I turned in with a strange feeling about the matter forward and the third officer's conduct. Although I knew Trunnell would take care that the ruffian would not get loose again that night during his watch, I took out a heavy revolver from my locker and stuck it under the pillow of my bunk. Then I saw that the door and port were fast before I jammed myself in for a rest.

I lay a long time thinking over the strange outfit on board, and the more I thought over the matter, the more I became convinced that the third officer had taken a hand in letting Andrews loose to try his hand on me again. There was something uncanny about this officer with a woman's voice, and I actually began to have a secret loathing not entirely unmixed with fear for him.

When I turned out for the morning watch, Trunnell met me in the alleyway. He looked wild and bushy from his exposure to the elements, his hair being in snarls and tangles from having a sou'wester jammed over his ears, and his great flat nose was red from the irritation of the water that struck and streamed over his bearded face. His whiskers gleamed with salt in the light of the lamp, and he spat with great satisfaction as he breathed the quiet air of the cabin.

"It's letting up, Rolling," he said; "there's a little light to the easterd now. Sink me, but we've a job bending gear. Everything gone out of her but her spars, and Lord knows how they stand it. How'd you come to get caught with all that canvas on her?"

"Look here, Trunnell," I answered, "you know I'm a sailor even if I'm not much else, and you know how that canvas came to be on her. I'm almost glad it's gone. I would be if it wasn't for the fact that we'll be longer than usual on this run, and I've about made up my mind that the quicker a decent man gets out of this ship, the better."

I was buttoning up my oilskins while I spoke, and Trunnell smiled a queer bit of a smile, which finally spread over his bearded face and crinkled up the corners of his little eyes into a network of lines and wrinkles. "I heard the outfly," said he, "and I was only joking ye about the canvas. It's a quare world. Ye wouldn't think it, but if ye want to see a true picture of responsibility a-restin' heavy like upon the digestion of a man, ye'll do well to take a good look at the old man a-standin' there on the poop. 'What for?' says you; 'God knows,' says me; but there he is, without a drop o' licker or nothin' in him since he heard ye bellow fer all hands."

"I should think he'd feel a little upset after the way he caught her," I answered; "he probably has the owners' interests a little at heart."

But Trunnell shook his head until the water flew around.

"Ye're off agin, me son. It ain't that at all. That man don't care a whoop for all the owners livin'. Not he. Sink me, Rolling, I got a big head, but nothin' much in it; in spite o' this, though, I knows a thing or two when I sees it. That man has some other object in bein' nervous about this here hooker besides owners. Don't ask me what it is, 'cause I don't know. But I knows what it ain't."

"The whole outfit is queer," I answered, "and the sooner I get out of her, the better satisfied I'll be. No decent sailor would ship in the craft if he could help it."