He stood with his writhing burden wedged between his body and the ladder, and looked up despairingly at the mate.

“I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake,” he said in a trembling voice.

The mate struck a match and looked down.

“Take that sack off,” he demanded, sternly.

The cook placed his burden upon its feet, and running up the ladder stood by the mate shivering.  The latter struck another match, and the twain watched in breathless silence the writhings of the strange creature below as the covering worked slowly upwards.  In the fourth match it got free, and revealed the empurpled visage of the master of the Susannah.  For the fraction of a second the cook gazed at him in speechless horror, and then, with a hopeless cry, sprang ashore and ran for it, hotly pursued by his enraged victim.  At the time of sailing he was still absent, and the skipper, loth to part two such friends, sent Mr. James Lister, at the urgent request of the anxious crew, to look for him.