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In this second edition of his best-selling book, Data Structures
and Algorithm Analysis in C, Mark Allen Weiss, continues to refine
and enhance his innovative approach to algorithms and data
structures. Using a C implementation, he highlights conceptual
topics, focusing on ADTs and the analysis of algorithms for
efficiency as well as performance and running time. Dr. Weiss
also distinguishes Data Structures and Algorithm Analysis in C
with the extensive use of figures and examples showing the
successive stages of an algorithm, his engaging writing style, and
a logical organization of topics.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

From the Inside Flap:

Purpose/Goals

This book describes data structures, methods of organizing large amounts of data, and algorithm
analysis, the estimation of the running time of algorithms. As computers become faster and faster,
the need for programs that can handle large amounts of input becomes more acute. Paradoxically,
this requires more careful attention to efficiency, since inefficiencies in programs become most
obvious when input sizes are large. By analyzing an algorithm before it is actually coded, students
can decide if a particular solution will be feasible. For example, in this text students look at specific
problems and see how careful implementations can reduce the time constraint for large amounts of
data from 16 years to less than a second. Therefore, no algorithm or data structure is presented
without an explanation of its running time. In some cases, minute details that affect the running time
of the implementation are explored.

Once a solution method is determined, a program must still be written. As computers have become
more powerful, the problems they must solve have become larger and more complex, requiring
development of more intricate programs. The goal of this text is to teach students good programming
and algorithm analysis skills simultaneously so that they can develop such programs with the
maximum amount of efficiency.

This book is suitable for either an advanced data structures (CS7) course or a first-year graduate
course in algorithm analysis. Students should have some knowledge of intermediate programming,
including such topics as pointers and recursion, and some background in discrete math. Approach

I believe it is important for students to learn how to program for themselves, not how to copy
programs from a book. On the other hand, it is virtually impossible to discuss realistic programming
issues without including sample code. For this reason, the book usually provides about one-half to
three-quarters of an implementation, and the student is encouraged to supply the rest. Chapter 12,
which is new to this edition, discusses additional data structures with an emphasis on
implementation details.

The algorithms in this book are presented in ANSI C, which, despite some flaws, is arguably the
most popular systems programming language. The use of C instead of Pascal allows the use of
dynamically allocated arrays (see, for instance, rehashing in Chapter 5). It also produces simplified
code in several places, usually because the and (&&) operations is short-circuited.

Most criticisms of C center on the fact that it is easy to write code that is barely readable. Some of
the more standard tricks, such as the simultaneous assignment and testing against 0 via

if (x=y)

are generally not used in the text, since the loss of clarity is compensated by only a few keystrokes
and no increased speed. I believe that this books demonstrates that unreadable code can be
avoided by exercising reasonable care.

Overview

Chapter 1 contains review material on discrete math and recursion. I believe the only way to be
comfortable with recursion is to see good uses over and over. Therefore, recursion is prevalent in
this text, with examples in every chapter except Chapter 5.

Chapter 2 deals with algorithm analysis. This chapter explains asymptotic analysis and its major
weaknesses. Many examples are provided, including an in-depth explanation of logarithms running
time. Simple recursive programs are analyzed by intuitively converting them into iterative programs.
More complicated divide-and-conquer programs are introduced, but some of the analysis (solving
recurrence relations) is implicitly delayed until Chapter 7, where it is performed in detail.
Chapter 3 covers lists, stacks, and queues. The emphasis here is on coding these data structures
using ADTs, fast implementation of these data structures, and an exposition of some of their uses.
There are almost no programs (just routines), but the exercises contain plenty of ideas for
programming assignments.

Chapter 4 covers trees, with an emphasis on search trees, including external search trees (B-trees).
The UNIX file system and expression trees are used as examples. AVL trees and splay trees are
introduced but not analyzed. Seventy-five percent of the code is written, leaving similar cases to be
completed by the student. More careful treatment of search tree implementation details is found in
Chapter 12. Additional coverage of trees, such as file compression and game trees, is deferred until
Chapter 10. Data structures for an external medium are considered as the final topic in several
chapters.

Chapter 5 is relatively short chapter concerning hash tables. Some analysis is performed, and
extendible hashing is covered at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 6 is about priority queues. Binary heaps are covered, and there is additional material on
some of the theoretically interesting implementations of priority queues. The Fibonacci heap is
discussed in Chapter 11, and the pairing heap is discussed in Chapter 12.

Chapter 7 covers sorting. It is very specific with respect to coding details and analysis. All the
important general-purpose sorting algorithms are covered and compared. Four algorithms are
analyzed in detail: insertion sort, Shellsort, heapsort, and quicksort. The analysis of the average-
case running time of heapsort is new to this edition. External sorting is covered at the end of the
chapter.

Chapter 8 discusses the disjoint set algorithm with proof of the running time. This is a short and
specific chapter that can be skipped if Kruskal's algorithm is not discussed.

Chapter 9 covers graph algorithms. Algorithms on graphs are interesting, not only because they
frequently occur in practice but also because their running time is so heavily dependent on the
proper use of data structures. Virtually all of the standard algorithms are presented along with
appropriate data structures, pseudocode, and analysis of running time. To place these problems in a
proper context, a short discussion on complexity theory (including NP-completeness and
undecidability) is provided.

Chapter 10 covers algorithm design by examining common problem-solving techniques. This

chapter is heavily fortified with examples. Pseudocode is used in these later chapters so that the
student's appreciation of an example algorithm is not obscured by implementation details.
Chapter 11 deals with amortized analysis. Three data structures from Chapters 4 and 6 and the
Fibonacci heap, introduced in this chapter, are analyzed.

