The elderly lady stared with eyes opened very wide. Her lips moved, but made no sound, and her delicately wrinkled cheek grew pale. At length she managed to whisper to her niece that dread saying familiar to many generations of New England spinsters: “Mercy! We shall all be murdered in our beds.” Captain O’Shea joined them, to speak his earnest reassurances. “You are as safe as if you were in Sunday-school, ladies. This bunch of patriots is perfectly harmless. There was an argument just before we sighted ye, and the best man won.” “And what is this voyage of yours, captain?” asked the girl. “Oh, we are just romancin’ around the high-seas. ’Tis nothing that would interest a lady.” “Do you kill each other every day?” “You mean the big nigger yonder?” and Captain O’Shea looked a trifle embarrassed. “No, his manners had to be corrected. But will you come for’ard, please, and make yourselves at home in my room? ’Tis yours as long as ye are on board.” “I am quite sure you have no intention of murdering us,” smilingly quoth the girl. “And we shall ask you no more questions for the present. Come along, Aunt Katharine.” The young man of the castaways was fidgeting rather sulkily in the background. He wished to interview the captain at once, but the gallant O’Shea had eyes only for the ladies. Overlooked and apparently forgotten, the shipwrecked young man picked his way across the deck to accost Johnny Kent, whose first-aid-to-the-injured treatment with a hose-nozzle had proved efficacious. The vanquished negro was rubbing his head and sputtering salt-water and Spanish. “There, you’re what I call recussitated in bang-up good style,” cried the engineer, proud of his handiwork. “If you were a white man, your block ’ud have been knocked clean off. You ought to be thankful for your mercies.” The castaway touched his arm and exclaimed: “I say, my good man, I need something to eat, and a place to sleep. I was awake all night in an open boat.” The stout person in the greasy overalls turned to survey the speaker with mild amusement on his broad, red face. “By the look of your party you must have suffered something awful. The skipper will attend to you pretty soon and he’ll do his best to make you happy. But this ain’t no gold-plated yacht, and it ain’t no table dote hotel.” “So I see, but I’ll pay for the best on board. Really, money is no object----” Johnny Kent chuckled and turned to wave the nozzle at the negro, who was sitting up. “You subside, Jiminez, or I’ll dent this over your head. It ain’t healthy for you to get well too darned fast.” He scrutinized the castaway with a tolerant, fatherly air and answered him: