The hue and cry rose louder and louder as the fugitives ran laboriously toward the jungle brake. Lights could be seen; a signal-gun was fired, and the little colony was up in arms, ready to hunt down the escaped criminals, lest they should take to the forest, from whence, after a time, they would issue forth as wild beasts. But in the darkness of that tropic night there would have been little danger of recapture but for those sounds which told the evading men that their greatest enemies were now afoot—those who could hunt them down without light or sight, but would track them by scent with the greatest ease.

“Hark at that, now!” said the Irishman, as he ran on, step by step with the escaping prisoners. “D’ye hear the dogs giving tongue? They haven’t got the scent right yet, me boys; but they’ll have it soon. G’long; ye don’t half run.”

He ceased speaking for a few moments, and then continued apologetically—

“Faix, and it’s meself forgot. Ye’ve got the bilboes an, and they make it bad running. There, d’ye hear the dogs? It’s like having the hounds back at home, before I ’listed for a soger, and got sent out here. Run, ye divils, run! But, I say: if we’re tuk, and it comes to a thrial—court martial, ye know—be fair to a boy, now, won’t ye?”

“What do you mean?” said Bart, gruffly.

“Remimber that it was you made me desart. I couldn’t help meself, could I?”

Bart did not answer, but kept on with his steady, lumbering trot, which was the more laborious to him from the shortness of his fetters making it difficult to him to keep up with his companions.

“Bedad, they’re well on the scent!” said the Irishman, gazing back as he ran; “and it’ll not be long before they’re up with us. What’ll we do at all?”

“Do?” said Bart, gruffly; “leave you to tell that cursed brute that we sha’n’t want his whip any more; for—”

“Hush!” cried Abel,

“Ay, I forgot,” said Bart, nodding his head.

“We’ll have to get up the trees before the dogs reach us, or it’ll be awkward for the whole three. They’ll forget to respect the king’s uniform in the dark. It’s no good, my lads; they’ll take us, and ye’ve had all your throuble for nothing. Faix, and I’m sorry for ye, whativer ye did, for it’s a dog’s life ye lead.”

“Silence, man,” whispered Abel. “Do you want the dogs to be on us?”

“Divil a bit, sor; but they’ll be down on us soon widout hearing us talk. Murther, but it’s a powerful shensh of shmell they have. How they are coming on!”

It was quite true. The dogs were after them with unerring scent, and but for the fact that they were in leashes so that those who held them back might be able to keep up, they would have soon overtaken the fugitives. They were at no great distance as it was, and their baying, the encouraging shouts of their holders, and the sight of the lanterns rising and falling in the darkness, helped the Irishman’s words to send despair into the fugitives’ hearts.

“Sure, and we’re in the coffee-tree gyarden!” said the sentry. “Oi know it by the little bits of bushes all in rows. Thin the wood isn’t far, and we’ll get up a tree before the bastes of dogs come up to us. Hark at the onnat’ral bastes; sure, it’s supper they think they’re going to have. Maybe they’d like to taste a Kelly.”

“Now, Bart, lad, quick! Shall we let him go?” cried Abel.

“And is it let me go?” said the sentry, excitedly. “You’d niver be such cowards. Let the dogs have fair-play.”

“Silence!” cried Abel, imperatively.

“Sure it’s meself that’s the most silent.”

“Abel!—Bart! This way!”

“To the left, lad,” cried Bart, for they had now reached the edge of the jungle; and just as despair was filling their breasts, for Mary made no sign, her voice proved her fidelity by its being heard some distance to their left.

“Thin it’s all right,” said Dinny, excitedly. “Ye’ve got friends waiting?”

“Silence, I say!” cried Abel.

“Sure, and I’ll hold my pace, and good luck to ye, for I heard the boy’s spache, and maybe he has a boat waiting down by the wather.”

“Will you be silent, man?” cried Abel, fiercely, as the baying of the dogs increased. “Bart, we must not go on, for it would be bringing the dogs upon someone else.”

“Not it,” said Dinny; “ye’ve plenty of time yet, maybe. Go along, me boys, and bad luck to the dogs, for they’ll be disappointed afther all!”

Abel gave a low, peculiar whistle like a sea-bird’s cry, and it was answered not twenty yards away.

“Here, quick!” came in the well-known voice; “I’m here. Jump; never mind the mud!”

They all jumped together, to find themselves in a miry place where Mary was waiting.

“This way,” she said. “I can guide you direct to the boat. Quick, or the dogs will be upon us!”

“Well done, boy!” cried Dinny. “That’s good. I knew there was a boat.”

“And now,” cried Abel, turning upon him, “off with that pouch and belt.”

“Certainly, sor,” replied Dinny, slipping off and handing his cartridge-bag.

“Now, back to your friends, and tell them we’re gone.”

“My friends!” cried Dinny. “Sure, there isn’t a friend among them.”

“Stop back, then, whoever they are.”

“But the dogs, sor!”

“Curse the dogs. Back, I say!”

“But, sor, they’re the most savage of bastes. They won’t listen to anny explanation, but pull a man down before he has time to say, Heaven presarve us!”

“Silence, and go!”

“Nay, sor, ye’ll tak’ me wid ye now? Quick! ye’re losing time.”

“Let him come, Abel,” whispered Mary.

“That’s well spoken, young sor. And if we’re to have whole shkins, let’s be getting on.”

The advice was excellent, for the sounds of pursuit were close at hand, and the dogs were baying as if they heard as well as scented their prey.

“All’s ready,” whispered Mary. “I heard the shots, and knew you were coming. Abel, your hand. Join hands all.”

Abel caught at that of his sister, at the same time extending his own, which was taken by Bart, and he in turn, almost involuntarily, held out his to Dinny.

In this order they passed rapidly through the jungle, along a beaten track formed by the animals which frequented the place, and one which during her long, patient watches had become perfectly familiar to Mary Dell, who threaded it with ease.

It was one wild excitement, for the dogs were now growing furious. The scent was hot for them, and ere the fleeing party had reached the creek the fierce brutes had gained the edge of the jungle, through which they dragged their keepers, who mingled words of encouragement with oaths and curses as they were brought into contact with the tangled growth.

But all the same the hunt was hot, and in spite of Mary’s foresight and the manner in which she guided her friends, the dogs were nearly upon them as the boat was reached.

“In first,” whispered Abel; but Mary protested and would have hung back had not Bart lifted her bodily in after wading into the mud, where he stood and held the side of the frail canoe.

“Now, Abe,” he whispered.

“I can hear them,” shouted a voice. “Loose the dogs. Seize ’em, boys, seize ’em!”

“Here, room for me?” whispered Dinny.

“No,” cried Abel, fiercely. “Keep back!”

“I’m coming wid you,” cried Dinny.

Bart caught him by the shoulder.

“No, no, my lad, we’re escaping; this is no place for you.”

“Be my sowl, this isn’t,” said Dinny, shaking himself free, and seizing the side of the boat he began to wade and thrust her from the shore. “In with you too.”

Bart said no more, but followed the Irishman’s example, and together they waded on into the muddy creek, only to get a few yards from the shore, as with a furious rush the dogs crushed through the canes and reeds, to stop, breast-deep, barking savagely.

“Purty creatures!” whispered Dinny. “Sure, and we musn’t get in yet, or, if we do, it must be together. Push her out.”

“Halt, there!” cried a loud voice, suddenly. “I have you. Down, dogs! Do you hear! Halt!”

“Kape on,” whispered Dinny.

“Make ready!” cried the same voice. “Present! Will you surrender?”

“Lie down, me darlins,” whispered Dinny. “Divil a bit can they see where to shoot.”

“Fire!” cried the same voice, and a dozen flashes of light blazed out of the cane-brake. There was a roar that seemed deafening, and the darkness was once more opaque.

“Anybody hit?” whispered Dinny. “Silence gives consint,” he added to himself. “Push along, and as soon as it’s deep enough we’ll get in. Ugh! bedad, it’s up to me chin all at wanst,” he muttered. “Can you give a boy a hand?”

A hand caught his wrist, and he was helped over the stern of the boat, dripping and panting, as Bart scrambled in simultaneously, and though the little vessel threatened to overset, it held firm.

Then another volley was fired, for the bullets to go bursting through the canes, but over the fugitives’ heads, and once more darkness reigned over the hurried buzz of voices and the furious baying of the dogs.

Order after order came from the soft marshy land at the edge of the creek, mingled with shouts at the dogs, which were now loose, and barking and yelping as they ran here and there at the side of the water, where their splashing could be heard by those in the boat, which was being propelled slowly and cautiously by Mary, who knelt in the prow and thrust a pole she carried down in the mud.

The baying of the dogs as they kept making rushes through the canes gave the pursuers some clue as to where the fugitives would be; and from time to time, after a command given to the escaping men to surrender, a volley was fired, the bright flashes from the muskets cutting the darkness, and showing where their danger lay.