Chapter 12 is new to this edition. It covers search tree algorithms, the k-d tree, and the pairing heap.
This chapter departs from the rest of the text by providing complete and careful implementations for
the search trees and pairing heap. The material is structured so that the instructor can integrate
sections into discussions from other chapters. For example, the top-down red black tree in Chapter
12 can be discussed under AVL trees (in Chapter 4).

Chapters 1-9 provide enough material for most one-semester data structures courses. If time
permits, then Chapter 10 can be covered. A graduate course on algorithm analysis could cover
Chapters 7-11. The advanced data structures analyzed in Chapter 11 can easily be referred to in the
earlier chapters. The discussion of NP-completeness in Chapter 9 is far too brief to be used in such
a course. Garey and Johnson's book on NP-completeness can be used to augment this text.

Exercises

Exercises, provided at the end of each chapter, match the order in which material is presented. The
last exercises may address the chapter as a whole rather than a specific section. Difficult exercises
are marked with an asterisk, and more challenging exercises have two asterisks.

A solutions manual containing solutions to almost all the exercises is available to instructors from the
Addison-Wesley Publishing Company.

References

References are placed at the end of each chapter. Generally the references either are historical,
representing the original source of the material, or they represent extensions and improvements to
the results given in the text. Some references represent solutions to exercises.

Code Availability

The example program code in this book is available via anonymous ftp at aw. It is also accessible
through the World Wide Web; the URL is aw/cseng/authors/weiss/dsaac2/dsaac2e.sup.html (follow
the links from there). The exact location of this material may change.

Acknowledgments

Many, many people have helped me in the preparation of books in this series. Some are listed in
other versions of the book; thanks to all.
For this edition, I would like to thank my editors at Addison-Wesley, Carter Shanklin and Susan
Hartman. Teri Hyde did another wonderful job with the production, and Matthew Harris and his staff
at Publication Services did their usual fine work putting the final pieces together.

M.A.W.
Miami, Florida
July, 1996

0201498405P04062001

About the Author:

