A FRIEND IN THE FORECASTLE I slowly and regretfully opened my eyes, aroused perhaps by a trampling of feet on the deck above, to find myself lying in an upper bunk of the forecastle.

I was partially covered by a ragged blanket, but for a few moments remained unable to comprehend the situation.

Yet the vivid memory soon returned, stimulated no doubt by the continuous aching of my body where Estada had so brutally kicked me with his heavy boots.

The first recollection of that assault brought with it a dull anger, strangely commingled with a thought of Dorothy Fairfax, and a sense of my own duty.

The heavy rolling of the bark clearly evidenced that we were already at sea, and bucking against a high wind.