It was slow work for both parties, the pursuers having to force their way painfully through the tangled growth, while the heavily-laden boat had to be propelled through what was in places little more than liquid mud full of fibrous vegetation, and what had been but a light task to Mary when she was alone, proved to be almost beyond her strength with so heavy a load.

“Are you going right?” whispered Abel at last, for they were hardly moving, and it seemed to him that they were running right in among the growth that whispered and creaked against the boat.

“Yes; be patient,” was the stern reply.

“I can see them. They’re wading yonder in the mud up to their waists.”

“There they are,” came from apparently close at hand, and the dogs burst out more furiously than ever. “Now, then, you scoundrels, we can see you. Give up.”

“Faith, and it’s a cat he is,” whispered Dinny. “What a foine senthry he’d make for night duty!”

“Surrender!” shouted the same voice, “or we’ll blow you out of the water.”

“The ugly, yellow-faced divil!” muttered Dinny.

“Now, then, come ashore, and I will not be so severe with you.”

“Hark at that, now,” whispered Dinny to Bart. “It’s a baby he thinks ye, afther all.”

“Curse them! Fire then, sergeant,” cried the overseer. “No mercy now.”

“Down, dogs!” roared the man again. “Quick, there—fire!”

A rattling volley from close at hand rang out, and it was followed by utter silence, as if those ashore were listening.

“Curse your stupid fellows, sergeant! Why don’t you make them fire lower?”

“If they fired lower, we should have hit the dogs, sir.”

“Hang the dogs! I wanted you to hit the men. Now, then, fire again.”

There was the rattling noise of the ramrods in the barrels as the men loaded, and once more silence. The sinuous nature of the muddy creek had brought the fugitives terribly near to the dense brake; but Mary’s pole remained perfectly motionless, and there was nothing to be done but wait till the party moved on, when there would be a chance to get lower down towards the open sea; while, after the next quarter of a mile, the creek opened out into quite a little estuary dotted by sandbanks and islets of bamboos and palms.

“Now I have them!” cried the overseer, suddenly. “Bring a gun, sergeant. I can pick off that fellow easily.”

“Faith, and what a foine liar he would make wid a little training,” whispered Dinny. “Why, I can’t even see my hand before me face.”

“Hush,” whispered Bart, and then he half started up in the boat, for there was a sudden splashing, a shout, and the piteous yelping and baying of a dog, which was taken up in chorus by the others present.

Yelp—bark—howl, accompanied by the splashing and beating of water, and rustling of reeds and canes, and then a choking, suffocating sound, as of some animal being dragged under water, after which the dogs whined and seemed to be scuffling away.

“What’s the matter with the dogs?” said the overseer.

“One of those beasts of alligators dragged the poor brute down,” said the sergeant. “It struck me with its tail.”

There was a rushing, scuffling noise here, and the heavy trampling of people among the tangled growth, growing more distant moment by moment, in the midst of which Mary began to use her pole, and the boat glided on through the thick, half-liquid mud.

“Sure, an’ it’s plisant,” said Dinny, coolly; “the dogs on one side, and the crockidills on the other. It isn’t at all a tempting spot for a bathe; but I’ve got to have a dip as soon as we get out of this into the sea.”

“What for?” whispered Bart.

“Bekase I’m wet with fresh wather and mud, and I’m a man who likes a little salt outside as well at in. It kapes off the ugly fayvers of the place. Do you want me to catch a cowld?”

“Silence, there!” said Mary, gruffly, from her place in the prow; and for quite an hour she toiled on through the intense darkness, guiding the boat from the tangle of weedy growth and cane into winding canal-like portions of the lagoon, where every now and then they disturbed some great reptile, which plunged into deeper water with a loud splash, or wallowed farther among the half-liquid mud.

The sounds ashore grew distant, the firing had ceased; and, feeling safer, the little party began to converse in a low tone, all save Dinny, whose deep, regular breathing told that he had fallen fast asleep in happy carelessness of any risk that he might run.

“How came you out here?” said Bart from his seat, after another vain effort to take Mary’s place.

“Ship,” she said laconically, and with a hoarse laugh.

“But who gave you a passage?” said Abel.

“Gave? No one,” she said, speaking in quite a rough tone of voice. “How could I find friends who would give! I worked my way out.”

“Oh,” said Bart; and he sat back, thinking and listening as the pole kept falling in the water with a rhythmic splash, and the brother and sister carried on a conversation in a low tone.

“I suppose we are safe now,” said Mary. “They never saw the boat, and they would think you are hiding somewhere in the woods.”

“Yes; and because they don’t find us, they’ll think the alligators have pulled us down,” replied Abel. “Where are we going?”

“To get right down to the mouth of this creek, and round the shore. There are plenty of hiding-places along the coast. Inlets and islands, with the trees growing to the edge of the sea.”

“And what then?” said Abel.

“What then?” said Mary, in a half wondering tone.

“Yes; where shall we go?”

There was an interval of silence, during which the boat glided on in the darkness, which seemed to be quite opaque.

“I had not thought of that,” said Mary, in the same short, rough voice which she seemed to have adopted. “I only thought of finding you, Abel, and when I had found you, of helping you to escape.”

“She never thought of me,” muttered Bart, with a sigh.

“Good girl,” said Abel, tenderly.

“Hush! Don’t say that,” she cried shortly. “Who is this man with you?” she whispered then.

“One of the sentries.”

“Why did you bring him?”

“We were obliged to bring him, or—”

“Kill him?” said Mary, hoarsely, for her brother did not end his sentence.

“Yes.”

“You must set him ashore, of course.”

“Yes, of course. And then?”

“I don’t know, Abel. I wanted to help you to escape, and you have escaped. You must do the rest.”

“You’re a brave, true girl,” said Abel, enthusiastically; but he was again checked shortly.

“Don’t say that,” cried Mary, in an angry tone.

“What’s she mean?” thought Bart; and he lay back wondering, while the boat glided on, and there was a long pause, for Abel ceased speaking, and when his deep breathing took Bart’s attention and he leaned forward and touched him there was no response.

“Why, he’s fallen asleep, Mary!” said Bart, in a whisper.

“Hush, Bart don’t call me that!” came from the prow.

“All right, my lass!” said the rough fellow. “I’ll do anything you tells me.”

“Then don’t say ‘my lass’ to me.”

“I won’t if you don’t wish it,” growled Bart. “Here, let me pole her along now.”

“No; sit still. Is that man asleep?”

“Yes; can’t you hear? He’s fagged out like poor old Abel. But let me pole the boat.”

“No; she’ll drift now with the current and we shall be carried out to sea. If the people yonder saw us then they would not know who was in the boat. You have escaped, Bart?”

“Ay, we’ve escaped, my—”

“Hush, I say!” cried Mary, imperiously; and Bart, feeling puzzled, rubbed one ear and sat gazing straight before him into the darkness where he knew the girl to be, his imagination filing up the blanks, till he seemed to see her standing up in the boat, with a red worsted cap perched jauntily upon her raven-black hair, and a tight blue-knitted jacket above her linsey-woolsey skirt, just as he had seen her hundreds of times in her father’s, and then in Abel’s boat at home on the Devon shore.

All at once Bart Wrigley opened his eyes and stared. Had he been asleep and dreamed that he and Abel had escaped, and then that he was in the Dell’s boat, with Mary poling it along?

What could it all mean? He was in a boat, and behind him lay back the soldier with his mouth open, sleeping heavily. On his left was Abel Dell, also sleeping as a man sleeps who is utterly exhausted by some terrible exertion. But that was not the Devon coast upon which the sun was shedding its early morning rays. Dense belts of mangrove did not spread their muddy roots like intricate rustic scaffoldings on southern English shores, and there were no clusters of alligators lying here and there among the mud and ooze.

It was true enough. They did escape in the night, and Mary had been there ready to help them with a boat; but where was she now? and who was this sturdy youth in loose petticoat-canvas trousers, and heavy fisherman’s boots?

Bart stared till his eyes showed a ring of white about their pupils, and his mouth opened roundly in unison for a time. Then eyes and mouth closed tightly, and wrinkles appeared all over his face, as he softly shook all over, and then, after glancing at Abel and the Irish soldier, he uttered a low—

“Haw, haw!”

The figure in the boat swung round and faced him sharply, glancing at the two sleeping men, and holding up a roughened brown hand to command silence.

“All right,” said Bart, half-choking with mirth; and then, “Oh, I say, my lass, you do look rum in them big boots!”

“Silence, idiot!” she whispered, sharply. “Do you want that strange man to know?”

“Nay, not I,” said Bart, shortly, as he too glanced at Dinny. “But I say, you do look rum.”

“Bart,” whispered Mary, fiercely, and her eyes flashed with indignant anger, “is this a time to fool?”

