from unalaska to the position indicated upon the chart as the resting-place of the john simpson was, in the rough, six hundred knots—nearly seven hundred miles.

when tom dennis wakened, the morning after the pelican tacked out of the unalaska channel, he found that she had, with the audacity of all whaling ships, run through unimak pass in the dark and was now tearing across the north pacific at an eight-knot clip, with a stiff south-easter rolling her along bravely.

dennis realized full well that he must avoid all appearance of suspicions having been awakened in him. when at breakfast mrs. pontifex remarked upon the blessed relief of having the cook aboard, dennis quite ignored the subject therefore, conscious that ericksen was watching him with keen and predatory gaze.

"and when shall we make that position, skipper?" he asked.

pontifex shrugged. "if this breeze holds, it's a three-day run for us. barring a dead calm, we'll be on the spot—let's see, this is saturday; we'll be on the spot tuesday morning without fail. eh, mr. leman?"

"easy, sir. had we better overhaul that diving-tackle, sir?"

"yes. break it out to-day. bo'sun joe, rig up a derrick for'ard to-day; chances are we'll be able to lay close enough to the wreck to swing the stuff directly aboard, and we'll not want to waste time. a south-easter might lay us up on those islands. ever been diving, mr. dennis?"

dennis nodded. "twice. never at sea, but in lake michigan."

"then we'll have a new sensation for you, if you like." pontifex smiled cruelly.

"bo'sun joe and i are the only ones aboard with any experience, and if you care to take a shift with us, we'll be glad."

"i'm in for anything that'll make me useful," said dennis. "you think the wreck is still on the rocks where we can reach it, then?"

"we're gambling on it," returned pontifex curtly.

the wind held, and the old whaler blew down the miles of westering with every stitch of canvas taut as a drumhead. that afternoon tom dennis got a good straight look at the new cook—a most disreputable little man, dirty and slouchy in the extreme. gone were the trim mustachios, gone was all the natty air; but the man was the same who had spilled a vial of chloroform in the chicago room of tom dennis. there was no doubt about it.

dennis, however, said nothing; later, when corny introduced the cook as frenchy, he shook hands and was very pleasant, and if dumont suspected anything, his suspicions were set at rest by dennis' air of careless non-interest.

upon the following day the brigantine was still tearing along with a swirl of water hissing under her counter. off to the north the islands showed their mountain-tips against the sky, blue and continuous as some distant mainland. talking with the mates and boat-steerers and kanakas, tom dennis was entertained with many stories of those islands: how fox- and seal-farmers were scattered through the group; how small launches cruised the entire length of the island chain with impunity; how in time to come there would be a thriving island population where now were empty stretches of land or scattered communities of miserable natives.

and there were other and more ominous tales: tales of boguslav and katmai, of islands that came and went overnight, of oil-soaked whalers caught under descending showers of hot ash and burned to the water's edge. there were tales of seal-poaching, of poachers who fought each other, of yankees who fought japs; and these tales verged upon the personal. nods and winks were interchanged when bo'sun joe told about "men he had known", or when black manuel mendez related exploits of which "he had heard". tom dennis gained some fine material for feature-stories—but it worried him. he began to realize that these men among whom he had fallen were, so far as their natures were concerned, no better than pirates.

then, upon the evening of the second day, came the affair which proved that all restraint was now loosed.

darkness was falling, and having no particular longing for the society of the missus and pontifex, in the stern cabin, dennis was in the waist near the try-works, listening while corny spun a whaling yarn to the watch. the yarn was broken into by a sudden choking cry, followed by an excited call in portuguese. the voice was that of manuel mendez who would take the deck from mr. leman in a few moments.

at sound of the cry, corny whipped out his knife and was gone like a shadow. dennis was the first to follow, darting after the black boat-steerer toward the windward side of the deck, whence the voice had come.

an instant later, dennis had turned the corner of the try-works. what had happened he could not tell; but he saw the huge figure of manuel mendez hanging to the mizzen-shrouds, groaning faintly. close by, the insignificant little cook was facing the glittering knife of corny—facing it with bare hands.

corny, growling savage cape verde oaths, leaped. swift as light was frenchy, darting in and out again, sweeping the knife aside, striking catlike. corny staggered back.

at that instant mr. leman swept upon the scene, his grey wisps of hair flying, his long arms flailing. frenchy, not hearing him, was knocked headlong into the galley and fell with a tremendous crashing of pots and pans.

