The Man Who Had Nowhere to Go.

           Intheearlymorning(itwasthesecondmorningaftermyrecovery,andIbelievethefourthafterIwaspickedup),Iawokethroughanavenueoftumultuousdreams,—dreamsofgunsandhowlingmobs,—andbecamesensibleofahoarseshoutingaboveme.Irubbedmyeyesandlaylisteningtothenoise,doubtfulforalittlewhileofmywhereabouts.Thencameasuddenpatteringofbarefeet,thesoundofheavyobjectsbeingthrownabout,aviolentcreakingandtherattlingofchains.Iheardtheswishofthewaterastheshipwassuddenlybroughtround,andafoamyyellow-greenwaveflewacrossthelittleroundwindowandleftitstreaming.Ijumpedintomyclothesandwentondeck.

           AsIcameuptheladderIsawagainsttheflushedsky—forthesunwasjustrising—thebroadbackandredhairofthecaptain,andoverhisshoulderthepumaspinningfromatackleriggedontothemizzenspanker-boom.

           Thepoorbruteseemedhorriblyscared,andcrouchedinthebottomofitslittlecage.

           "Overboardwith’em!"bawledthecaptain."Overboardwith’em!We’llhaveacleanshipsoonofthewholebilin’of’em."

           Hestoodinmyway,sothatIhadperforcetotaphisshouldertocomeondeck.Hecameroundwithastart,andstaggeredbackafewpacestostareatme.Itneedednoexperteyetotellthatthemanwasstilldrunk.