“Nay, my lass, nay,” he said, becoming sober on the instant, “But you do look so rum. I say, though,” he cried, sharply, “what’s gone of all your beautiful long hair?”

“Fire,” said Mary, coldly.

“Fire! what!—you’ve cut it off and burnt it?” Mary nodded.

“Oh!” ejaculated Bart, and it sounded a groan.

“Could girl with long hair have worked her passage out here as a sailor-boy, and have come into that cane-brake and saved you two?” said Mary, sharply; and as Bart sat staring at her with dilated eyes once more, she bent down after gazing at Dinny, still soundly sleeping, and laid her hand with a firm grip on her brother’s shoulder.

He started into wakefulness on the instant, and gazed without recognition in the face leaning over him.

“Don’t you know me, Abel?” said Mary, sadly.

“You, Mary?—dressed like this!”

He started up angrily, his face flushing as hers had flushed, and his look darkened into a scowl.

“What else could I do?” she said, repeating her defence as she had pleaded to Bart. Then, as if her spirit rebelled against his anger, her eyes flashed with indignation, and she exclaimed hoarsely, “Well, I have saved you, and if you have done with me—there is the sea!”

“But you—dressed as a boy!” said Abel.

“Hush! Do you want that man to know?” whispered Mary, hoarsely. “My brother was unjustly punished and sent out here to die in prison, while I, a helpless girl, might have starved at home, or been hunted down by that devil who called himself a man? What could I do?”

“But you worked your passage out here as a sailor?” whispered Abel.

“Ay, and she could do it, too—as good a sailor as ever took in sail; and, Mary, lass, I asks your pardon for laughing; and if I wasn’t such a big ugly chap, I could lie down there and cry.”

He held out his great coarse hand, in which Mary placed hers to return his honest clasp, and her eyes smiled for a moment into his, while Abel sat frowning and biting his lips as he glanced at Dinny.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, hesitatingly. “It seems—”

“Heigh—ho—ho! Oh, dear me!” cried Dinny, opening his eyes suddenly, making Mary start and Abel mutter a curse.

There was only one of the two equal to the emergency, and that was Bart, who gave his knee a sounding slap and cried aloud—

“Jack Dell, my lad, you’ve behaved like a trump, and got us away splendid. I on’y wish, Abel, I had such a brother. Hallo, soger, where shall we set you ashore?”

“Set me ashore?” said the Irishman, nodding at Mary; “what for?”

“What for?” cried Bart. “To go back.”

“I’m not going back,” said the Irishman, laughing. “Sure, I want a change.”

“Change!” cried Abel. “You can’t go with us.”

“Sure, and you forced me to come, and ye wouldn’t behave so dirthily as to send me back?”

“But we’re escaping,” said Bart.

“Sure, and I’ll escape too,” said Dinny, smiling. “It’s moighty dull work stopping there.”

“But you’re a soldier,” said Abel.

“To be sure I am—a sowldier of fortune.”

“You’ll be a deserter if you stop with us,” growled Bart.

“The divil a bit! Ye made me a prishner, and I couldn’t help meself.”

“Why, I wanted you to go back last night!” growled Bart.

“To be ate up entoirely by the ugly bastes of dogs! Thank ye kindly, sor, I’d rather not.”

Dinny looked at Mary and gave her a droll cock of the eye, which made her frown and look uneasy.

“Sure, Misther Jack,” he said, coolly, “don’t you think they’re a bit hard on a boy?”

“Hard?” said Mary, shortly.

“Av coorse. They knocked me down and took away me mushket and bagnet, and there they are in the bottom of the boat. Then they made me get over the gate and eshcape wid ’em; and, now they’re safe, they want to put me ashore.”

“We can’t take you with us,” said Abel, shortly.

“Aisy, now! Think about it, sor. Ye’re going for a holiday, sure; and under the circumstances I’d like one too. There! I see what ye’re a-thinking—that I’d bethray ye. Sure, and I’m a Kelly, and ye never knew a Kelly do a dirthy thrick to anyone. Did I shout for help last night when you towld me not?”

“You were afraid,” growled Bart.

“Afraid!—me afraid! Did ye ever hear of a Kelly who was afraid? No, sor; I said to meself, ‘The poor boys are making a run for it, and I’ll let them go.’ Sure, and I did, and here ye are.”

“It would not be wise to go near the shore now,” said Mary, in a whisper to her brother. “You have nothing to fear from him.”

Abel glanced at the happy, contented face before him, and then turned to Bart.

“What do you say?” he asked.

“There’s no harm in him,” said Bart, with a suspicious look at the Irishman.

“Sure, an’ ye’ll find me very useful,” said Dinny. “I was at say before I ’listed, so I can steer and haul a rope.”

“Can you keep faith with those who trust you?” said Mary, quickly.

“An’ is it a Kelly who can keep faith, me lad? Sure, an’ we’re the faithfullest people there is anny where. And, bedad! but you’re a handsome boy, and have a way wid you as’ll make some hearts ache before ye’ve done.”

Mary started, and turned of a deep dark red, which showed through her sun-browned skin, as she flashed an angry look upon the speaker.

Dinny burst into a hearty laugh.

“Look at him,” he said, “colouring up like a girl. There, don’t look at me, boy, as if ye were going to bite. I like to see it in a lad. It shows his heart’s in the right place, and that he’s honest and true. There, take a grip o’ me hand, for I like you as much for your handsome face as for the way you’ve stood thrue to your brother and his mate. And did ye come all the way from your own counthry to thry and save them?”

Mary nodded.

“Did ye, now? Then ye’re a brave lad; and there ar’n’t many men who would have watched night after night in that ugly bit o’ wood among the shnakes and reptiles. I wouldn’t for the best brother I iver had, and there’s five of ’em, and all sisters.”

Mary smilingly laid her hand on Dinny’s, and gazed in the merry, frank face before her.

“I’ll trust you,” she said.

“And ye sha’n’t repent it, me lad, for you’ve done no harm, and were niver a prishner. And now, as we are talking, I’d like to know what yer brother and number noinety-sivin did to be sint out of the counthry. It wasn’t murther, or they’d have hung ’em. Was it—helping yerselves?”

“My brother and his old friend Bart Wrigley were transported to the plantations for beating and half-killing, they said, the scoundrel who had insulted and ill-used his sister!” cried Mary, with flashing eyes and flaming cheeks, as she stood up proudly in the boat, and looked from one to the other.

“Wid a shtick?” said Dinny, rubbing his cheek as he peered eagerly into Mary’s face.

“Yes, with sticks.”

“And was that all?”

“Yes.”

“They transported thim two boys to this baste of a place, and put chains on their legs, for giving a spalpeen like that a big bating wid a shtick?”

“Yes,” said Mary, smiling in the eager face before her; “that was the reason.”

“Holy Moses!” ejaculated Dinny. “For just handling a shtick like that. Think o’ that, now! Why, I sent Larry Higgins to the hospital for sivin weeks wance for just such a thing. An’ it was a contimptibly thin shkull he’d got, just like a bad egg, and it cracked directly I felt it wid the shtick. And what did you do?” he added sharply, as he turned to Mary. “Where was your shtick?”

“I struck him with my hand,” said Mary, proudly.

“More sorrow to it that it hadn’t a shtick in it at the time. Sint ye both out here for a thing like that! Gintlemen, I’m proud of ye. Why didn’t ye tell me before?”

He held out his hands to both, and, intruder as he was, it seemed impossible to resist his frank, friendly way, and the escaped prisoners shook hands with him again.

“And now what are ye going to do?” said Dinny, eagerly.

“We don’t know yet,” said Abel, rather distantly.

“That’s jist me case,” said Dinny. “I’m tired of sogering and walking up and down wid a mushket kaping guard over a lot of poor divils chained like wild bastes. I tuk the shilling bekase I’d been in a skrimmage, and the bowld sergeant said there’d be plinty of foighting; and the divil a bit there’s been but setting us to shoot prishners, and I didn’t want that. Now, ye’ll tak me wid ye, only I must get rid o’ these soger clothes, and—look here, what are ye going to do wid thim chains?”

“Get rid of them,” said Abel, “when we can find a file.”

“I did not think of a file,” said Mary, with a disappointed look.

“There’s plinty of strange plants out in these parts,” said Dinny, laughing, “but I never see one that grew files. Only there’s more ways of killing a cat than hanging him, as the praste said when he minded his owld brogues wid a glue-pot. Come here.”

He took off his flannel jacket, folded it, and laid it in the bottom of the boat, but looked up directly.

“Ye’ve got a bit o’ sail,” he said, “and there’s a nice wind. Where are you going first?”

Mary looked at her brother, and Abel glanced at Bart.

“Ye haven’t made up yer minds,” said Dinny, “so look here. About twenty miles out yander to the west there’s a bit of an island where the overseer and two officers wint one day to shute wild pig and birds, and I went wid ’em. Why not go there till ye make up yer minds? It’s a moighty purty place, and ye’re not overlooked by the neighbours’ cabins, for there’s nobody lives there at all, at all, and we can have it our own way.”