"he keel manuel!" cried out corny, retreating from the second mate and putting up his knife. "he mos' get my eyes—ah, de poor manuel!"

the giant figure of the bearded black fell limply. dennis retreated, feeling sick; for manuel mendez had been stabbed with his own knife—after his eyes had been gouged away. even for sea-fighting, there was something horrible about it.

later, dennis came upon the steward and two of the miserable white sailors talking near the forecastle scuttle. the steward was describing what had happened.

"joked 'im, the mate did; chaffed 'im abaht some woman. bli' me! frenchy was hup and at 'im like this." and the cockney held the two first fingers of his right hand forked and aloft. "tried to jerk at 'is knife, 'e did, but frenchy hup an' took if first—ugh! 'orrible it was. and now the capting, 'e'll 'ang frenchy."

somebody guffawed in the darkness.

"hang frenchy? not him! frenchy an' the skipper have sailed together for years, they tell me. hey, mates?"

"you bet," came a response. "skipper don' dast hang him, i guess."

to dennis it was rankly incredible; but it was true. in the morning manuel mendez, who would smile no more his white-toothed hungry smile, was sent overside with a chunk of coal sewed at his feet; and as the body was committed to the deep, frenchy leaped to the rail and sent a bucket of slush over the canvas. an old whaling custom, this, to keep the dead man's ghost from following the ship. but frenchy remained untouched for his crime. if there were any inquiry or punishment, dennis never heard of it. the ship's routine pursued its usual course, ericksen being advanced to the position of second mate, leman to that of first mate.

one man aboard, however, did not forget the happening; and this was corny, the compatriot of the murdered mate. more than once, dennis saw corny's eyes follow frenchy about the deck with a black, murderous look.

these things, however, swiftly were forgotten in the rumoured vicinity of the wreck; and since everyone aboard either knew, or had guessed, the import of this strange cruise, the ship hummed like a beehive with speculation and gossip. at noon, with the remarkable keenness which distinguishes whaling skippers, captain pontifex completed his observations and then laid out a new course, stating that it would bring them under the lee of the island at four bells in the morning watch, at which time the brigantine was to be hove to and await daylight.

tom dennis was the only one aboard, except captain pontifex and the missus who did not sleep by watches. at dinner that night the skipper broached a bottle of wine, and sent forward a tot of grog for all hands; suppressed excitement ruled the ship, even the gentle kanakas breaking into wild native songs until suppressed by the skipper's order. after an evening of much talk, mainly about the various methods of raising sunken treasure, dennis turned in.

with the morning came disenchantment. dennis had dreamed of gold-mad sailors, of wild haste, of everything forgotten save the proximity of sudden riches. but once on deck he found things very different. the pelican was standing across the end of a barren rocky island; just beyond and ahead of her was a long scooped-out depression in the rocky shore, and in the centre of this depression lay the wreck of the simpson. the seamen were attending strictly to their positions and duties; there was no hilarious ring of voices, and everything was about as romantic as a visit to a coaling-station.

but the john simpson was there—no doubt about it!

her stern, apparently wedged in among a nest of rocks, stood up at a sharp angle, the deck not quite awash but running down into the water swiftly. the aftermast stood a broken stump. at some distance showed the foremast, likewise broken. dennis turned to pontifex and the missus who stood beside him.

"that foremast seems a long distance away," he said. "doesn't look natural."

"broke in two," vouchsafed the missus curtly. pontifex nodded.

"that's it," he stated with conviction. "fore part lays in deep water—eight or ten fathom, probably. look at her stern. see the water a-drip? she's well covered at high tide: just now the tide's out. no wonder she broke!"

"looks as if we'd anchor right close to her fore-hatch," said the missus.

ericksen, with a whaleboat and hand-line, was engaged in taking soundings of the position. suddenly a savage exclamation escaped pontifex who had been scrutinizing the visible stern of the wreck through a pair of binoculars.

"take charge, mr. leman," snapped the skipper, then lifted his voice. "corny! lower away—four hands will be enough to row us in. come on, mr. dennis!"

as corny's crew leaped to the falls of a forward boat, pontifex strode forward, his thin face murderous. dennis followed him in amazement.

"what's the trouble, skipper?"

