"Roger and I against them all," I thought, feeling very much a martyr, "unless," I mentally added, "Bill Hayden joins us." At that I actually laughed, so that Blodgett, prowling restlessly in the darkness, asked me crossly what was the matter. I should have been amazed and incredulous if anyone had told me that poor Bill Hayden was to play the deciding part in our affairs. He lay now in his bunk, tossing restlessly and muttering once in a while to himself. When I went over and asked if there was anything that I could do for him, he raised himself on his elbow and stared at me more stupidly than ever. It seemed to come to him slowly who I was. After a while he made out my face by the light of the dim, swinging lantern, and thanked me, and said if I would be so good as to give him a drink of water--He never completed the sentence; but I brought him a drink carefully, and when he had finished it, he thanked me again and leaned wearily back. His face seemed dark by the lantern-light, and I judged that it was still flushed. Muttering something about a "pain in his innards," he apparently went to sleep, and I climbed into my own bunk. The lantern swung more and more irregularly, and Bill tossed with ever-increasing uneasiness. When at last I dozed off, my own sleep was fitful, and shortly I woke with a start. Others, too, had waked, and I heard questions flung back and forth:-- "Who was that yelled?" "Did you hear that? Tell me, did you hear it?" Some one spoke of ghosts,--none of us laughed,--and Neddie Benson whimpered something about the lady who told fortunes. "She said the light man and the dark man would make no end o' trouble," he cried; "and he--" "Keep still," another voice exclaimed angrily. "It was Bill Hayden," the voice continued. "He hollered." Getting out of my bunk, I crossed the forecastle. "Bill," I said, "are you all right?" He started up wildly. "Don't hit me!" he cried. "That wasn't what I said-- it--I don't remember _just_ what I said, because I ain't good at remembering, but it wasn't that--don't-oh! oh!--I _know_ it wasn't that." Two of the men joined me, moving cautiously for the ship was pitching now in short, heavy seas. "What's that he's saying?" one of them asked. Before I could answer, Bill seemed suddenly to get control of himself. "Oh," he moaned. "I've got such a pain in my innards! I've got a rolling, howling old pain in my innards." There was little that we could do, so we smoothed his blankets and went back to our own. The Island Princess was pitching more fiercely than ever now, and while I watched the lantern swing and toss before I went to sleep, I heard old Blodgett saying something about squalls and cross seas. There was not much rest for us that night. No sooner had I hauled the blankets to my chin and closed my eyes, than a shout came faintly down to us, "All-hands--on deck!"