Mark Allen Weiss is a Professor in the School of Computer Science at Florida International
University. He received his Ph.D. in Computer Science from Princeton University where he studied
under Robert Sedgewick. Dr.Weiss has received FIU's Excellence in Research Award, as well as the
Teaching Incentive Program Award, which was established by the Florida Legislature to recognize
teaching excellence. Mark Allen Weiss is on the Advanced Placement Computer Science
Development Committee. He is the successful author of Algorithms, Data Structures, and Problem
Solving with C++ and the series Data Structures and Algorithm Ana
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 “It was my friend’s faith to cut off the heads of his enemies,” said the
missionary. “It is my faith to seek to show men the beauty of my faith. That
is all the difference.”
“Your God believes in advertising?”
“Yes,” said the other; and he smiled again.
Black Pawl laughed. “That’s worth hearing,” he declared. “It’s sense.
Most of your cloth tell us to be humble, to be meek and lowly, like cattle.
Why is goodness humble, Father? Why is virtue shy, and vice a braggart?”
“Just what do you mean, Cap’n Pawl?” the missionary asked. “I am
interested.”
“A man boasts of drink, of women, of a blow that is struck; but he does
not boast of what you call a good deed. He advertises his crimes; he hides
his virtues. Why?”
“Such a man does wrong,” said the missionary. “He might better boast of
his good deeds. Christ said: ‘I am the son of God.’ No mightier boast was
ever uttered.”
“Was it true?” Black Pawl asked, sharply.
“All men are God’s sons—just as all men are God,” the missionary
explained.
The Captain nodded thoughtfully. “Then why not let it go at that?” he
asked. “Why all this talk of heaven? Be good, and you will twingle the
heavenly harps; be bad, and you will roast in hell. That’s the way to convert
a coward; but it’s only a challenge to a strong man.”
“Do you believe in the unpardonable sin?” the other countered.
Black Pawl’s eyes clouded. “Yes,” he confessed.
“Ah!” the missionary murmured half to himself. “I have been wondering
why you were unhappy.”
The Captain’s face hardened at that. “The unhappy man is a coward,” he
parried.
“Then you are a coward, my friend.”
“I am unhappy?”
“I think you are the most unhappy man I have ever known.”
Black Pawl moved abruptly; he took six steps away and six steps back,
then leaned against the rail again, unsmiling. And at last he lifted his head
and dropped his hand on the missionary’s shoulder. “Father,” he said, “if
your faith is worth anything, it must be practical. It must solve the problems
of this world. Am I right?”
“Yes, my friend.”
The captain of the Deborah nodded. “I am going to tell you a story of
myself,” he said. “Let your God write the answer to the riddle, if he can.”
The missionary inclined his head. “Tell, if you wish to tell,” he said.
“Listen, then,” Black Pawl bade the missionary. “You and I are poured in
different molds, Father. But in one matter men are much alike. Did you ever
love a woman?”
“Yes.”
Black Pawl was gazing off across the purple night; it was almost as if the
other were not there.
“I loved a woman,” he went on. “I—loved her. There was always an
overflowing measure of life in me, perhaps. I poured it out on her. And she
loved me as fully. She was tall and fair, and quiet as deep waters, Father.
And she was very beautiful to look upon. Still—others thought her cold; she
was not cold to me. There was a flame before us, and when we stepped into
that flame hand in hand, we burned like welding metals. Burned, yet were
not consumed! And we were welded like the metals, flesh and flesh, and
soul and soul. We were no longer two people in those days; we were one.
When others were about, we were like others, bantering, laughing, at ease—
for each of us knew. But when we were alone, we were a living fire.
Sometimes, seeing man and wife since then, I wonder if they are as we
were. I wonder if behind the calm countenance of their open daily life there
is such a passionate devotion as that which welded us two.
“I say it welded us, Father. For by your God, she loved as much as I. She
had a fashion of taking my cheeks in her hands, pinching them, pulling my
face to meet hers, and shaking me to and fro as she did so.... Not even a
woman could pretend like that. I say she loved me as I loved her.
“In the beginning, I say, this was so. She came one cruise with me, and
the boy Red Pawl was born in a black storm not a hundred miles from here.
I was doctor and nurse to her then, Father. She was brave. Aye! She lay in
my arms throughout the torment, smiling up at me between the agonies. She
was wiser than I in such matters, and she had brought a book that told what
I must do, so that when the time came I was able to tend her—and the boy. I
was clumsy; and I fumbled; but—the thing was done. It was a sacrament,
Father. You see, I believed in your God in those days. It was a holy
sacrament. I thought she was like your Christ, giving her flesh and her
blood for this baby that was our world. She was holy to me. You say your
faith is spiritual; but I say the true faith is physical. There is nothing so holy
as the body, Father; for the holiest thing in the world is birth. If it were not
holy, it would be unspeakably terrible. If there is a God, then the bringing of
one body from another body is God’s work, and man’s work, and there is
nothing so important in the world, and nothing so holy as this thing.
“The boy was born. We called him Dan. That is my name, you
understand. But there cannot be two Dan Pawls; so he is Red, and I am
Black, and there are few men whose memory runs to the contrary. He throve
aboard the ship; and he was walking when we came home again.
“After that she would come no more to sea. She stayed at home next
voyage, with the boy. And I tell you our love was as much a living thing
while we were ten thousand miles apart as when we were each in the other’s
arms. And when I came home again, she was waiting for me.
“I was six months at home that time. The boy was past four when I came
away; and his mother said he must come along and learn to know his father.
To know me! So he came, and slept in my cabin, and learned the ship. He
was stout for his age, even then; and before we turned for home that time,
he was grown almost beyond his mother’s knowledge. I told him: ‘She will
not know you.’ And he laughed with me at that, and we planned to have him
slip ashore and find her out, and fling himself upon her to see the tears of
surprise that would spring into her eyes.
“All the long way home we planned that matter between us, you
understand. And the boy’s eyes would light, and my heart leaped to see him.
And when the land lifted out of the sea ahead of us, we took our stand, we
two, and watched for hours before we could sight the wharves where I told
him she would be.
“I knew our coming would be signaled; she would know we were in the
bay. So my glass searched the wharf, and the boy at my side clamored:
‘Where is she, Daddy? Where is she, Daddy? Let me see.’ And he took the
