had so ruthlessly torn down.

Ten days after they brought him up from the hold Billy

was limping about the deck of the Halfmoon doing light

manual labor. From the other sailors aboard he learned

that he was not the only member of the crew who had been

shanghaied. Aside from a half-dozen reckless men from the

criminal classes who had signed voluntarily, either because

they could not get a berth upon a decent ship, or desired to

flit as quietly from the law zone of the United States as

possible, not a man was there who had been signed regularly.

They were as tough and vicious a lot as Fate ever had

foregathered in one forecastle, and with them Billy Byrne

felt perfectly at home. His early threats of awful vengeance

to be wreaked upon the mate and skipper had subsided with

the rough but sensible advice of his messmates.

The mate, for his part, gave no indication of harboring

the assault that Billy had made upon him other than to

assign the most dangerous or disagreeable duties of the ship

to the mucker whenever it was possible to do so; but the

result of this was to hasten Billy's nautical education, and

keep him in excellent physical trim.

All traces of alcohol had long since vanished from the

young man's system. His face showed the effects of his

enforced abstemiousness in a marked degree. The red, puffy,

blotchy complexion had given way to a clear, tanned skin;

bright eyes supplanted the bleary, bloodshot things that had

given the bestial expression to his face in the past. His

features, always regular and strong, had taken on a peculiarly

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