“Wild pig there?” said Abel, eagerly.

“Bedad, yis, sor; nice swate bacon running about on four legs all over the place, and fruit on the trees, and fish in the say for the catching. Oh, an’ it’s a moighty purty little estate!”

“And how could we find it?” cried Mary.

“By jist setting a sail, and kaping about four miles from the shore till ye see it lying like a bit o’ cloud off to the south. Sure, and we could hang our hammocks there before night, and the mushket here all ready to shoot a pig.”

“Yes,” said Mary, in response to a glance from her brother.

“Then I’ll hoist the sail,” said Bart.

“Nay, let the boy do it,” said Dinny, “and you come and sit down here. I’ll soon show you a thing as would make the sergeant stare.”

Dinny drew a large knife from his pocket, and a flint and steel. The latter he returned, and, taking the flint, he laid his open knife on the thwart of the boat, and with the flint jagged the edge of the blade all along into a rough kind of saw.

“There!” he said; “that will do. That iron’s as soft as cheese.”

This last was a slight Hibernian exaggeration; but as Mary hoisted sail, and Abel put out an oar to steer, while the little vessel glided swiftly over the sunlit sea, Dinny began to operate upon the ring round one of Bart’s ankles, sawing away steadily, and with such good effect that at the end of an hour he had cut half through, when, by hammering the ring together with the butt of the musket, the half-severed iron gave way, and one leg was free.

“Look at that, now!” said Dinny, triumphantly, and with an air of satisfaction that took away the last doubts of his companions. “Now, thin, up wid that other purty foot!” he cried; and, as the boat glided rapidly toward the west, he sawed away again, with intervals of re-jagging at the knife edge, and soon made a cut in the second ring.

“Keep her a little farther from the shore, Abel,” said Mary, in a warning tone, as the boat sped westward.

“Ye needn’t mind,” said Dinny, sawing away; “the inhabitants all along here are a moighty dacent sort of folk, and won’t tell where we’re gone. They’re not handsome, and they’ve got into a bad habit o’ wearing little tails wid a moighty convanient crook in ’em to take howld of a tree.”

“Monkeys?” said Mary, eagerly.

“Yes, Masther Jack, monkeys; and then there’s the shmiling crockidills, and a few shnakes like ships’ masts, and some shpotted cats. There’s nobody else lives here for hundreds o’ miles.”

“Then you are safe, Abel,” said Mary, with the tears standing in her eyes.

“Yes, Ma— yes, Jack,” cried Abel, checking himself; and then meaningly, as he glanced at Bart, “you’re a brother of whom a man may well be proud.”

“Ay,” cried Bart, excitedly, “a brother of whom a man may well be proud.”

“Hurroo!” cried Dinny. “Howlt still, my lad, and I’ll soon be through.”

And the boat sped onward toward the west.

The island was found just as the Irishman had foretold, and as evening approached, without having even sighted a sail on their way, the little boat began coasting along, its occupants eagerly scanning the low, rock-reefed shore, above which waved a luxuriant tropic growth, but for some time no landing-place was found, while, though the sea was calm, there was a heavy swell to curl up and break upon the various reefs in a way that would have swamped their craft had they attempted to land.

The last fetter had been laboriously sawn through, Dinny having persisted in continuing the task, and he now sat resting and watching the shore with a critical eye.

All at once, upon sailing round a jagged point to which they had to give a wide berth on account of the fierce race which swept and eddied among the rocks, a pleasantly-wooded little bay opened out before them with a smooth sandy shore where the waves just creamed and glistened in the sun.

“Look at that, now,” said Dinny. “That’s where we landed; but I was ashleep after pulling a long time at the oar, and I disremembered all about where we went ashore.”

“How beautiful!” said Jack, gazing thoughtfully at the glorious scene, and asking herself whether that was to be her future home.

“An’ d’yer caal that beautiful?” said Dinny, contemptuously. “Young man, did ye iver see Dublin Bay?”

“No,” said Jack, smiling in the earnest face before him.

“Nor the Hill of Howth?”

Jack shook his head.

“Then don’t call that beautiful again in me presence,” said Dinny.

“Puts me in mind of Black Pool,” said Bart, thoughtfully.

Further conversation was checked by the interest of landing, the boat being run up on the shore and hidden among the rocks, not that it was likely that it would be seen, but the position of the fugitives and the dread of being retaken made them doubly cautious, Bart even going so far as to obliterate their footprints on the sand.

“Now, then,” said Dinny, “you’ve got the mushket and the bagnet, and those two make one; but if I was you I’d cut down one of them bamboos and shtick the bagnet an that, which would make two of it, and it would be a mighty purty tool to kill a pig.”

The hint was taken, Bart soon cutting down a long, straight lance shaft and forcing it into the socket of the bayonet.

“Then next,” said Dinny, “if I was captain I should say let’s see about something to ate.”

“Hear that, Abel?” said Bart.

“Yes. I was thinking of how we could get down some cocoa-nuts. There are plenty of bananas.”

“Hapes,” put in Dinny; “and there’s a cabbage growing in the heart of every one of thim bundles of leaves on the top of a shtick as they call palms; but them’s only vegetables, captain, dear, and me shtomach is asking for mate.”

“Can we easily shoot a pig—you say there are some,” said Abel.

“And is it aisily shoot a pig?” said Dinny. “Here, give me the mushket.”

He held out his hand for the piece, and Abel, who bore it, hesitated for a moment or two, and glanced at Jack, who nodded shortly, and the loaded weapon was passed to the Irishman.

“Ye doubted me,” he said, laughing; “but niver mind, it’s quite nat’ral. Come along; I won’t shoot anny of ye unless I’m very hungry and can’t get a pig.”

He led the way through an opening in the rough el if, and they climbed along a narrow ravine for some few hundred yards, the roar of the sea being hushed and the overhanging trees which held on among the rifts of the rocks shutting out the evening light, so that at times it was quite dusk. But the rocky barrier was soon passed, and an open natural park spread before them, in a depression of which lay a little lake, whose smooth grassy shores were literally ploughed in every direction with shallow scorings of the soil.

“Look at that now,” said Dinny in a whisper, as he pointed down at some of the more recent turnings of the soft earth. “The purty creatures have all been as busy as Pat Mulcahy’s pig which nobody could ring. Whisht! lie down, ye divils,” he whispered, setting the example, and crouching behind a piece of rock.

The others hid at once, and a low grunting and squeaking which had suddenly been heard in the distance increased loudly; and directly after a herd of quite two hundred pigs came tearing down through a narrow opening in the rocky jungle and made straight for the lake.

They were of all sizes, from little plump fellows, half the weight of ordinary porkers, to their seniors—the largest of which was not more than half the dimensions of an English pig.

They trotted down to the water side, where they drank and rolled and wallowed at the edge for a few moments, and then came back in happy unconsciousness of the fate which awaited one of their number, and passing so near the hidden group that Dinny had an easy shot at a well fed specimen which rolled over, the rest dashing on through the trees squealing as if every one had been injured by the shot.

“We sha’n’t starve here,” said Dinny, with a grin of satisfaction, and before many minutes had passed a fire was kindled in a sheltered nook, where the flame was not likely to be seen from the sea, and as soon as it was glowing, pieces of the pig, cut in a manner which would have disgusted a butcher, were frizzling in the embers.

The excitement seemed to bring Jack more and more to the front, and those who followed read in his actions why it was that he had been successful in freeing them from their pursuers at the time of the escape.

For, active as a goat, he crept from rock to rock, lowering himself down here, dropping there, and having from time to time to wait to give the rest an opportunity for keeping up. And all the while the parts of the cliff side that were the most wooded, and which offered the best shelter, were selected, and discovery by the sleeping men avoided.

It was an arduous task; but the guide was equal to the emergency, and continuously and silently proceeding succeeded at length in dropping down to the sandy shore about fifty yards from where the men lay apparently asleep and sheltered by a huge mass of weed-grown stone, while the cutter swung by its anchor a hundred yards further on beyond the sailors, and she rose and fell easily as the slight tide ran softly down.

Jack grasped the situation clearly, and felt how little time there was to lose. At any moment the heads of the hunting party might appear as they came down the ravine to the bay, while, supposing these to be really asleep, the first shout would bring them to their feet, and then all chance of escape would be gone.

The men had laid down close up under the cliff so as to be sheltered from the sun and from an instinctive desire to be beyond the reach of any venturesome wave, so that to reach the cutter the fugitives would have to pass her guardians between them and the sea.

This brought the escaping party nearer to the cutter, but placed them full in the view of those who might be coming down the ravine at the head of the bay, and also shut them off from shelter and concealment should an emergency arise.

