Christy left the pilot-house, after he had put six cartridges into his revolver, and restored the weapon to his pocket. He had already made up his mind as to the manner in which he proposed to dispose of the engineer. He descended the ladder to the forecastle of the tug; but before he proceeded to the important task before him, he made a careful survey of the accommodations of the steamer, though she did not appear to be different from a score of similar vessels he had visited in making his studies. Under the pilot-house was the galley, which was also the mess-room of the crew when she had any. Forward of this, and under the forward deck, was the forecastle, to which the inquirer descended. It was fitted up with bunks, and there was only one entrance to it, by a ladder from a scuttle in the deck. The scuttle was the interesting point with him; and he saw that it was provided with a hasp and staple, so that the entrance could be secured by a padlock, though that was missing. Getting a piece of wood from the deck, he made a toggle that would fit the staple, and put the scuttle in a convenient place. Leaving the forward deck, he went aft, taking another look at the steamer in the north-west; but he could hardly see her with the naked eye, and he thought she must be at least five miles off. "Where is your bunk, Mr. Spikeley?" asked Christy, as he went to the door of the engine-room. "What's that to you, youngster?" demanded the engineer; and possibly it did not comport with his dignity to be bossed by a boy. "It is rather important for me to know just now," replied Christy, looking as savage as it was possible for a good-natured boy to look. "What do you want to know for?" asked Spikeley. "I happen to be in command of this tug for the present moment, and I want an answer without stopping all day to talk about it." "Well, youngster, I don't reckon I'll tell you any thing about it. I get my orders from Major Pierson," replied the engineer sourly. "The Leopard is in my charge, and I must ask you to show me where your bunk is; and after you have done that, I shall ask you to get into it, and stay there," said Christy, with decision enough for the needs of the occasion. At the same time he took the revolver from his pocket, and pointed it towards the head of the engineer. "You can take your choice, Mr. Spikeley: you can get into your bunk, or have your carcass thrown into the bay; and you haven't got a great while to think of it." The engineer seemed to be properly impressed by the sight of the weapon, and he could see that the chambers contained cartridges. He rose from his seat, and moved towards the door of the engine-room. "I heard some of the men say you was a Yank, and I reckon you be," said Spikeley. "What are you go'n to do?" "I am going to get you into your bunk, where you will be more comfortable than you are here. Move on!"