glass from me and leveled it and looked. I could not tell him she was not
there. So I pointed out a woman’s figure, against a pile of oilbrown casks,
and told him that was his mother. And he screamed his greeting to her
across a solid mile of water. And I was straining my eyes for her coming
along the wharf!”
For a moment Black Pawl paused. When he went on, there was no
tremor in his voice. “We made fast,” he said, “and still she had not come.
And I saw by the way the others looked at me that something was amiss. I
forgot the boy, in wondering; and I dared not question them, and the black
fear shut down and clamped my heart. I forgot the boy; and before I knew,
he was ashore, and had run to hug that woman I had shown him, and call
her mother. And she put him away, and cried. So I thought my wife was
dead.
“Even then I did not ask; and no one told me. I thought this was
sympathy; I know, now, that it was because they were afraid. It was my
brother who told me, in the end. He was not such a man as I am—smaller,
and never over-strong. And when he told me, I struck him down, and he did
not walk straight again during the two years more that he lived. Was that
sin, that I did, in striking him?”
The pulse of the sea stirred the schooner’s deck beneath them; their
white wake foamed with silver fire. The moon moved serenely across the
purple arch of the sky. The rigging overhead hummed beneath the
thrumming fingers of the wind. The missionary looked out across the water,
and then up into the eyes of Black Pawl, and beheld the deeps of agony
there.
“Did your brother condemn you for that blow?” he asked gently.
“No.”
“Then no man can do what he refused to do.”
Black Pawl laughed sneeringly. “All right! Hear what he told me. Eight
months after I was gone, our daughter was born to her. And six months after
that, she and the child were away to sea with another man. Fleeing in the
night secretly!”
He was still, on the word—still for so long that the missionary thought
the story was ended. But before he could find words, the Captain spoke
again.
“There is more,” he said. “Will you hear it?”
“Yes.”
 “We got away quickly on another cruise, my son and I. And another after
that, and another. And after the third returning, they told me at home that
the man with whom she had fled had come back alone. He said she had left
him as she had left me. He was gone before I returned. But I knew that
some day I would come upon him.
“Red Pawl was full-grown by then—big for his years. He was cabin-boy,
one cruise; and fourth mate on the next; and mate the cruise after. It was his
first cruise as mate that we found the man.”
There was a cold intensity in Black Pawl’s tone, and he asked again as if
in challenge: “Will you hear?”
“Yes.”
“Ill luck had pursued that man,” Black Pawl went on evenly now. “They
said his ship was a death-ship. Men died easily upon it; and it was hard for
that vessel to find whales. Also it was hard for him to persuade men to ship
with him. His officers were unlucky; and to be unlucky in the whale-
fisheries is to die. He was driven to fight the whales himself. And it was
thus, in the end, that he came into my hands.
My son’s boat picked him up one day. He had lowered for a whale, and
got fast; and the fish ran with him till he was lost from his ship; and then he
was forced to cut. Thereafter thirst fell upon that boat. Because he was
strong, and because that was the breed of the man, he kept more than his
fair measure of the water in the lantern-keg. So when Red Pawl found him
drifting under the sun, only this man was left alive in the boat. There was
another, dead, with him—his boat-steerer. He had thrown the others
overside.
“The man was insane with thirst when Red found him. But he wouldn’t
have known the boy, in any case; and Red didn’t know him. He brought him
back to the schooner; and we took him into my cabin to nurse him back to
life, and I knew him—there.
“When he was sane, he knew me; but he said nothing, hoping I did not
know. And I said nothing until he was himself again, strong and well. In due
time, one day, he wished to leave the cabin and go on deck. So I knew it
was time for that which I meant to do.
“We tied this man, my son and I. We tied him in the bunk, and gagged
him, I had told Red who he was, and Red wanted to slit his throat; but I
would not do that. Red lacks imagination. I told him so.
 “We tied him in his bunk, and gagged him. I told him then that I knew
him; and I told him what I meant to do. It was in my mind to let him lie
there without food or water till he died before my eyes. I believed then, and
I still believe, that to do this would have been to show too much mercy.
“But when I told him what I meant to do, he made signs that he wished
to speak; and I took away the gag from his mouth. He was a man of a
certain rat-like courage, Father. He taunted me to my teeth; and he told me,
among other things, that when he was tired of the woman I had loved, he
had given her into the hands of an evil crew I knew of, and the child with
her, and he said they had died unspeakably.
“That he spoke truth was plain in the man’s eye. I knew why he told me.
It was to move me to give him the mercy of quick death; but I would not.
Then he called me coward, and said that I would not face him as a man. So
I laughed and told him he should have his wish to face me. He said he was
weak. That was true. And I was hungry to feel his strong flesh break in my
hands. I considered what we might do.
“What we did was this, Father: I turned the schooner toward an island of
which I knew—a place where no humans lived. There we stayed a length of
time, till the man was well; and there, when the time was ripe, we fought.
“I killed him. He was stronger than I; and he battered me badly before I
could close with him. Then I broke his right arm between my hands, so that
he screamed; and after that I beat him with my fists, and when he fell, Red
Pawl lifted him, and held him, and I beat him to death with my bare hands.
The fight lasted from morning until halfway to noon. It was a good fight
until I broke his arm; after that—He died on his feet, Red Pawl’s arms
supporting him. And when he was dead, we left him there; and when the
schooner made out of that anchorage, sir, the birds were already a heap of
white upon him, where he lay.”
Black Pawl stopped, with that; and for a long time neither man spoke. At
last, uneasy at the silence, Black Pawl laughed to hide his unrest.
“So, Father,” he said at last, “what has your God to say to that?”
“Have you ever found trace of your wife, Black Pawl?” the missionary
asked.
“I found those men to whom he gave her. They denied the tale. But Red
Pawl and I killed three of them, and broke the other two.”
 The missionary made no comment; and Black Pawl asked again: “What
will your God say to that, Father?”
Then the man of the church looked up at the other and said gently: “I am
sorry for you, Dan Pawl.”
The Captain sneered. “Don’t waste sorrow on me. I’ve no regrets.”
“It is not because of the past that I am sorry for you,” replied the
missionary. “It is because of that which must surely come.”
 CHAPTER IV

