Bill tried to make things clear. “You see, sir,” he explained, “it’s like this: This here weed stretches out for two hundred miles and more. We’d first have to build a boat, and then cut our way through it inch by inch. We couldn’t get grub or water enough in the boat to last us till we got out. An’ if we did get out, where’d we be? At sea without a compass or nothin’! We all wanted to try at first, but Forbes, he explains things to us so plain that we sees how impossible it is. Two or three times coves have tried to get out, but they allus got stuck in the weed, an’ mighty glad they was to get back to where there was plenty to eat and drink.” Howard nodded. “I see the difficulty,” he conceded. “But have you no instruments? Of course there are not likely to be many, but I should think you would have found a few in all these years.” Joe hesitated. “The cap’n allers looks out for them things,” he declared at last. “Nobody knows how to use ’em but him.” “Ah! I see.” To himself Howard added that it was tolerably evident that Forbes was not over-anxious to escape; probably he agreed with Cæsar that he “would rather be first in a little Iberian village than second in Rome”; and, contented with his little realm and sway, threw his influence against any attempt of the others to deplete it. Howard felt that he and Forbes might come to a clash later on. Dorothy changed the subject by asking about the women. There were two, it appeared, one old and one young. The older one, of whom the sailors spoke affectionately as Mother Joyce, was nearly sixty years old; she and her husband had been on the wrecks for fifteen years. The younger had been there only two years; she had been a widow, but had married one Gallegher, Forbes’s right-hand man, some time before. The only child in the community was hers. “So you marry here, just as you do elsewhere?” interjected Dorothy, lightly, at this point. “Who performs the ceremonies?” Joe hesitated. “Cap’n Forbes used to up to last year,” he answered at last. “Then Mr. Willoughby floated in on a wreck. He’s a regular gospel sharp, an’ he’s done it since.” “Gallegher ain’t pretty,” continued Joe, thoughtfully. “An’ I guess Mrs. Strother that was wasn’t over-anxious to marry him. But women is awful skearce here, and they generally gits married right off.” He paused and looked from Dorothy to Howard. “Your wife, sir?” he questioned. Dorothy flushed hotly, but Howard did not seem to notice it. “No,” he said. “This is Miss Fairfax. I am Lieutenant Howard, of the navy. This is Mr. Jackson, of the New York police force.” The men ducked their heads awkwardly. “We did have another lady here,” remarked Bill, abstractedly. “She was the cap’n’s wife, but she died a month or two ago. The cap’n is mighty anxious to marry again--mighty anxious.” “Ah! indeed.” Howard rose from the table. “Come,” he continued, “let’s go on deck. I want you to point out something to me!”