"I do not know what happened to you, nor what happened to that crowd of mutineers. I was 'fore the mast in that bark, and remember you; but I have known you lately merely as a man-of-all-work around this building. I owe you a dollar for cleaning up my place"--our visitor raised his hand deprecatingly--"and we called you Bill. You couldn't remember your last name, nor very far back. You went crazy aboard that bark, Mr. Mayhew, and we put you ashore, still crazy, at Cape Town. I know nothing more." "Nor does anyone else?" The look on his face was piteous. "I doubt that you can gather up the threads. Why should you wish to? You must have lived a life of misery and hard labor. You were shocked into fainting by the sight of a picture, right here in this studio, and you have awakened to intelligence and mental activity." "What picture?" For answer I arose and wheeled the easel around so that the painting faced him. The effect upon him was more startling than had been the same experience upon my friend. "Oh, God, help me!" he almost screamed. "God have mercy upon my soul! Why must it be perpetuated? Have I not suffered enough?" He covered his face with his hands, and with some misgiving I covered the picture with a cloth. "That was it," he continued. "That was the last I remember on board that bark, and the first in the hospital the other day. I killed seven human beings--I, an ordained minister of the gospel!" "Steady, sir," answered my neighbor, rising and laying a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. "You killed only six--how, I don't know--six bloodthirsty cutthroats who would have killed you if they'd had their way." "But one was innocent," answered Mr. Mayhew, uncovering his moist eyes. "The young fellow in the clutch of the big negro." "That was myself, and I am very much alive. In fact, Mr. Mayhew, you saved my life. You killed the nigger, but I simply fell down to the deck. Then I came aft and helped carry you below. Look here?" He lifted the cloth, and pointed to the face of the man held poised over the negro's head. "That's me. Never mind who painted this picture, but look here." He displayed the tintype. "Taken at the end of that voyage," he continued, "and still in my possession. No doubt, Mr. Mayhew, your mind gave way under the shock of the experience, and it returned to you when you looked at the reproduction. Now, don't worry about it any more. You did right to quell that mutiny." "Perhaps--according to most standards. But I was a minister, and my conscience was already active enough from my devotion to science to the neglect of my clerical work. But perhaps you are right. I'll try and not worry." I joined in with what encouragement I could offer, and when he had calmed somewhat my neighbor said: "You must tell me how you did it, Mr. Mayhew. You killed six worthless heathen, and saved the lives of several white men, by some application of intense cold. I am a student of science, but I cannot understand."