nowhere. I've sailed with him and I know."

When the weather moderated and the schooner, after being tidied up, was
plunging along with a double reefed fore and single reefed mainsail,
and every one was breathing freely, Duff again thought of Ralph.

"Poor fellow," said he to himself, "it's been tougher on him than any
of us. He must have thought we were going to Davy Jones any time these
three days."

Not long after this he saw Long Tom bearing away a covered tin dish
from the galley, and hastened to join the boatswain.

"Is that the kid's grub?" he demanded, taking off the lid and surveying
the contents. "Tis, eh? Well, see here, Bludson, I call it a crying
shame. Bread and water still! Heave ahead. I am going to see what
kind of a place this sweat box is."

The boatswain would have remonstrated, but Duff ordered him on
peremptorily. He led the way therefore to a trap door in the floor of
the men's quarters in the forecastle.

Passing through this with a lighted lantern they pushed forward into
the very bow of the vessel, where a small space--three cornered--was
walled in. Inside was a form crouched in a corner.

The whole area was a mere closet, not only pitch dark within, but
several feet below water level and with but a couple of inches of
planking between a prisoner and the swashing, gurgling billows outside.