“I see somethin’ like it once,” interrupted Bill.  “Down in the Gulf ’twas.  I was on the old Fishhawk.  Eben Salters’s dad from over to Bayport skippered her.  We picked up a West Injy schooner, derelict, abandoned same as this one, but not anchored, of course.  Yeller jack was the trouble aboard her and—­Where you bound, Thoph?”

“Goin’ to take a squint at the fo’castle,” replied Theophilus, moving forward.  The minister followed him.

The fo’castle hatchway was black and grim.  Ellery knelt and peered down.  Here there was practically no light at all and the air was fouler than that in the cabin.

“See anything, Mr. Ellery?” asked Thoph, looking over his shoulder.

“No, I don’t see anything.  But I thought—­”

He seemed to be listening.

“What did you think?”

“Nothing.  I—­”

“Hold on! you ain’t goin’ down there, be you?  I wouldn’t.  No tellin’ what you might find.  Well, all right.  I ain’t curious.  I’ll stay up here and you can report.”

He stepped over and leaned against the rail.  Bill came across the deck and joined him.

“Where’s Charlie?” asked Thoph.

“Gone back to the cabin,” was the answer.  “Thought likely he might find some of her papers or somethin’ to put us on the track.  I told him to heave ahead; I didn’t want no part of it.  Too much like that yeller-jack schooner to suit me.  What’s become of the parson?”

Thoph pointed to the open hatch.

“Down yonder, explorin’ the fo’castle,” he replied.  “He can have the job, for all me.  Phew!  Say, Bill, what is this we’ve struck, anyhow?”

Ellery descended the almost perpendicular ladder gingerly, holding on with both hands.  At its foot he stopped and tried to accustom his eyes to the darkness.

A room perhaps ten feet long, so much he could make out.  The floor strewn, like that of the cabin, with heaps of clothing and odds and ends.  More shapes of clothes hanging up and swaying with the roll of the brig.  A little window high up at the end, black with dirt.  And cavities, bunks in rows, along the walls.  A horrible hole.

He took a step toward the center of the room, bending his head to avoid hitting the fo’castle lantern.  Then in one of the bunks something stirred, something alive.  He started violently, controlled himself with an effort, and stumbled toward the sound.

“What is it?” he whispered.  “Who is it?  Is anyone there?”

A groan answered him.  Then a voice, weak and quavering, said: 

“Gimme a drink!  Gimme a drink!  Can’t none of you God-forsaken devils give me a drink?”

He stooped over the bunk.  A man was lying in it, crumpled into a dreadful heap.  He stooped lower, looked, and saw the man’s face.

There was a shout from the deck, or, rather, a yell.  Then more yells and the sound of running feet.

“Mr. Ellery!” screamed Burgess, at the hatchway.  “Mr. Ellery, for the Almighty’s sake, come up here!  Come out of that this minute.  Quick!”