T HERE developed in Black Pawl a devil of unrest. It is in all men; it was

stronger in him, just as every function of the man was stronger than a
like function in other men. Beneath his mirthless laughter, beneath his
malign joviality, there was a hatred of the world, a hatred which could not
find expression.
It showed itself, curiously, in his attitude toward the crew. His fists were
ever ready; they struck more and more frequently as the days passed. Yet
when he struck, the man always laughed. It was as if his laughter were the
curb he put upon himself. It was possible to imagine that if he had not
laughed, his least impatience would become a murderous rage. He might
have killed for small offenses; but he laughed, and so refrained.
His men, for the most part, felt this without understanding it. There was
always a strange loyalty in Black Pawl’s crews; this was well known, and it
puzzled those who knew. There were more blows struck on his ship than on
any other that pretended to decency; yet the crew were loyal. Ashore they
were ever ready to fight to defend him. They had, in some sort, a love for
him. They felt, without understanding why, a sympathy for the man. Once
one of the older men, who had sailed with him four full cruises, put this into
words.
“He means naught,” this man said. “The fist is a fashion of speech with
him. The man is torn, and weary o’ the world. That’s easy seen. There’s a
load on him.”
So they took his buffets, and picked themselves up, and grinned good-
naturedly, and would not take offense.
There were, on the Deborah, but two exceptions to this rule. One was
Red Pawl, his son and mate. When Red Pawl struck a man, there was
murder in the blow and poison in the eye that guided it.
Shunned by every man, and hating every man, he had no friend aboard.
He was like a mad dog in one thing; his deeper hatred was directed toward
his master, his father, the one man he should have loved and served. Just as
a dog that is mad will bite first the best-loved hand, just as an elephant upon
whom madness comes will trample first his own mahout, in like fashion
Red Pawl’s hatred centered on his father. It was this hatred which gave the
impulse to his efforts to cultivate the crew, to breed discontent and to bring
matters to a point that would end in the Captain’s destruction.
He had, it is true, little success; nevertheless he persisted. The one man
aboard who listened to him willingly was Spiess, him whom Black Pawl
had struck that day they took the missionary and the girl aboard. This Spiess
was, aside from Red Pawl, the only man aboard who had not a secret
sympathy for the tragedy plain upon the Captain’s face. He hated Black
Pawl with the hatred of the weak for the strong; and the Captain saw this,
and took a mocking delight in nagging Spiess, and bullying him, and
driving him toward the point of open strife.
This was near, one day, when Black Pawl stepped down from the quarter
and started toward the waist of the schooner. Spiess was on his knees,
scrubbing the deck. The Captain, as he passed, kicked out at the man, and
Spiess was tumbled forward on his face, while Black Pawl laughed. “Keep
out o’ the path, Spiess,” the Captain warned him.
Spiess got up lumberingly, and looked around. Red Pawl was on the
quarter, and Spiess caught his eye. Beyond Red were Dan Darrin and the
girl. These two were much together as time passed; but Spiess saw only Red
Pawl, and read, perhaps, encouragement in his eye. For he turned and
rushed the Captain with the blind ferocity of a bull.
Black Pawl’s face set grimly as the man charged; and he met Spiess with
an open-handed blow on one cheek, and then on the other, that brought the
seaman up all standing and trembling with the dizzy nausea the jarring
blows induced. While he stood thus, helpless, Black Pawl struck out like the
kick of a mule and Spiess went spinning and teetering across the deck till he
came to the opposite rail, where he collapsed.
As Spiess lifted his head, Black Pawl laughed and said: “Bring better
than your fists, next time, Spiess.”
The man muttered under his breath: “Aye, I will.” And Black Pawl
nodded cheerfully, and forgot his errand in the waist and returned to the
quarter again. There Red Pawl, openly rebellious, warned him:
“I tell you, keep your hands off the men of my boat, sir.”
“Fiddle!” grinned his father. “Teach your men manners, boy.” And he
passed Red and joined the girl. She had watched, she was watching now,
with a white, still face. Black Pawl felt a curious necessity of apologizing to
her for what he had done. But he did not; for it was not the nature of the
man. He challenged her instead. “One way of handling that like of man,
Ruth,” he said.
She replied boldly: “A bad way, Cap’n Pawl.”
He laughed at that, and touched her under the chin, lightly. “Now, now!
It serves.”
She felt that she ought to condemn him, but she could not. The spell of
the man was upon her, as it was upon the others. She liked him, could not
forbear liking him, no matter what he might do. There was charm in him;
and there was, for all his strength and pride of strength, a weakness that
appealed to the mother heart of her. She was sorry for him, without
knowing why. Indeed she did not even know she was sorry for him; she
only knew she liked him, whatever he might do. So in spite of herself she
found she must smile at him now. He said, catching the smile: “So, that’s
better.”
“You’ll find the men don’t mind,” Dan Darrin had told her one day.
“They take it as a part of the game; and there never was a crew that would
stick closer in trouble.”
She nodded, and murmured thoughtfully: “I can believe that men would
stick with you.”
He looked forward along the length of his ship, an uninvited wistfulness
in eye and curve of lip. “Aye, Ruth, they do,” he said. Then, with his
mirthless laugh, he added: “Lord knows why!”
She wondered, when she was alone, why she felt so drawn to the man.
He personified, she thought, those brutalities which she should condemn;
yet she liked him, admired him—and something more. There was a
tenderness in her for Black Pawl that she could neither define nor deny. It
increased her wonder, even frightened her a little. She told the old
missionary of this; and he explained:
“There’s fundamental good in him; that is all. In spite of himself, Black
Pawl is a fine, good man.”
When she and Darrin were together, she made him tell her about Black
Pawl; and nothing more delighted Darrin. For he loved Black Pawl; and the
man he painted for the girl was of heroic proportions and Viking strength,
and the stories he told of his exploits were like legends. Ruth asked him,
one day, what Black Pawl’s name had been, and Dan told her. “He was
christened Dan; and his son too,” he said.
She smiled with surprise. “Three of you Dans about the Deborah; and all
officers!” Her eyes clouded thoughtfully, and she fell silent. She
remembered a thing her mother had once said to her. “Trust a man named
Dan,” her mother had said. “They’re good men, Ruth. It goes with the
name.”
She had wondered, then, whether her father had been named Dan, and
asked her mother. The woman shivered faintly, and said: “No; Michael he
was—Michael Lytton, Ruth. Never forget that name.”
Her mother had told her very little about this man who had been her
father. He had died, she said, when Ruth was still a baby. Thought of him
came to her now; then she put the thought aside and fell to talking to Dan
Darrin again, and their talk ran on and on.
“Trust a man named Dan,” her mother had said; and she had trusted and
liked Dan Darrin from the beginning. She was a girl; a girl’s fancies run
very tenderly on such things as names.
Yet she had not at all the same feeling toward Red Pawl, even though his
name were also Dan. She disliked him; and his insistent companionship
annoyed her. Sometimes she was hard put to be rid of him.
Black Pawl perceived this, one morning when she turned away from the
mate with hot cheeks and hurried below; and his eyes, as he looked on his
son thereafter, were lowering.
But Red Pawl did not see. He was looking toward the cabin companion,
down which the girl had disappeared.
 CHAPTER V

