“Now, sir, you see for yourself,” said the first:  “a high fever, no appetite, no light, no meat:  you see for yourself what that means.”

“I am no conjurer, Mr. Riach,” said the captain.

“Give me leave, sir” said Riach; “you’ve a good head upon your shoulders, and a good Scotch tongue to ask with; but I will leave you no manner of excuse; I want that boy taken out of this hole and put in the forecastle.”

“What ye may want, sir, is a matter of concern to nobody but yoursel’,” returned the captain; “but I can tell ye that which is to be.  Here he is; here he shall bide.”

“Admitting that you have been paid in a proportion,” said the other, “I will crave leave humbly to say that I have not.  Paid I am, and none too much, to be the second officer of this old tub, and you ken very well if I do my best to earn it.  But I was paid for nothing more.”

“If ye could hold back your hand from the tin-pan, Mr. Riach, I would have no complaint to make of ye,” returned the skipper; “and instead of asking riddles, I make bold to say that ye would keep your breath to cool your porridge.  We’ll be required on deck,” he added, in a sharper note, and set one foot upon the ladder.

But Mr. Riach caught him by the sleeve.

“Admitting that you have been paid to do a murder——­” he began.

Hoseason turned upon him with a flash.

“What’s that?” he cried.  “What kind of talk is that?”

“It seems it is the talk that you can understand,” said Mr. Riach, looking him steadily in the face.

“Mr. Riach, I have sailed with ye three cruises,” replied the captain.  “In all that time, sir, ye should have learned to know me:  I’m a stiff man, and a dour man; but for what ye say the now—­fie, fie!—­it comes from a bad heart and a black conscience.  If ye say the lad will die——­”

“Ay, will he!” said Mr. Riach.

“Well, sir, is not that enough?” said Hoseason.  “Flit him where ye please!”

Thereupon the captain ascended the ladder; and I, who had lain silent throughout this strange conversation, beheld Mr. Riach turn after him and bow as low as to his knees in what was plainly a spirit of derision.  Even in my then state of sickness, I perceived two things:  that the mate was touched with liquor, as the captain hinted, and that (drunk or sober) he was like to prove a valuable friend.

Five minutes afterwards my bonds were cut, I was hoisted on a man’s back, carried up to the forecastle, and laid in a bunk on some sea-blankets; where the first thing that I did was to lose my senses.

It was a blessed thing indeed to open my eyes again upon the daylight, and to find myself in the society of men.  The forecastle was a roomy place enough, set all about with berths, in which the men of the watch below were seated smoking, or lying down asleep.  The day being calm and the wind fair, the scuttle was open, and not only the good daylight, but from time to time (as the ship rolled) a dusty beam of sunlight shone in, and dazzled and delighted me.  I had no sooner moved, moreover, than one of the men brought me a drink of something healing which Mr. Riach had prepared, and bade me lie still and I should soon be well again.  There were no bones broken, he explained:  “A clour* on the head was naething.  Man,” said he, “it was me that gave it ye!”