“This here’s a Wednesday, aint it?” he inquired, once again straining the moisture out of his eyes with his knuckles, and blinking at me. “No,” said I; “it’s Thursday.” “Nearer than you, Bobby, anyway!” he cried. “Your tally brought it to Saturday.” “How long have you been locked up, men?” “Why,” he exclaimed, “if this here’s a Thursday”--his voice broke like that of a youth entering manhood, as he continued--“we’ve been locked up a fortnight when it shall ha’ gone nine o’clock.” A murmur of pity and amazement escaped my men. “And it happened like this,” continued the little fellow, beginning to walk swiftly in a small circle: “Me and Bobby was in the same watch. We had come below and turned in. We was waked by a crash, and I heerd the hatch cover closed. There went eight of us to a crew, but when I sings out only Bobby answers. The others who was below may have heard the capt’n or mate singing out on deck afore the collision. They was gone. Bobby and me tries to open the hatch. No fear! Eh, Bobby?” exclaimed the little fellow, who continued to walk very rapidly in a circle. “And how did it happen that that there hatch was closed? Why, I don’t know _now_. How did it happen?” he yelled. I explained. The little fellow looked at the bowsprit heel, at the hatch, and then his mate, and exclaimed: “Wrong again, Bobby! Bobby was for having it that the hatch had been closed ’spressly to drown us by one of the sailors as him and me hated, as him and me had fought with and licked times out o’ counting.” I was about to ask the fellows how they had managed to breathe in their black hole of a forecastle during their fortnight’s imprisonment, when I caught sight of a stove funnel piercing the forecastle deck and rising a few feet above it. That funnel was all the answer my question needed. I inquired how they managed to obtain food and the little sore-eyed man answered that they had lifted the hatch of the forepeak and found oil for their lamps and water to drink, some barrels of bread and flour, and a piece or two of beef; for, luckily for them, the provisions in this schooner were stowed forward. There was coal in the forepeak. They lighted the forecastle stove and so dressed their victuals; but they were always forced to be in a hurry with their cooking, for the fire carried the fresh air up with it; and when they had raked the coals out they would sit with their heads close in to the stove to breathe the air as it gushed in again through the flue. “Did you never try to break out?” said one of my men. “Time arter time, mate. There was sights o’ trying, and you see what it’s comes to,” exclaimed the little fiery-eyed man, starting to walk in a circle again. At this moment I was hailed by Greaves: “How many men have you released?” “Two, sir; there are no more.” “Then bring them aboard, Mr. Fielding. I wish to proceed.” “Get your clothes,” said I to the little man, “and come along.”