Jack had played so prominent a part hitherto that the eyes of all were directed to him for further instructions, and for a moment he hesitated and pointed to Abel.

“No,” whispered the latter, “you have done so well; go on.”

Jack hesitated for a moment or two more, and then said in a low voice—

“All follow quickly and go to the far side of the bay, seize the boat, and we are safe.”

“But there is no boat,” said Bart.

Jack pointed to a mass of rock, some fifty yards away, where a few inches of the stern of a boat were visible, but which had not been seen by the others.

“Lead on,” said Abel, abruptly; “and if the men wake up Bart and I will tackle them while you and Dinny here get into the boat and row out. We’ll swim to you, and you can take us in.”

“And d’ye think I’m going to run away like that?” whispered Dinny. “I’ll shtay.”

“Dinny!” whispered Jack, fiercely.

“Ah, well, I forgot I was a soldier, my lad. I’ll obey orders.”

Whereupon Abel examined the priming of his musket, and Bart tried the bayonet at the end of the bamboo shaft to see if it was firm, while Dinny whispered—

“Howld her tight to yer shoulther, lad, when ye fire, for she’s a divil to kick.”

Jack gave a glance round once more, and then, holding up a hand to command silence, he listened, but all was still save the lapping of the waves as the tide retired and then returned.

His next proceeding was to steal out to where he could get a good look at the three sailors left in charge.

One lay on his breast, with his arms folded and his brow resting upon them. The second lay upon his back, with his hands beneath him, and his cap tilted over his eyes. The third was upon his side with his back to them, and all apparently fast asleep, for neither stirred.

Jack would have gladly waited till dark; but to have done this might have meant losing their means of escape, for they were not certain that the party would stay all night.

So, feeling this, and that their only chance lay in a bold attempt, he glanced back once, and after seeing that his companions were quite ready to follow, he stepped out quietly on to the yielding sand and made for the spot where the small boat lay.

To reach this boat the party had to pass within some fifty feet or so of the sleepers, and the crucial moments would be when they had passed within ken of the man lying upon his side with his back to them. Even if the others were awake it would be possible to pass them unseen; but it was otherwise with the third man, whose position would enable him to see whoever crossed the sands of the little bay, while, for aught they knew, he might be a faithful guardian, keeping strict watch over both boat and cutter while his companions slept.

Jack walked softly on, the sand deadening his tread, so that he was soon abreast of the guardians of the boat, and another five minutes would suffice for him and his party to reach the boat and push her off, when, armed as they were, they could have laughed at pursuit.

Another few yards and no one stirred. Jack gazed over his left shoulder at the dangerous reclining figure, but its position remain unchanged.

Another few yards, and still there was no sign, nor likely to be, for there could be no doubt of the fact—the man was fast asleep, and the agitation and anxiety of the fugitives was apparently wasted.

Jack glanced back to see that his companions were following in Indian file, walking upon the tips of their feet, and casting glances from time to time at the spot from which danger would arise.

Another dozen yards and the leader of the little party felt safe, when a sharp report came from the ravine above, the shot echoing and reverberating along the sides of the cliffs till it sounded like a peal of thunder which drowned the shout that followed, a shout meant as a warning to the guardians of the boat that their party was close at hand.

The man lying upon his side sprang to his feet, and the other two woke up, to stare stupidly about them before they realised the state of affairs, and that their companion had seized his musket, from where it lay with those of his fellows against the foot of the cliff which towered above their heads; for in accordance with their plans, Jack and Dinny had run on and seized the boat, while Abel and Bart had faced round with their weapons ready, retreating slowly toward the sea.

For a few moments no word was spoken, and then it was the first of the three sailors who realised their position.

“It’s cat or a bullet in us, mates,” he cried, desperately. “I says bullet; so come on.”

The other two were Englishmen like himself, and evidently entertained their comrade’s preference for a chance bullet or a stab to being tried by court martial and sentenced to a flogging, so they also snatched up their muskets and belts, hastily threw the latter over their shoulders, and, taught by training, brought their pieces to bear, shouting to the prisoners to surrender.

“Give up, you lubbers!” cried the first sailor. “It’s of no good.”

For answer Abel glanced over his shoulder, and seeing that Jack and Dinny had reached the boat, slowly continued the retreat.

“Will you surrender?” roared the sailor, as another shout came from the ravine.

“Surrender yourselves,” cried Bart, fiercely. “Lay down them guns.”

“Surrender, or we fire,” cried the sailor again, as the two men slowly backed toward the boat, watchful of a rush being made.

Bart uttered a low, defiant growl, and the bamboo he held quivered in his knotted hands.

“All together, then, mates,” shouted the sailor, “fire!”

Jack uttered a groan as he stood knee deep in water, running the boat as near as it could be got to his friend, and a mist swam before his eyes.

Click click click!—and as many tiny showers of sparks were struck in the pans of the pieces.

“Why, you stupid lubbers, you didn’t load!” roared the sailor. “Now, then, ground arms—load!”

A shout of derision arose from Abel and Bart, and the former took up the tone of menace now.

“Throw down your muskets, or I fire,” he cried.

“P’raps you’re not loaded neither, mate,” cried the sailor, laughing. “Now, lads. Bagnets: charge.”

His companions hesitated for a moment, and then, lowering their pieces, they made a rush for those who barred their way to the boat.

Bang!

One sharp report. The right-hand sailor span round, dropped his musket, stooped down and seized his leg beneath the knee, and dropped into a sitting position upon the sand.

“Hurt, mate?” cried the first sailor, halting.

“Leg,” was the laconic reply.

“Never mind,” cried the first sailor. “Come, on, mate.”

He lowered his piece again, and the two rushed upon Bart and Abel, as brave as lions now in the excitement.

These two had taken advantage of the man being wounded to back rapidly toward the boat, lying in the shallow water; but the sand was heavy, and they had to face the enemy all the time. For the latter came at them with stubborn determination, reached them while they were a good twenty yards from the water, and a fierce fight ensued.

It was as brief as it was hot and determined, for, after a few moments’ fencing, the second sailor delivered a deadly thrust, at Abel; while the principal man, a sturdy, tall fellow, crossed weapons with Bart, whose slight bamboo lance was a feeble defence against the bayonet at the end of the musket. Moreover, the fugitives were fighting with the disadvantage of being seen now by the well-armed party returning from the hunt. These had received warning that something was wrong by hearing the shots, and were now running rapidly down toward the sandy shore.

“Now,” said the second sailor, presenting his piece, which was opposed to one minus the bayonet blade—“now I have you. Surrender!”

For answer Abel stepped back, clubbed his weapon, swung it round, and brought it down with such violence that the butt struck the other musket full upon the stock, and dashed it from its holder’s hand.

Before Abel could get another blow round, the man had dashed in, closed with him, and, to Jack’s agony, capture seemed certain.

Meantime the first sailor had made several fierce passes at Bart, who was scratched once upon the wrist, and had drawn blood on the other side, when his bamboo lance broke, and he seemed at the mercy of his antagonist.

Heavy as he was, Bart was activity itself, and reversing the encounter going on between the other two, he avoided a thrust by striking the bayonet aside with his arm, and closed with his adversary.

The two locked together in a desperate struggle directly, for the sailor abandoned his musket as soon as Bart was at close quarters, and gripped him round the waist.

“I’ll have you, anyhow,” he panted, as he lifted Bart from the ground.

“Let go, or I’ll crush in your ribs,” growled Bart, savagely.

“Do it, mate,” retorted the sailor, swinging Bart round, and trying to throw him; but he might as well have tried to throw off his arms. Then by a desperate wrench Bart loosened the other’s grip, so that he could touch ground once more, and the struggle went on like some desperate bout in wrestling.

These encounters were matters of a minute or so; but to Jack and Dinny, standing knee deep in the water holding the boat ready for the escape, and the oars where they could be seized in an instant, the minute seemed an hour. They would have gone to the help of their comrades, but it seemed to them that they would be cutting off the means of escape; and in addition, the various phases of the fight succeeded each other so rapidly that there was hardly time to think.

“Give me that shtick,” cried Dinny at last; and he snatched one from where it lay upon the thwarts of the boat, just as Abel sent his adversary down half-stunned and turned to help Bart.

“Quick, lad! Hold still a moment!” cried Abel, as the overseer came running down from the head of the bay, in company with the officer and half a dozen men.

The words were wasted, for Bart and the first sailor were writhing and twining on the sands like two wild beasts. Bart strove hard to shake himself free; but the effort was vain, for the sailor had fastened on him like a bull-dog, and held on with a tenacity that could not be mastered.

“It’s of no use,” panted Bart, as Dinny ran up. For the enemy were not two hundred yards away, and running fast. “Escape, my lads! Never mind me!”

“Let me get one hit at him,” cried Dinny.

“Ah, would you, Paddy!” roared the sailor, wresting Bart round as a shield. “I know you.”

