"His name was Jacobs, wasn't it?" "Yes, sir." "I heard that scuffle, and I've been wondering about it. So the ship won't do anything about it, according to the mate?" "No, sir." "Then I know who will," asserted the man--a quick, erect, middle-aged man with grayish moustache and goatee. He wore miner's costume, but he looked like a gentleman, nevertheless. "Wait a bit." He, too, left. Gazing after him as he passed along the deck under the awning, they noted him pause and speak with several other men, who glanced back at the stern as if he was telling them about the boat. A little group of them accompanied him, and disappeared with him. Soon they all came up on deck again, and with them was Mr. Jacobs himself. Charley thought that he looked rather frightened, as in their midst he moved aft. The group was swelled, en route, until when they halted before the Adams party they numbered about twenty--a sober, stern lot, standing in a determined manner with Mr. Jacobs pushed to the fore. The man with the goatee acted as spokesman. "This is the man, is it?" he asked, of Mr. Grigsby. "I wouldn't call him a man," said Mr. Grigsby, contemptuously. "But he's the critter I referred to." Mr. Jacobs scowled blackly at Charley, and his father, and Mr. Grigsby, and tried to brazen it out. However, 'twas plain to be seen that he was ill at ease. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded, all around. "What did you bring me up here for?" "You're accused of attempting to cut that boat down, last night, along with the persons who were in it," answered the man with the goatee. "Who accuses me?" "I do," said Mr. Grigsby, shortly. "It's a lie," retorted the long-nosed man, with an oath. "I wasn't up here. I was down below, keeping dry." "Here's your knife," pursued Mr. Grigsby, holding it out. The long-nosed man laughed sneeringly. "Not my knife. I don't carry one. Besides, the ship's full of knives like that." "Yes," said Mr. Grigsby. "But it isn't full of dogs like you! If you weren't up here last night, how did you get that bruised cheek, and those finger-marks on your throat? You look powerful like somebody who'd been knocked down and held for a while." "It's a lie," repeated the long-nosed man, but rather weakly. He braced up. "Of course it's a lie," he appealed, to the group. "Isn't my word as good as his?" The man with the goatee laughed grimly--and so did several others.