The affair of the caricature was suffered to pass without the punishment of the guilty party. Had not Harry found some one to clear him of the charge, he would have fared badly from the captain’s brutality, increased by his unfounded dislike. But in Jack Rodman the offence was passed over. Probably the captain suspected that the caricature had been drawn with the object of getting our hero into trouble, and that no insult was intended to himself.

It became evident to all on board that Harry was an object of dislike to the captain. Brandon never spoke to him except in a rough voice and with lowering looks, and would gladly have shown his dislike actively, but for the restraining presence of Mr. Weldon, the supercargo, whose interest in our hero daily grew stronger.

As for Harry, he did his duty faithfully, as he had determined. His position was not to his liking, and he meant to escape from it whenever an opportunity offered; but, until that time came, he thought it best to give the captain no cause of complaint. He often wondered whether Captain Brandon had invited him on board with the intention of carrying him off to sea. On this point he could not satisfy himself; for, though it certainly looked like it, he could conceive of no motive which Brandon could have for so acting. He was, as he supposed, a total stranger to him until the day before the vessel sailed. He concluded, therefore, that his detention was only accidental, but that the captain did not feel sufficient interest in him to send him on shore in time.

But a short time afterwards he made a discovery which threw a new and perplexing light upon his abduction. He was sent down into the cabin one day on an errand. While there, he saw an open letter lying upon the floor. Picking it up, with the intention of placing it on the table, he happened to see his own name about the middle of the page. In his surprise he let his eye travel over the remainder of the letter. A light flashed upon him as he read, and, commencing at the beginning, he made himself acquainted with the whole letter. Then, because he did not dare to stay longer, he hurriedly thrust it into his pocket and went on deck.

That we may understand how far Harry was enlightened by its perusal, the letter is subjoined:—

This was the whole of the letter. It was not signed, from motives of prudence, no doubt, for otherwise Squire Turner would have placed himself in the power of Brandon. But Harry was not for a moment in doubt as to the name of the writer. He was familiar with the squire’s handwriting, if there had not been internal evidence to show that it was written by him.

But the discovery was far from clearing up the mystery. Why should Squire Turner enter into a plot to kidnap him? Was it because Harry had been a witness of the fire, and by his testimony could prevent the squire from receiving his insurance money? This was possible. At any rate Harry could think of nothing else. Had he understood the further motives which prompted Squire Turner’s action, he would have felt still more anxious than at present. Now he felt an eager wish to be at home, and confront the squire with the evidence he had obtained, as well as to prevent his obtaining money from the insurance company on false pretences, as he felt persuaded that he intended to do.

Our hero resolved to keep the letter he had accidentally discovered. It was not his, but its connection with him justified him, he thought, in retaining it. As he might be suspected of having it, he hid it away, not wishing to have it found upon him in the event of a search. But Captain Brandon did not appear to miss it. At any rate, he made no inquiry after it, and very probably supposed that it was still in his possession.

Harry deliberated whether he should impart to any one the information he had obtained. Tom Patch was an honest fellow and a good friend, but he was an illiterate sailor, and, though he could give sympathy, his advice would be of little service. Mr. Weldon, on the other hand, had not only shown himself a friend, but he was a gentleman of education and judgment. Harry felt that he would be a safe counsellor. Accordingly, one day when a good opportunity offered, he related to the supercargo the discovery he had made, with enough of his home life to make the account intelligible.

The young man listened in surprise.

“This is a strange story, Harry,” he said.

“Yes, sir, it is strange,” said our hero. “I could not have believed that Squire Turner would have treated me so meanly.”

“Your having seen him set fire to his house makes it less strange. He could not draw the insurance money if you chose to interfere.”

“I should have interfered,” said Harry, promptly.

“You would have been right in doing so. It appears, then, that he was interested to the amount of two thousand dollars in getting you out of the way.”

“Yes, sir,” said our hero; “but there is one thing I can’t understand.”

“What is it?”

“He must have known that I would come back from the voyage, and that I should learn whether he had drawn the money. It would not be too late then to expose him.”

“That is true,” said the young man, thoughtfully.

“Perhaps,” he said, after a little thought, fixing his eyes seriously upon Harry, “he does not expect you to come back at all.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Weldon?”

“I mean this; he has already shown himself capable of one crime—he may be capable of another. Evidently he has some secret understanding with the captain, and he may have given him secret instructions, of which we are not aware.”

“You don’t think he would take my life?” said Harry, his brown cheek turning a little pale at the thought.

“I hope not. He might, however, leave you by design on some lonely island in the sea. At any rate, it will be necessary to be on your guard. I am very glad you have told me what you have found out. I will also be on the lookout, and if I find any danger menacing you I will let you know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Weldon,” said Harry, gratefully; “I am very glad to have so good a friend.”

“You may depend on my friendship with confidence,” said the supercargo, taking the boy’s hand kindly. “I feel an interest in you, and no harm shall come to you if I can help it.”

The suggestion of Mr. Weldon that possibly Squire Turner did not expect him to return was a startling one to our hero. He had lamented his necessary absence for a year or more from home, and oftentimes pictured to himself with pain the grief of his mother when she learned of his mysterious disappearance. He was afraid that she would suffer from narrow means while he was away. Still he knew that she could raise money on the house by a further mortgage, enough probably to carry her through two years, even if she did not earn anything during this period. It would be a great pity to have her little property so sacrificed; but Harry was hopeful, and meant when he returned to make up to her for her losses. He would be home in eighteen months, as he judged from inquiries made of the sailors; at any rate in less than two years, and this thought had sustained him in his temporary separation. But now for the first time the thought came to him that he might be prevented from returning at all. Suppose it should prove true, as the supercargo suggested, that Captain Brandon should leave him on some lonely island in the ocean, there to starve, or to drag out a solitary and wretched existence, perhaps for years? This was terrible to think of, yet he had heard and read of such cases. He resolved not to be persuaded to land anywhere, except at the termination of the voyage, and thus avoid danger.

But, as often happens, the danger assumed a different shape from what he anticipated. To explain the evil which befell him, it is necessary to say that Jack Rodman had not forgiven our hero for the signal and public manner in which he had defeated him in the contest already recorded. He cherished a malignant hatred against Harry, and longed to do him some harm. He was bound to get even with him, so he said to himself. It was some time before an opportunity presented itself. But at length one came.

Harry was leaning over the side one evening, thinking over his position, when Jack Rodman’s attention was drawn to him. He looked around him hurriedly. Nobody was looking. A terrible impulse seized him. He crept stealthily behind Harry, lifted him from his feet, and in an instant threw him into the sea.

“Help!” exclaimed Harry, in loud, clear tones.

Tom Patch heard, and recognized the voice. Instantly he threw a plank overboard, calling out:—

“Keep up, my lad, and we’ll help you.”

The captain was just coming out of the cabin. Tom ran up to him, and hurriedly announced that Harry had fallen overboard.

“If he’s careless enough to fall overboard, let him take care of himself,” said the captain, coolly.

“Won’t you put out a boat?” asked Tom, anxiously.

The only answer was an oath, and a savage command to go about his business.

All the while valuable time was being lost. Harry was by this time some distance astern. He had succeeded in reaching the plank, and was clinging to it.

“Poor lad!” said Tom Patch, brushing a tear from his eyes with his large and horny hand, and he breathed an anathema against the captain, which I cannot record. “He’s bound for Davy Jones’s locker, as sure as my name’s Tom.”

There seemed little chance for our hero. With nothing but a plank between him and immediate destruction, alone in the vast ocean, without a particle of food or drink to sustain him, the question of “sink or swim” seemed little in doubt.