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“I beg your pardon, Captain Fourneau,” said he.

“But do you know what course the man at the wheel is steering?”

“Due south,” the captain answered, with his eyes fixed upon his cards.

“And he should be steering due east.”

“How do you make that out?”

The mate gave an angry growl.

“I may not have much education,” said he, “but let me tell you this, Captain Fourneau, I’ve sailed these waters since I was a little nipper of ten, and I know the line when I’m on it, and I know the doldrums, and I know how to find my way to the oil rivers. We are south of the line now, and we should be steering due east instead of due south if your port is the port that the owners sent you to.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Gerard. Just remember that it is my lead,” said the captain, laying down his cards.

“Come to the map here, Mr. Burns, and I will give you a lesson in practical navigation. Here is the trade wind from the southwest and here is the line, and here is the port that we want to make, and here is a man who will have his own way aboard his own ship.” As he spoke he seized the unfortunate mate by the throat and squeezed him until he was nearly senseless. Kerouan, the steward, had rushed in with a rope, and between them they gagged and trussed the man, so that he was utterly helpless.

“There is one of our Frenchmen at the wheel. We had best put the mate overboard,” said the steward.

“That is safest,” said Captain Fourneau.

But that was more than I could stand. Nothing would persuade me to agree to the death of a helpless man.

With a bad grace Captain Fourneau consented to spare him, and we carried him to the after-hold, which lay under the cabin. There he was laid among the bales of Manchester cloth.

“It is not worth while to put down the hatch,” said Captain Fourneau. “Gustav, go to Mr. Turner and tell him that I would like to have a word with him.”

The unsuspecting second mate entered the cabin, and was instantly gagged and secured as Burns had been.

He was carried down and laid beside his comrade. The hatch was then replaced.

“Our hands have been forced by that red-headed dolt,” said the captain, “and I have had to explode my mine before I wished. However, there is no great harm done, and it will not seriously disarrange my plans.

“Kerouan, you will take a keg of rum forward to the crew and tell them that the captain gives it to them to drink his health on the occasion of crossing the line.

“They will know no better. As to our own fellows, bring them down to your pantry so that we may me sure that they are ready for business. Now, Colonel Gerard, with your permission we will resume our game of ecarte.”

It is one of those occasions which one does not forget.

This captain, who was a man of iron, shuffled and cut, dealt and played as if he were in his cafe. From below we heard the inarticulate murmurings of the two mates, half smothered by the handkerchiefs which gagged them. Outside the timbers creaked and the sails hummed under the brisk breeze which was sweeping us upon our way. Amid the splash of the waves and the whistle of the wind we heard the wild cheers and shoutings of the English sailors as they broached the keg of rum. We played half-a-dozen games and then the captain rose. “I think they are ready for us now,” said he. He took a brace of pistols from a locker, and he handed one of them to me.

But we had no need to fear resistance, for there was no one to resist. The Englishman of those days, whether soldier or sailor, was an incorrigible drunkard.