At Morning Quarters, on the day when the _Osprey_ was to weigh anchor and sail for Chemulpo, one more man was missing--no other than our old friend Dick Scupp. He had been one of the shore party of the preceding day, and in some way his absence from mess had been overlooked at night. One of his mates remembered seeing him enter a saloon in Chefoo, kept by a Chinaman of more than doubtful reputation; nothing further could be ascertained concerning the seaman's movements. Dave knew that sailors are loath to betray one of their number, and questioned them sharply, as Dick was too valuable a man to lose without an effort for his recovery. He even delayed sailing while "Jimmy Legs" spent a couple of hours searching for the delinquent in the lower quarters of the town; but no light was thrown on his disappearance. The Chinese saloon-keeper, Ah Fong, declared that a sailor-man answering to Scupp's description had become partly intoxicated on the premises and had been summarily ejected. That was the last seen of him. Lieut.-Commander Rexdale could wait no longer and put to sea, logging the incident as "Dick Scupp, Ordinary Seaman, disappeared in Chefoo. Probably deserted." At a little before noon the _Osprey_ was under way. There was no local pilot on the bridge, for each of the officers was supposed to be perfectly capable of taking the ship out and conning her across the gulf to the port of destination. During the long stay at Chefoo Rexdale, in particular, had improved the time by as careful a study of the currents, channels, tides, and beacons on the Chinese coast as if he were to pass an examination in seamanship at short notice. The gunboat was about five miles out when the attention of Staples, the executive, was called to a large junk crossing her bow about a mile ahead. "There's some sort of a row on board," said the lieutenant, as he eyed the lumbering craft through his glasses. "It looks like a free fight among the pigtails." Rexdale and Liddon, the officer of the deck, joined him in scrutinising the stranger, whose decks seemed to be crowded with men, among whom a struggle was evidently taking place. Suddenly the commander exclaimed: "There goes a man overboard, and the scoundrels don't mean to stop for him!" "He may be dead," suggested Staples coolly. "He seemed to be muffled in black, which isn't the fashionable costume for a Chinese coolie." "We must pick him up," said Dave with energy. "He's alive and struggling. I can see his head now--I believe it's a negro. Port your helm a little, Mr. Staples. Head for the man and get your lifeboat ready!" "Port, Quartermaster!" commanded the executive. Then, raising his trumpet to his lips, he shouted, "Man the lifeboat!"