T HE grim story which the missionary had heard from Black Pawl stayed
in his mind; he could not put it aside. He thought upon it constantly,
wondering, seeking, puzzling for the key.
He hesitated to speak of it again to Black Pawl. Since that night of
confidences the Captain had avoided him, with something shame-faced in
his manner, as if he regretted having spoken. The man of the church was not
one to harass another; he knew Black Pawl must hate to think or speak of
that which had passed. But the missionary’s mind dwelt on it constantly; he
watched Black Pawl, and pondered.
There is a certain comfort and solace in talking of our own miseries. It is
as though, by revealing them to others, we shift the burden of the load from
our own shoulders. Black Pawl, until he spoke to the missionary, had never
tasted this measure of comfort; and having tasted, it was inevitable, finally,
that he should seek it again. The missionary understood this, as he
considered the matter; and so he waited with some patience, and in the end,
as he expected, Black Pawl brought up the tale once more.
“I’ve been wondering, Father,” he said with a mockery of respect in his
tones, “just what you meant by saying you pitied me for what must surely
come.”
The missionary did not answer at once; and when he did, it was with
another question. “Black Pawl,” he said, “are you sure your wife and your
child are dead?”
The Captain laughed bitterly. “Sure.”
“You told me the—evil men—denied the thing.”
“At first, yes,” said Black Pawl. “But at the last, just before I broke his
neck, seeking to save the worthless life in him, the chief of them admitted
the whole.”
The missionary considered, eyes afar with his thoughts. “Was there any
way,” he asked, “by which you might have known them, if you had ever
found the two? Not your wife only, but—your daughter.”
 “Aye,” said Black Pawl. “I would know.” His voice was dead in his
throat.
“But you never saw the child.”
“No.”
“How could you know?”
The Captain flung about, and asked harshly: “Should I not know my
own?”
There was a gentle persistence in the missionary. He ignored the rebuff.
“Cap’n Pawl,” he said, “there are strange chances in this world. It is
impossible ever to be sure.”
“It is not impossible,” said the Captain. “For I am sure.”
“That dying man may have lied.”
Black Pawl threw back his head. “Father,” he said, “I thought of that. I
called him a liar. And he showed me a drawer hidden in the cabin of their
filthy schooner; and from the drawer he picked out for me a wedding-ring. I
knew it. So was I sure.”
“So—the wedding-ring.” It was as though the missionary spoke to
himself; then he asked: “Have you the ring?”
“Aye,” answered Black Pawl.
The man of the church considered a moment.
“You gave her other—jewels, I have no doubt,” he suggested. “Did this
man have them as well?”
Black Pawl shook his head. “She was not one for such baubles. There
was only a little locket. When I left her, at the last, with our son, we made a
daguerreotype of him, that she might wear it in this locket about her throat.
It was not worth the stealing, or it was lost before the end. At least, this man
had it not.”
“You asked him for it?”
“No. When he showed me the wedding-ring, he was in five seconds of
death.”
“What was that locket like?” the missionary pursued.
But Black Pawl could endure no more. “Man,” he cried, “have done!”
His voice broke with a laugh. “This digging in dead years is fool’s work,
Father,” he said. “Have done with it, for good and all.”
 For a space of minutes the missionary stood musing, while Black Pawl
paced the deck behind him, now and again roaring orders to laggers
amidships. In the end he paused, then drew near the missionary again.
“Why do you pity me, Father?” he asked. “You’ve not told that.”
The calm eyes looked up at him; and the man of the church answered
steadily: “Because of the thing that is before you, Cap’n Pawl.”
Black Pawl laughed. “Aye, you said that. Prophesy, Father—prophesy!
What is before me?”
“You love your son?” asked the missionary. Black Pawl’s face twisted,
and he laughed again.
“Oh, aye!” he said.
“Because he is your son, blood of your blood,” the man of the church
defined. “But—you also hate your son.”
The Captain was smiling grimly. “Have it so. This is paradox, not
prophecy.”
“There is evil in him,” said the missionary. “The blood that you gave
him, the life you have shown him—these have bred evil in the man. And
you have justice in you; and because of that justice, you hate the evil in Red
Pawl. I pity you, Captain, because some day you must choose between the
blood-son whom you love and the evil son whom you hate. And that will
not be an easy choice.”
Black Pawl snapped his fingers. “Fiddle!” he exclaimed. “I’ve laid hands
on him as a boy; I can do it still. I can chastise, if there’s need.”
“Red Pawl is no longer a boy,” replied the missionary. “He is the worst
of you, alive before your eyes, my friend.”
“Well?” the Captain challenged. “Is it not something to see your sins so
plainly?”
The missionary hesitated; then he held out his hand and smiled.
“Captain,” he said, “you are a man, and my friend. Whether you believe in
their worth or no, you have my prayers.”
“They’ll do no harm, at the least,” answered Black Pawl; and a simple
and honest gratitude for this friendship was behind the mockery in his
tones.
 CHAPTER VI