"come on," responded pontifex snarlingly. "i'm not sure yet—but if it's true——"

seeing that the skipper was in no mood for questions, dennis said nothing further but followed into the whaleboat. four kanakas gave way at the long oars, and the boat began to slide landward. pontifex studied the wreck through his binoculars a moment, then handed the glasses to dennis.

"look at it—on the mainmast!"

puzzled, dennis focused on the stump of the mainmast. high up, so high as to be well beyond reach, he discerned a small object; it looked like a bit of board nailed to the mast.

"is that writing on it?" he exclaimed, lowering the glasses.

pontifex nodded sourly. "probably. we'll soon see."

boatswain joe's boat, which had finished its survey and was heading for the ship, passed within hail. pontifex transmitted word to mr. leman by ericksen, ordering the pelican laid as close alongside the fore-hatch of the wreck as the depth would allow. bo'sun joe reported that the fore-part of the simpson lay in nine fathoms, with fair holding-ground for the anchors, and that the whaler could crowd alongside her easily.

as their boat drew in, tom dennis could see that the stern of the wreck must indeed be completely submerged at low tide; this was attested by the barnacles and weedy growths covering the rails and decking. but it was the square bit of plank nailed to the mast which drew his gaze and that of the skipper.

"ah!" cried pontifex, with a furious oath. "look at that, dennis! a painted sign!"

taking the glasses, dennis could indeed make out that the board appeared to bear words or characters—and to his eye they were japanese. at this query, the skipper swore again.

"aye, the yellow scum! they swarm around the islands, raiding fox-farms and poaching or trading according as they dare. one of their boats happened along here, blast the luck, and saw the wreck; posted a sign to warn off their own countrymen, and went for help. they came at high water and didn't wait for ebb tide. notice where that sign is, up there? way enough, corny; we don't want to board her."

the boat swung around on idle oars, twenty feet from the rocks that held the stern of the simpson. dennis scrutinized the board carefully, then handed the glasses to pontifex.

"it's tough luck, skipper," he said quietly. "to think that she lay here undiscovered for over two years, then was found only a week or so before we came!"

"a week?" pontifex stared at him with flaming eyes. "how d'ye know that?"

"focus up on those nail-heads in that board. they're rusty, of course, but the rust hasn't gone into the wood around them—see? and the black paint on the board looks pretty glossy when the sunlight catches it right."

"right you are!" commented the skipper with a growl.

"what are you going to do about it?"

"do about it!" pontifex looked venomous. "fight, by the lord harry! this is salvage. whoever can hold hardest, gets. let me get the old brig anchored in here, and i'd like to see any dirty yellow poachers pry my fingers loose!"

dennis remembered the big gun-rack in the cabin, and said no more. rifles can be used for other purposes than killing seals and bears.

"we'll be all snug by breakfast-time," added pontifex, watching the pelican come slowly in as her top canvas fluttered down. "then we'll set to work pronto. we don't want a gale to catch us here, either. more likely to catch fog, anyway."

and the skipper made good his words. before seven bells were struck at 7.20 that morning* the pelican was berthed alongside the fore half of the simpson and all was made snug below and aloft. captain pontifex called all hands and made an address.

* usually struck at this time so the relieving watch may breakfast first.

"the japs have been here, and they'll be back," he said curtly. "there's salvage money ahead of everybody, men, so we're going to pitch in and work day and night, watch and watch. the day watches will devote themselves to getting the stuff aboard, because a diver can't remain down very long in this water: all hands will have a chance at going down. the night watches will stow the stuff below and make a clear deck before morning.

"while we're lying here, we'll redistribute the watches. mr. leman and mr. ericksen will take the port watch, i'll take the starboard watch with mr. dennis and corny. one man from each watch will be set ashore—that high point of rock makes a better lookout perch than the crosstrees—to watch for the approach of any craft whatever. and mark this, men! if you don't report back to the beach when the watches are changed, i'll come ashore and hunt you down with a shotgun! that's all. the starboard watch will keep the deck."

did the port watch go below? not yet! breakfast was a formality, a hurriedly bolted affair; ten minutes later one of the four white seamen was set ashore as lookout, and the skipper fell to work.

"you'll mind the pumps my watch, my dear," said pontifex to the missus. "when i'm down, i'll trust nobody else to watch my air supply. do you want to go down, mr. dennis?"

"you bet," and dennis laughed. "i'd like nothing better!"

a complete double set of diving apparatus was already awaiting them.