“Now, you!” cried Dinny to Abel.

But it was like striving to hit a twining serpent upon the head, and strive how they would, Bart’s friends could do nothing till the pair had struggled together to the very edge of the water, and then went splashing in.

“Get his head down, Bart, and he’ll soon let go.”

Easier said than done. The sailor had his arms well about his adversary, and Bart’s effort was vain.

“Surrender, there!” shouted the overseer. “Give up, or we’ll fire!”

“Let go, or I’ll smash you,” growled Bart, as he caught sight of the enemy coming on.

For answer the sailor clung the more tightly; and as Bart rose to his knee after a fall, the water was now well up to their middles.

“Here, boat, Jack, lad!” cried Dinny. “Now, captain, lay howlt!”

Abel grasped his meaning, and seized one side of the human knot, composed of two bodies and the customary complement of arms and legs, while Dinny caught the other, and together they trailed it through the shallow water to meet the boat.

“Now, Master Jack,” cried Dinny, “take a howlt!”

Jack seized Bart by the waist as the boat’s gunwale touched him. Abel and Dinny lifted together, and the result was that a certain amount of water went in over the side; but with it, heaving and struggling still, the knotted together bodies of Bart and his adversary, to lie in the bottom of the little craft, the sailor, fortunately for the escaping party, undermost.

“Sit down and row!” roared Abel; but his order was needless, for Jack had seated himself on the thwart, thrust out the oars at once, and began to pull; while on opposite sides, Dinny and Abel ran the boat out till they were breast-high in the water, when they gave it a final thrust and began to climb in.

By this time they were thirty or forty yards from the dry sand, down which the overseer and his party came running, and stopped at the edge.

“Halt! Surrender!” roared the overseer, savagely.

There was no reply, but the oars were plied swiftly, and the boat glided over the glassy swell.

“Fire!” roared the overseer, raising his piece; and a shower of buckshot came whistling and pattering by them, several of the little bullets striking the boat.

“Fire!” roared the overseer again. “Curse you! Why don’t you fire!”

A scattered volley from half a dozen pieces answered his furious order, and as the little party glanced back, it was to see that those on shore were reloading rapidly, the peculiar noise made by the ramming down of the wads being plainly heard, mingled with the thudding of the ramrods as the charges were driven home.

No one spoke in the boat, but Abel and Dinny rapidly got oars over the side and began to pull, the latter having the harder work from the heaving bodies of the two combatants occupying the bottom of the boat, a fact which necessitated his standing up; but all the same he helped the boat vigorously along.

“Are ye going to lie down?” said Dinny, as he saw the enemy wade out as far as they could and prepare to fire.

“No!” said Abel. “You can.”

“Divil a bit will I, if you don’t,” said Dinny, “and good luck to ’em! They’ve only got big pellets for shooting the pigs, and they won’t kill except at close quarthers.”

Another scattered volley rang echoing out, and thundered along the cliffs, the smoke hiding the enemy from the gaze of those in the boat.

“Murther!” yelled Dinny, dropping his oar, but stooping to pick it up again as he shook his hand. “It’s gone right through,” he continued, as he gazed at a bead of blood oozing from the back of his hand, and another on the other side in the centre of his palm. “I wish I knew the divil who fired that. It feels like one of the overseer’s games.”

“Anyone else hit?” said Abel. “Jack!”

“It’s nothing—a scratch,” said Jack, rowing away with all his might, as the blood began to trickle down from a scored place upon his forehead. “Go on rowing.”

“Bad luck to ’em! There’s so many shot in a charge; it gives ’em such a chance,” grumbled Dinny. “But niver mind, Masther Jack. It’ll be a bit of a shmart; but losing a dhrop o’ blood won’t hurt ye.”

Jack nodded, and tugged away rapidly, reducing the distance between them and the cutter; but they could not get farther from the firing party, who kept up a furious fusillade as they followed along round the side of the little bay, the pellets whistling by the fugitives, and more than one finding a home.

“Faix, and ye’ve got the best place there, Bart, me lad,” cried Dinny, merrily. “Shall I come and howlt him while you take a change?”

“Look here!” growled Bart, as another volley was fired at them, and the shot came hurtling round; “it’s no good now. Are you going to give in?”

The sailor looked from one to the other as he lay, with his head in the water at the bottom of the boat.

“Well, this here ar’nt cheerful,” he said.

“You’re beat. Why don’t you give in?”

“Is it weazand slitting?” he said. “Snickersnee!”

“Get out!” cried Dinny. “Did they cut mine?”

“Yours, you deserter!” said the sailor, contemptuously.

“As much a deserter as you are, Dick Dullock. Sure, and they tuck me prishner, wid a musket to me ear and a bagnet to my chist.”

“You look like one,” said the sailor, sourly.

“Will you surrender?” growled Bart.

“Yes. Can’t do no more, can I? Only bear witness, all on you, as I did my dooty. Didn’t I, youngster?”

“You fought like a brave man,” said Jack, gravely; “but it is of no use to struggle now, so give up.”

“Ay, I’ll give in,” said the sailor; “but I’m a-going to lie here till the firing’s done. I’ll stand fire when there’s fighting o’ both sides; but I’m a prisoner now, and out of it, so here I stays.”

Bart rose from where he had been kneeling on the man’s chest, and straightened himself slowly, but only to start as a fresh volley was fired and a pellet grazed his chin; but he only uttered a savage growl like an angry beast, and made way for Dinny to sit down and row with all his strength.

Suddenly a shout from the bay shore took the attention of those in the boat, and the firing ceased.

“What’s that mean?” cried Abel.

“They’ve found our boat,” said Jack, excitedly.

It was true enough; and the fugitives redoubled their efforts to reach the cutter, while the overseer continued the firing, so as to disable some of the party before they could attain the shelter the vessel would give.

Abel was hit twice, and Bart received another shot, but the distance was great now, and the pellets too small to do serious mischief; but as they rowed round behind the cutter, anxiously watching to see that no one was aboard, its hull sheltering them from the firing, the noise and the buzz of voices ashore drew their attention to the fact that the overseer, the officer, and four more had entered the boat, which started with a cheer from those left behind, and pulled rapidly in pursuit.

“Quick, Bart, run up the jib while I cut the rope.”

“Nay, haul up to it, you and Dinny,” cried Bart, as he ran forward. “It’s only a grapnel.”

The firing recommenced now so viciously that every act on board the cutter was performed with great risk, the overseer and the officer taking it in turns to send a hail of buckshot at everyone who showed a head above the low side of the vessel.

But in spite of this the party worked well, and the sailor having surrendered, contented himself, as soon as he was aboard, by lying down upon the deck and beginning to chew.

The grapnel was hauled in, the jib hoisted, and Jack stationed at the tiller; but the sail slowly flapped to and fro, refusing to fill, and the only way on the cutter was that given by the falling tide.

“She’ll be aboard of us, Bart, long before we get out of the bay,” said Abel, with a groan of despair.

“Niver say die,” cried Dinny, who had just given a turn to the painter which held the cutter’s boat.

“Are there any arms aboard?” growled Bart. “Cuss it! look there!”

This last was consequent upon a shot ploughing a little channel along his neck. “D’yer hear what I say—you?” he said again to their prisoner. “Are there any arms aboard?”

“Yes, in the cabin—muskets,” said the sailor; “but you leave ’em alone, my lad. This here as you’ve done’s piracy, and if you kill anybody it’s murder.”

“Then let ’em keep off,” said Bart, with a fierce growl as he followed Abel into the cabin, both reappearing again directly with muskets and ammunition.

“I tell you it’s piracy,” said the sailor from where he lay. “Isn’t it, Dennis Kelly?”

“Faix, I s’pose it is,” said Dinny, smiling. “There’s so much in a name.”

“Here you, Dinny, get up a musket,” cried Abel. “You can shoot.”

“Don’t you, Dinny!” said the sailor. “It’s hanging business.”

“But I’m a prishner,” said Dinny, grinning, “and obliged.”

“It’ll be a hanging matter, Dinny,” cried the sailor, as the Irishman reappeared with a musket in his hand.

“It’ll be a flogging sure if I’m took,” said Dinny, “for they’ll niver belave I’m acting against my will. Now, Captain Abel,” he continued, as he loaded his piece, and laid it so that he could command the boat, “whin you ordher me to fire, why, av coorse I shall, but you must take the credit of the shot.”

“Keep off!” roared Abel, as the boat now neared them fast. “You’ll get bullets instead of buckshot: you come nearer.”

“Surrender, you piratical scoundrel!” roared the overseer. “Put down that musket. Row hard, my lads!”

Whatever may have been the overseer’s weakness, want of courage was not one; and this he proved by discharging his piece, and standing up in the boat to watch the effect.

The distance was short, but there was a faint puff of air now which filled the sail, and there was a feeling of intense relief as the cutter rapidly left the coming boat behind.