O N the second day afterward, the Deborah ran into the fringes of bad
weather. In mid-morning the wind began to rise unpleasantly; the glass
was falling, and the skies were overcast. Black Pawl had been driving
the schooner under full canvas. He was a bold man without being a reckless
one, and when the signs turned against him, he ordered topsails furled and
reefs in fore and main. It was Dan Darrin’s watch on deck, and Dan went
forward to direct the work. Black Pawl was aft, with the old missionary.
The mate was below in his cabin, Ruth in hers.
When the work was under way, the Captain turned and said: “Best come
below, Father. This wind’s a rough one.”
The old missionary shook his head. His cheeks were ruddy with the
buffets of wind and spray, and his eyes were shining. “There’s still sap
enough in this old body of mine to like it,” he said.
Black Pawl laughed. Then he caught Dan Darrin’s eye and bade him
watch for a space. He meant to go below for his storm gear and return to
take the deck. It was in his mind to be no more than a minute below; but
when he dropped down the companion, the ship, and the brewing storm and
the sea were all forgotten in what he beheld.
The door of the girl’s cabin was open. Beyond this open doorway Ruth
was struggling in the arms of Red Pawl. She was fighting silently, pushing
at him with her hands against his breast. And Red was laughing, and
whispering to her.
At the sight Black Pawl felt something surge in his breast that he had not
known was there, a hot flood of passion and anger. For an instant he stood
quite still, choking against the beating of his own heart; and his face turned
black. The girl saw him, and called softly across the cabin:
“Cap’n Pawl—please.”
He had time to mark, even then, that her voice was level and unafraid.
As she spoke, Red Pawl turned his head, and over his shoulder beheld
his father. He loosed the girl, and turned, half crouching. He moved forward
two steps, to the cabin table, and rested his great hands on it, and gazed at
Black Pawl eye to eye.
 That instant the flood of passion in the Captain’s heart burst its bounds.
He leaped forward with the swift and silent ferocity of a beast; and at sight
of his convulsed face, the girl shuddered. But she held her ground in the
corner, watching. The cabin was so small that there was no room for any
maneuvering; the table in the center left only narrow ways about the sides.
It was like witnessing the battle of two lions in a pit.
Black Pawl, in his charge, seemed not to see the table. He struck it with
his thighs; and stout as it was, and secure as it was in its place upon the
floor, it was wrenched loose and flung against Red Pawl, bearing him back;
and for an instant he was pinned against the wall, the table against his legs,
his father’s huge knotted fists lashing at him.
Since Red was a child, Black Pawl had never struck him in anger. And
now, at those first blows, the son was whipped to a fury as fierce as that of
Black Pawl. He ducked, bent his back, and thrust the table from his knees;
he came on Black Pawl then, from the side, head down. He got his arms
about the other’s middle; their two bodies crashed down upon the table,
smashing it to splinters.
The sudden tumult in the cabin had brought the missionary and Dan
Darrin, running. Pinned in his son’s arms, Black Pawl saw them, and he
called in stern, sure tones:
“Dan, on deck! Take the ship. Father, stand away. I’ve a lesson to teach
here.”
Dan obeyed instantly; the missionary paused by the companion,
watching. Tighter Red Pawl’s arms wound about his father, as though he
would crush the older man.
Red was the stronger. He was built broad, built thick, built solid upon the
ground, whereas Black Pawl was lean and long. Nevertheless, Black Pawl
had more of the lore of rough and tumble; and through the years his
strength had ripened, not decayed. Held down now by the heavier man,
crushed in that viselike grip, he cooled to a deadly ferocity; then worked his
long arm up for a blow that, when it fell, rocked Red’s head upon his
shoulders. For an instant only the other’s muscles slacked, but the instant
was enough to let Black Pawl get his elbow beneath the other’s throat, and
thrust up and away. Red was finally forced to yield, for if he had not, his
head must have been torn from his shoulders. He writhed back, shifting to
obtain a fresh hold, and Black Pawl squirmed to one side, and to his feet,
and so was free. He stepped back, breathing deep into his strangled lungs;
instantly Red sprang to his feet, lowered his head and charged.
Black Pawl was too wise to send home a blow a-top that lowered head.
He had seen many an unwise man break a fist thus and lose thereby. As Red
came near, he stepped to one side with a lagging foot, and Red stumbled
over this foot, and went into the cabin wall with a crash that would have
stunned a weaker man. As he straightened, Black Pawl met him with a blow
full in the face that drove Red’s head back against the paneling. Then the
younger man ducked, and blocked with cunning elbows and shoulders
hunched high, and strove again to come to closer quarters.
Black Pawl was still too nimble for him. It was like a bullfight. Red was
the bull, and Black Pawl’s blows pricked him again and again as he charged
fruitlessly upon and past the older man. In the end, Red understood that
what he wished to do could not be done in this way; he must stand and
fight. And so he changed his tactics. Standing back, he took his ease and
caught his breath while Black Pawl pushed the fighting. Red was content to
guard, take what blows came, and wait till his strength was restored again.
When he was ready, he lifted his head and began.
In such fighting as this, Black Pawl had all the advantage; he was taller,
and swifter of foot, and he had three inches the reach of the other man. His
knuckles cut Red’s cheek, smashed Red’s mouth, beat a tattoo upon his face
that would have killed another man. As for Red, he did not strike for the
head. He was plugging at Black Pawl’s ribs, but Black Pawl’s fists had a
way of tapping Bed’s biceps or wrists in a fashion that took the strength
from these blows. Meanwhile, he landed almost at will upon his son; and
any one of a dozen blows he struck would have plunged a weaker man
swiftly into oblivion.
After a time this became plain to both of them. Red realized that Black
Pawl could not hurt him, that he could endure the worst the older man could
send; and Black Pawl knew this as quickly as his son. Nevertheless, he
would cut Red to pieces with his blows. The mate must weaken in the end.
He struck, and struck, and struck again.
Red lowered his head into the shelter of his left shoulder and rested his
right arm, fending with the left. And he began to wait, and wait, and watch
for the chance he sought. Soon or late, his father’s chin must come within
reach of that waiting fist. And when it did—
 His chance came quickly. He ducked a straightforward blow that slid
across his shoulder, and brought Black Pawl’s face within a few inches of
his own. Before the Captain could guard, Red’s right whipped up squarely
on the chin, a little to the left of the point, where the full jolt of it was
instantly communicated through jawbone and skull to those nerves which
bear to the muscles the messages of the brain. Black Pawl went spinning
backward, slack and weak and helpless; and Red gathered his breath and
leaped.
There was no more than a second’s space between Red’s blow and his
charge, but that second was long enough for the sickness to pass—long
enough for Black Pawl to gain control of his shaking body once more. Then
Red had him around the waist again; he felt his son’s hip thrust against his
thigh and knew what was coming—the throw for which there is no guard,
no defense except to yield to it. Black Pawl let himself go limply, but as his
feet left the floor, his hands reached out and got the grip he sought. His long
fingers closed on his son’s neck. He sank them home, pressing—pressing.
He was in the air, all his weight flying. Yet his hands still gripped the
other’s throat. So the momentum of his own throw dragged Red Pawl
forward, overbalancing him. He fell a-top Black Pawl in a rolling heap, and
Black Pawl’s thumbs sank in between the great muscles at the side of the
neck, and the gullet in front. Their paralyzing pressure stopped Red’s
breath, stopped the blood in the great arteries that feed the brain. He felt
insensibility enveloping him; then with a mighty effort he flung his elbow
into Black Pawl’s throat and broke the hold. For an instant again he was
free of that choking terror. They were grappling, entwined like snakes in a
knot upon the floor.
Black Pawl’s hand slid beneath his son’s arm; and with all his strength
he drove his thumb in against the tender flesh that covers the ribs at the
armpit. There is no more excruciating pain; Red Pawl screamed with it, and
fumbled frantically for his father’s wrist.
Instantly Black Pawl’s fingers found the other’s throat again; Red
slackened and choked, and was limp. Black Pawl shook him, once, and
twice; and then he flung him to one side, and rose upright, and stood gazing
down upon his prostrate son.
His shirt was torn away; his iron-gray hair was down about his eyes.
Blood smeared his shoulder and his mouth. Still he was an heroic and
unconquerable figure, strong and sure. The girl who had watched it all in
silence from the doorway now uttered a soft, almost breathless cry. Black
Pawl looked toward her, and laughed through his bloody lips, and then
looked down again upon his son, who was choking back to life. The
missionary had stood impassive by the companion throughout the fight,
watching the two men.
All three now watched the man on the floor. Red Pawl groaned and
gasped, and so at last could breathe again. He sat up weakly, supporting
himself on his arm. Black Pawl bent and lifted him with a hand upon his
collar; he slapped Red harshly on the cheek.
“On deck!” he said. “On deck with you. And sharp, now!”
With one murderous look at his father, Red Pawl turned and staggered to
the companion. Halfway up, he paused and looked again at the Captain
through level eyes. Black Pawl laughed and waved a careless hand. “Sharp,
there!” he said.
Red went up to the deck, disappearing from their sight. When he was
gone, his father glanced uncertainly around and began to tremble and sway
upon his feet. Then he sank softly to the floor, and leaning heavily against
the cabin wall, he closed his eyes.
The girl came running to him, sobbing; and when he opened his eyes and
saw her face bent above him, he smiled; the old mockery danced in his
eyes, and he flung an arm about her neck and drew her down and kissed her,
still laughing.
“I’ve earned that, haven’t I?” he challenged.
She crimsoned and into her eyes flashed a look of hurt and sorrow. The
old missionary turned from one to the other, but said nothing.
“Come, you don’t grudge that kiss?” Black Pawl demanded of her gayly.
She answered quietly: “I’d have—given it. I’m sorry that you took it so.”
“Then give it,” the Captain bade her.
And she bent and kissed him on the forehead, her hand upon his hair.
And the heart in his bosom leaped at the caress.
“Was not that a fight worth seeing, Ruth?” he cried. “Worth winning?”
“It was terrible,” she told him. “Oh, even though he is your son, I’m
afraid for you. There was death in his eyes, Cap’n Pawl.”
 At that the Captain laughed again, and stumbling to his feet, stood
swaying above them. “Fiddle!” he said. “He’s fanciful. But he’s not a man
to fear, not Red Pawl.”
The girl looked at the missionary, and saw her own fear mirrored in his
eyes, and something of sorrow as well. But she said no more.
 CHAPTER VII

