"I'll just see how yew like a night o' that, chained to a stiff of y'r own killing," said the demon, with a fiendish chuckle. "Wall, yew've got better company than yew ever had before. A pleasant night to yew!" and he retired, locking the door after him. The bosun was now put at the head of the starboard watch, and the routine of the ship once more continued on its normal course. Shifting sail was again in full swing, but the men worked listlessly in deadly silence; there was no chantying on the gantline, and they pulled and hauled without even the usual hee-hawing. The bosun tried again and again to instil some life into the work, but in vain; all hands went at it steadily, but without a sound. It is a very bad sign when a ship's crew work in silence, and even the mate ceased his hazing as he noticed the sullen humour of the men. You can bully and ill-treat a deep-sea crew as much as you like up to a certain point; but there is a limit mark, and if you step beyond that you begin playing pitch-and-toss with your own life. The sea is not to blame for every missing ship. A steady-going, harmless man can be turned by continual brutality and ill-treatment into a desperate, iron-nerved assassin, and a good crew can be brought to such a condition that one accidental spark will set them afire; then, rendered half madmen, half fiends, they turn the ship into a shambles. There is only one thing that protects the lives of American buckos, and that is that nowadays deep-water ships go to sea with such a mixed lot of nationalities in their foc's'les that they are totally unable to act together. The after-gang realise this fully, and work upon it, skilfully playing the men off against each other. Whilst the ship's company were seething with passions which threatened to boil over at any moment, no sound came from the bosun's locker, where Pedro crouched alone with his victim. At meal-times his food was passed in to him, in the presence of the mate; then the key was turned again, and he was left to brood anew with the blood-stained corpse attached to him like a Siamese twin. At eight bells, 4 p.m., the decks were cleared up and the watches set once more. At knock-off time all hands assembled on the foc's'le head, and a babble of wild, angry voices arose, in which the shrill squeal of Angelino, the Portuguee, Pedro's chum, mixed discordantly with the deep gutturals of the negro, the jerky sh's of the German, the twangy nasal accents of the Americans, and the misplaced h's of the cockney. Grimy fists were waved and shaken furiously aft, and the venomous oratory of the long, vicious gambler, Studpoker Bob, was received with deep roars of approval. Jack, Broncho, and Curly seated themselves apart from the wrangling crowd, and lit their pipes. Curly, young, soft, and impressionable, was very indignant at the mate's callousness.