Jack’s cheeks flushed, and his eyes sparkled as, with a touch of the tiller, he seemed to send the cutter rushing through the water; while an angry yell rose from behind as the boat dropped back.

But their despondency in the boat was only of a minute’s duration, for the wind dropped as suddenly as it had risen, the cutter ceased to glide onward with the water rattling and splashing beneath her bows, the jib shivered and hung motionless, and a cheer arose from the pursuers as the firing recommenced.

“Be ready, Bart,” said Abel, with a lurid look in his eyes, as he once more levelled his piece. “You, Dinny, are you going to help?”

“No,” said the sailor. “It’s piracy and murder if you shoot them, Dinny Kelly, and it’s fair-play if they shoot you.”

“Yis, it is awkward,” said Dinny; “but Oi’m thinking I don’t want to go back and be on senthry again, and there, Oi’ll make a compromise of it. I won’t shoot, but I’m mak’ believe, and frecken ’em.”

As he spoke he lay down on the deck and took aim at the occupants of the coming boat, whose position was extremely perilous, while the sides of the cutter sheltered those on board.

“Keep back!” roared Abel, as the boat neared them fast. “We’re loaded with ball, not shot.”

There was a momentary indecision on the part of the overseer, and it was instantly communicated to the men, for they ceased to paddle, while the two principals bent forward and spoke earnestly.

“No, they will not dare,” said the overseer, loudly. “Go on, my lads! Surrender, you dogs, or you shall all be hung.”

The boat was urged through the water again, and the overseer raised his fowling-piece, took aim, and was about to fire, when the officer with him laid his hand upon his arm.

“Wait,” he said. “Then both fire together, close in, and board.”

“We’ll do that afterwards,” cried the overseer, discharging his piece and rapidly reloading as the boat glided on till it was only about twenty yards away, and, in spite of a fierce threat or two, the repugnance to shed blood and the natural desire not to fight against the law had kept Abel and Bart from returning the fire.

Their case seemed hopeless now, unless in the struggle to come they repelled the boarders, for the wind which dotted the sea a hundred yards away with ripples refused to kiss their sail, and in another minute the overseer and his party would have been alongside, when, just as he covered Jack’s arm, which could be seen lying upon the tiller, and when a shot at such short range would have been almost as bad as one from a bullet, there was a puff of smoke, a sharp report, and the overseer started up in the boat, dropped his fowling-piece, which fell into the sea with a splash, and then, before the officer could save him, he pitched head foremost over the side.

“Look at that now,” said Dinny, who had risen into a sitting position on the deck, with his musket across his lap.

“Yes; you’ve done it now, Dinny Kelly,” said the sailor, gruffly. “Desarted from the station, and shot the superintendent.”

“Sorra a bit,” said Dinny, as the wind suddenly struck the cutter, which heeled over and began to forge rapidly through the water. “Sorra a bit, man. It was this awkward baste of a mushket. I just closed my finger for a moment on the thrigger, and whoo! off she went, kicking up her heels like a nigger’s mule. D’yer think the overseer’s hurt?”

“I think you’ve killed him.”

“Not I, bedad. It was me mushket,” said Dinny. “Divil a bit will I have any more to do wid it. I’ll have another with a thrigger which isn’t wake.”

“You’ve saved us, Dinny,” said Jack, excitedly, as the boat was being left far behind.

“Not I, my lad. Shure, it’s between the wind and this worn-out old mushket. It’s a baste of a thing. Why, it moight have killed the poor man. I say, lad; d’yer think he’s much hurt?”

“A broken arm, that’s all, Dinny,” said Jack, smiling.

“Ah, well!” said Dinny, reloading the piece; “that’ll do him good, and give the poor divils at the plantation a bit of a rest.”

He paused in the act of reloading, drew the charge with a dry look upon his countenance, and laid the musket down upon the deck.

“No, thank ye,” he said, shaking his head at the piece. “It’s a murdhering baste ye are, and ye’ll be getting some poor fellow into throuble wan of these days. Don’t you think so, Dick?”

The prisoner screwed up his countenance, and then relaxed it as he looked hard at Dinny.

“Well, it’s pretty nigh a hanging matter for you, Dinny,” he said.

“What! for an accident, man?”

“Accident! you’ve gone and committed a rank act of piracy! But, I say, what’ll they do with me?”

“Hang ye, I should say,” replied Dinny, with a droll look in his eye. “Hang ye as soon as they’ve got toime to think about ye; or no: maybe they’ll save themselves the throuble, and hand ye over to thim ruffians there.”

He pointed over the side, and the sailor gave a start and changed colour as he caught sight of the back-fins of a couple of huge sharks gliding along through the water a little way astern.

“Oh, they’re a bad lot with their prisoners, Dick. Look at me.”

“But what are they going to do?” said the sailor, eagerly. “They can’t put in anywhere, and as soon as this day’s work’s known, they’ll have a man-o’-war sent after ’em.”

“Sorra a wan o’ me knows,” said Dinny; “but it’s moighty plisant out here. I’m toired o’ pipe-claying me belts and marching and being senthry, and they may make me prishner as long as they like.”

“You didn’t half-kill one of them, and they don’t bear malice against you,” said the sailor, thoughtfully.

“An’ is it malice? Why, didn’t I thry to run wan of ’em through wid me bagnet, and attimpt to shoot the other! Malice! I belave they liked it, for we’ve been the best o’ friends iver since. Here, Bart, me lad; Dick here wants to shake hands with yez.”

“I don’t,” said the sailor, sternly; but as Bart came from where he had been taking a pull at one of the ropes, smiling and open-handed, Dick’s face relaxed.

“That was a pretty good wrastle,” said Bart, running his eye approvingly over the physique of his late opponent, and gripping Dick’s hand heartily; “but I got the best of you.”

Dick did not answer, but he returned the grip, and Bart went aft directly to relieve Jack at the tiller, while the darkness came on rapidly, and with it the breeze increased in force till the cutter careened over and rapidly left the island behind.

“Well, Dennis Kelly,” said the sailor, as they sat together on board later, with the stars gathering overhead, and faint sounds wafted to them from time to time as they glided rapidly along a few miles from land, “you can only make one thing of it, my boy, and that’s piracy; and piracy’s yard-arm, and a swing at the end of the rope.”

“Ah! get along wid ye,” said Dinny, contemptuously, “and don’t call things by bad names. They’re three very plisant fellows, and they’ve borried the boat and taken us prishners to help them in the cruise; or, if ye like it better, we’re pressed men.”

“But what are they going to do next?”

“Divil a bit do I know, and the divil a bit do I care. I’ve no belts to pipe-clay, and you’ve no deck to holy-stone. What there is to ate they share wid ye, and they take their turn at the watch. Sure, it’s a gintleman’s life, and what more would ye have?”

“But it’s piracy—rank piracy!” said Dick, stubbornly; “and I want to know what we’re going to do next.”

“Well, thin, I’ll tell ye,” said Dinny; “but it’s a saycret, moind.”

“Well, what?”

“It’s a saycret, moind,” said Dinny, “and ye won’t tell?”

“Tell! Who is there to tell here?”

“Nobody yet; but ye’ll keep the saycret?”

“Yes,” said Dick, earnestly. “What are they going to do?”

“Didn’t I say I’d tell ye,” said Dinny, “as soon as I know?”

“Yah!” snarled Dick.

“Well,” cried Dinny, “how can I tell ye till I know? Why, it’s my belief, Dick, me lad, that they don’t know themselves.”

“Where do you mean to go, Abel?” said Jack at last.

“Go, my lass—my lad!” he said, correcting himself. “Anywhere. We can’t touch port, but we’ve got a tidy little vessel, not too big to manage, and we must sail somewhere to be safe.”

“Well, I don’t care,” came from forward, as Dick raised his voice in stubborn reiteration with Dinny. “I says it’s piracy, and if they’re ketched, they’ll all be hanged.”

A dead silence fell upon the little group, and at last it was Bart who spoke, as if to himself.

“If you helps yourself to a bit o’ anything that comes ashore, they says it’s wrecking; and if you want a drop o’ brandy or a bit o’ lace from a furrin boat, it’s smuggling; and now, if a man wants to get away, and fights for his liberty, he’s a pirate.”

“For seizing a vessel, Bart,” said Jack.

“Yes, lad, I know. Well, they may call me what they like. Here we are, and we’ve got to live.”

“Where d’ye think they’ll sail?” said Dick again, raising his voice, but in ignorance that the words could reach the group by the tiller.

“Where shall we sail?” said Jack, who was steering. “I don’t know, for all before us seems black; but I’ve saved my brother and his true old friend, so let fate guide us: the world is very wide.”

“Yes, Dinny, I don’t mind for a change; but it’s piracy, and I hope as we sha’n’t all be hung.”