A FTER the fight with his son, a change came over Cap’n Pawl, a change
which made the missionary uneasy.
Black Pawl said to him next day: “Well, Father, you were a true
prophet. The thing came about as you said. But you see, it is finished, with
no harm done after all.”
“It has come,” said the missionary. “But it is not finished.”
“You’re a persistent prophet, at least,” the Captain answered. “What
more will there be?”
The other replied: “Have you marked the mate’s fashion of whispering
among the crew?”
“Yes; Red was always a whisperer.”
“Is there no harm to be foreseen in that?”
Black Pawl chuckled and waved his hand. “I’m harsh with my men, but
they love me,” he boasted. “They even tell me what Red whispers to them.
Not one would listen to him.”
“Not one?” the missionary asked; and Black Pawl said again:
“Not one.”
He spoke surely. But there was doubt in him; there was a dreadful doubt
which he would not admit, but could not down. He had seen, as well as any
man, the blackness of Red’s heart in the man’s eye after their conflict. He
had seen the evil in the man; and because Red was his son, and because Red
was evil, Black Pawl’s heart was near the breaking-point.
He hid this, or sought to hide it, as he was accustomed to hide all the
tragedy in his life. He became more boisterous, more bold, more given to
the mockery of his laughter. A devil of recklessness came to life in him. The
native decency of him was drowned in the agony of Red’s self-betrayal.
Red was his son, his only blood in all the world; and if Red Pawl were
worthless, what was there left in life? What use in righteousness?
Hand in hand with this recklessness of despair, there was another and
uglier impulse stirring in him. There had never been for him but one