heavy, and his progress was uncertain. His thoughts were divided between
the present and the past--Barzil Dunsack, aged and ill and unfortunate,
and the happening long ago that had resulted in a separation of years
after a close youthful companionship.

It had occurred while Barzil was master of the brig _Luna,_ owned by
Billy Gray, and he, Jeremy, was first mate. In the exactness with which
he recalled every detail of his life in ships he remembered that at the
time they were off Bourbon Island, about a hundred and ten miles
southwest of the lie de France. The _Luna_ was close hauled, and, while
Barzil was giving an order at the wheel, she fetched a bad lee lurch
and sent him in a heap across the deck, striking his head against the
bumkin bitts. He had got up dazed but not apparently seriously injured;
and after his head had been swabbed and bound by the steward he
returned to the poop. There, however, his conduct had been so
peculiar--among other things sending down the watch to put on Sunday
rig against a possible hail by the Lord--that, after a long
consultation with Mr. Patterson, the second mate and the boatswain, and
a brief announcement to the crew, he, Jeremy Ammidon, had taken command
in their interest and that of the owner.

Barzil had made difficulties: Mr. Patterson struck up a leveled pistol in
the master's hand just as it exploded. They had confined him, in charge
of the unhappy steward, to his cabin; where, after he had completely
recovered from the effects of the blow, and Jeremy had been upheld by the
authorities at Table Bay, he stubbornly remained until the _Luna_ had
been warped into Salem.

From the moment of their landing they had not exchanged a word. Jeremy
was surprised to find himself at present bound toward the other's house.