The thoughts of our young hero as he lay helpless, gagged and bound, were hardly of the most cheerful character. The blow had been so sudden, that he was quite unprepared for it. Added to this, his apprehensions were vague and indefinite. There seemed something mysterious about the manner in which he had been spirited away, and this thought increased his feeling of discomfort. A danger which can be measured and comprehended in its full extent may be boldly faced, however great, but when we are ignorant of its nature and extent that is not so easy.

Charlie understood as much as this, that it was the intention of Randall to carry him off to sea. But why he should have taken such pains to ensnare him, when there are always plenty of boys glad to obtain such a situation, he could not conceive.

Charlie was no coward. He was no stranger to the bold spirit of adventure by which boys of his age are apt to be animated. Indeed, under different circumstances, and if the arrangement had been of his own free choice, it is quite possible that he might have looked forward with pleasurable anticipations to the life that awaited him. But there was one thought uppermost in his mind that gave him no little pain and anxiety, the thought of his mother. He was her all. In the large and busy city she knew but very few; she had none whom she could call friends. Her hopes were all centred in him. Still farther, it was in a great measure owing to his activity and industry that she had been able to live with a degree of comfort, for though she was always at work, the avenues of industry open to women are few, and toil at the needle is so unsatisfactorily compensated that Charlie, though working fewer hours, was able to contribute considerably more than half of the sum required for their joint support.

How would his mother get along during his absence, the length of which he could not estimate? Would she suffer not only in mind but in bodily discomfort? Well he remembered how pleasantly the evenings had passed when they were together. Now there must be a long separation. Would he ever see his mother again? She would not be able to retain their present lodging, now that the entire rent would fall to her to pay. Perhaps when he did he should be unable to obtain any clew to her whereabouts. This was indeed a terrible thought to poor Charlie, who chafed like a caged lion in his confinement. He endeavored to unloose the cords which bound him, but with little prospect of success; for no one better than a sailor understands the art of tying a knot securely.

While Charlie was doing his utmost to free himself from the cords that bound him, having already removed the gag, he was startled by a low laugh of triumphant malice.

Looking up, he saw the mate, the author of all his misfortunes, watching him with great apparent enjoyment.

"Ah, Jack," he said, "I see you are hard at work. Work away. If you untie those knots you've got more skilful fingers than the one that tied them, that's all."

"Come and release me," said Charlie. "You have no right to keep me here."

"You are mistaken," said the mate, coolly. "I have the best of all rights."

"And what right is that?" demanded our hero.

"The right of power!" answered Randall. "Might makes right, perhaps you have heard."

"How long are you going to keep me here?" asked Charlie, after a pause.

"Till we get far enough out to sea to make it safe to release you."

Charlie kept silence. He felt that it would be useless to appeal to the mercy of the mate, who appeared bent upon carrying him away. He turned his face resolutely away from Randall, for whom he began to entertain a stronger feeling of dislike than he had supposed himself capable of feeling. Hitherto he had only been accustomed to an atmosphere of affection, and though he had met with some rebuffs in his daily search for employment, he could always return at night to a home and a mother, with whom he could forget whatever had been disagreeable during the day. Now his position was entirely changed. The only one he knew on board the vessel was one whom he had no reason to believe friendly, but very much the reverse.

By this time the noise upon deck, which he could hear plainly, had become greater and greater. He could hear frequent orders given by the captain, and also by the mate, who had now returned to his post.

Soon the vessel, which had been at rest, appeared to be moving. He could hear the plashing of the water against its sides. He felt that it was in motion, slow at first, but afterwards more rapid. He conjectured that the ship was being towed out to sea by a steam-tug.

He wished that at least he could get to a window, and catch a last glimpse of the land to which he was about to bid so unexpected a farewell. But this, tied hand and foot as he was, was impossible, and he felt that now it would do him no good even if he should succeed in breaking his bonds. Already they were speeding out to sea as fast as the tug could convey them. There was no redress or help for him beyond the limits of the vessel in which his tyrants exercised absolute control, for he felt well assured that Captain Brace was in league with the mate, or, at all events, would interpose his authority to support Randall in his plans.

So time sped on, the ship continuing all the while in steady motion.

At length the tug left them and returned to the city, leaving the vessel to shift for itself. Although Charlie could not see what was going on, he judged this from the noise and shouts of command given above, to which he listened with sharpened attention.

Charlie felt that with the departure of the steam-tug all possibility of escape had passed. The last link which had bound him to the shore had been snapped asunder.

While he was plunged in sorrowful thought he suddenly heard a step descending the stairs.

Thinking it was the mate, of whom he felt that he should see in future much more than he cared, he did not turn his head.

"Hallo, my lad," was the salutation of the new-comer, in a rough, but hearty voice, "how came you in this trim?"

It was not the mate's harsh voice. Quickly turning round, Charlie's eyes rested on the bronzed but good-humored face of Bill Sturdy, the stout sailor to whom reference has already been made. Whatever may be thought of physiognomy as an index of character, it is undeniable that we are either attracted to or repelled from certain faces.

Now the first sight of Bill Sturdy's honest and good-humored face seemed to Charlie like a ray of light in a dark place. He felt that he was a man to be trusted.

"Will you be a friend to me?" asked Charlie, with instinctive confidence.

"That I will, my lad," exclaimed Bill, with hearty emphasis; "but tell me who tied you up in this fashion?"

"His name is Randall, and I believe he is the mate."

"The lubberly rascal! And what did he do that for?"

"He entrapped me on board the vessel, and now he is carrying me out to sea, against my will."

"How came you in your sailor's rig?" asked Sturdy.

Charlie explained the trick which had been practised upon him, which Bill Sturdy denounced in good set terms, though possibly more strong than refined.

"He's a rascal; there ain't a doubt of that," said Bill. "I should like to overhaul him, and teach him better manners. As for you, my lad, I'm sorry for you. You've shipped for the v'y'ge, and there ain't any help for it, as I see. But you may depend upon one thing, old Bill Sturdy will look out for you, and will be your friend."

"Thank you," said our hero, feeling more cheerful and hopeful. It was something to have one friend on board.

"I mistrust there are some rascals aboard," muttered Bill to himself, as he went up on deck. "They'd better not interfere with me or that young lad!" and he extended his muscular arm with a sense of power.