“The same to you,” said Dinny, giving the sailor’s shoulder a sounding slap.

“Piracy!” said Jack, softly, as the boat glided on. “Well, it was not our choice, and, at all events, we’re free.”

It had been a baking day in the town of Saint George, British Honduras, and the only lively things about the place had been the lizards. The sky had seemed to be of burnished brass, and the sea of molten silver, so dazzling that the eye was pained which fell upon its sheen. The natives were not troubled by the heat, for they sought out shady places, and went to sleep, but the British occupants of the port kept about their houses, and looked as if they wished they were dogs, and could hang out their tongues and pant.

Saint George, always a dead-and-alive tropic town, now seemed to be the dead alone; and as if to prove that it was so, the last inhabitant seemed to have gone to the end of the spit by the marsh beyond the port, where every one who landed or left could see, and there hung himself up as a sign of the desolation and want of animation in the place.

For there, pendent from the palm-tree gibbet, alone in the most desolate spot near the port, was the buccaneering captain, whose name had become a by-word all along the coast, whose swift-sailing schooner had captured vessels by the score, and robbed and burnt till Commodore Junk’s was a name to speak of with bated breath; and the captains of ships, whether British or visitors from foreign lands, made cautious inquiries as to whether he had been heard of in the neighbourhood before they ventured to sea, and then generally found that they had been misled. For that swift schooner was pretty certain to appear right in their path, with the result that their vessels would be boarded, the captain and crew sent afloat in their boat not far from land, and the ship would be plundered, and then scuttled after all that attracted the buccaneers had been secured.

There had been rejoicings when the king’s ship, sent over expressly to put an end to piracy, found and had an engagement with the schooner—one of so successful a nature that after the bloody fight was over, and the furious attack by boarding baffled, three prisoners remained in the hands of the naval captain, two of whom were wounded unto death, and the other uninjured, and who proved to be the captain who had headed the boarders.

Abel Dell’s shrift had been a short one. Fortune had been against him, after a long career of success. He saw his ship escape crippled, and he ground his teeth as he called her occupants cowards for leaving him in the lurch, being, of course, unaware that the retreat was due to his lieutenant, Abram Mazzard, while when she returned through the determined action of Jack, it came too late, for Abel Dell, otherwise Commodore Junk, was acting as warning to pirates, his last voyage being over.

The heat seemed to increase on that torrid day till nightfall, when clouds gathered, and the flickering lightning flashed out and illumined the long banks of vapour, displaying their fantastic shapes, to be directly after reflected from the surface of the barely rippled sea.

“Hadn’t we better give up for a bit? Storm may pass before morning,” whispered the thick-set figure standing close by the wheel.

“No, Bart; we must go to-night,” was the reply. “Is all ready?”

“Ay, ready enough; but I don’t like the job.”

“Give up, then, and let Dinny come.”

“Did you ever know me give up?” growled Bart.

“’Tain’t that: it’s leaving the ship. Black Mazzard ar’n’t to be trusted.”

“What! Pish! he dare do nothing.”

“Not while you’re here, my lad. It’s when you’re gone that I feel scared.”

“You think—”

“I think he’s trying to get the men over to his side, and some on ’em hold with him.”

Jack remained thoughtful for a few minutes.

“It is only lightning, Bart. There’ll be no storm. We can get what we want done in six hours at the longest, and he can do nothing in that time—he will do nothing in that time if you put a couple of bottles of rum within his reach.”

Bart uttered a low, chuckling laugh.

“That’s what I have done,” he said.

“Then we’re safe enough. Where’s Dinny?”

“Forward, along of Dick.”

“Tell them to keep a sharp look-out while we’re gone, and to be on the watch for the boat.”

Half an hour later, when the schooner was deemed to be near enough for the purpose, an anchor was lowered down, to take fast hold directly in the shallow bottom, a boat was lowered, into which Jack and Bart stepped, the former shipping the little rudder, and Bart stepping a short mast and hauling up a big sail, when the soft sea-breeze sent them gliding swiftly along.

“He was asleep in the cabin,” said Bart. “Soon be yonder if it holds like this. Do you feel up to it, my lad, as if you could venter?”

“Yes,” said Jack, sternly.

“But it’s a wicked job, my lad, and more fit for men.”

“I’ve thought all that out, Bart,” was the reply. “I know. It is my duty, and I shall do it. Are the pistols loaded?”

“Trust me for that,” growled Bart. “They’re loaded enough, and the cutlashes has edges like razors. So has my axe.”

“Have you the tools?”

“Everything, my lad. Trust me for that.”

“I do trust you, Bart, always.”

“And how are we to find our way back to the schooner in the dark?”

“We shall not find our way back in the dark, Bart, but sail right out here as near as we can guess, and then lie-to till daybreak.”

Bart kept his eyes fixed upon one particular light, and tried to calculate their bearings from its relation to another behind; but all the same, he felt in doubt, and shook his head again and again, when some blinding flash of lightning gave him a momentary glance of the shore.

But Jack did not hesitate for a moment, keeping the boat’s head in one direction with unerring instinct, till the waves were close upon their left, and it seemed that in another minute they must be swamped.

Bart half rose, ready to swim for his life, as the boat leapt high, then seemed to dive down headlong, rose again, dived, and then danced lightly up and down for a few minutes before gliding slowly on again.

“Was that the bar?” he whispered eagerly.

“Yes. It is rough at this time of the tide,” was the answer, given in the calmest manner, for Jack had not stirred.

Bart drew a breath full of relief.

“Be ready.”

“Ready it is.”

“Down sail.”

The little yard struck, the sail collapsed, and, acting by the impetus already given, the boat glided forward some distance and then grated upon a bed of sand.

Bart shuddered slightly, but he was busy all the while arranging the sail ready for rapid hoisting; and this done, he carried the grapnel out some fifteen or twenty yards from the bows and fixed it cautiously in the shore.—He was about to return when a hand was laid upon his shoulder—a hand which seemed to come out of the black darkness.

Bart snatched a pistol from his belt, and put it back with a grunt.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “Lightning seems to make it darker. Where away?”

“Fifty yards south,” said Jack, quietly.

“Then look here, my lad. I don’t want to disobey orders; but I’m a man and you’re only a—”

“Man,” said Jack, quietly.

“Then you stop by the boat and—”

“Bart!”

“Nay, nay, let me speak, my lad. Let me say all I want. You can trust me. If Bart Wrigley says he’ll do a thing for you, he’ll do it if he’s got the strength and life in him. So let me do this, while you wait for me. Come, now, you will!”

“No! Come with me. I must be there.”

Bart drew in a deep breath, and muttered to himself as he listened to the peculiarly changed voice in which his companion spoke.

“You’re master,” he said; “and I’m ready.”

“Yes. Take my hand, and speak lower. There may be watchers about.”

For answer Bart gripped his companion’s hand, and together they walked for some distance along the hard sand, where the spray from the rollers swept up. Then turning inland suddenly, they had taken about twenty steps to the west when a vivid flash of lightning showed them that their calculations had been exact, for there before them in all its horror, and not a dozen yards away, stood the rough gibbet with the body of a man pendent from the cross-beam, the ghastly object having stood out for a moment like a huge cameo cut in bold relief upon some mass of marble of a solid black.

“Abel! Brother!” moaned Jack, running forward to sink kneeling in the sand, and for a few moments, as Bart stood there in the black darkness with his head instinctively uncovered, there arose from before him the wild hysterical sobbings of a woman, at first in piteous appeal to the dead, then in fierce denunciation of his murderers; but as the last cry rang out there was a flickering in the sky, as if the avant garde of another vivid flash—the half-blinding sheet of flame which lit up the gibbet once again; and it seemed strange to Bart that no woman was there, only the figure of a short, well-built man, who stood looking toward him, and said in a hoarse, firm voice—

“We are not likely to be interrupted; but to work, quick!”

“Right!” said Bart, hoarsely; and directly after, a rustling sound, accompanied by a heavy breathing, was heard in the black darkness, followed soon after by the clinking of iron against iron.

There was a faint flicker in the sky again, but no following flash, and the darkness seemed to have grown more intense, as the panting of some one engaged in a work requiring great exertion came from high up out of the ebon darkness.

“The file, man, the file.”

“Nay, I’ll wrench it off,” came from where the panting was heard. Then there was more grating of iron against iron, repeated again and again, when, just as an impatient ejaculation was heard, there was a loud snap, as if a link had been broken, a dull thud of a bar falling, and the panting noise increased.

“Now, lad, quick! Can you reach? That’s right. Steady! I can lower a little more. Easy. A little more away. You have all the weight now. May I let go?”

“Yes.”

There was the clank of a chain. Then a heavy thud as if someone had dropped to the ground, and then the chain clanked again.

“No, no; wait a moment, my lad. Lower down. That’s it. Let’s leave these cursed irons behind.”

The rough grating of iron sounded again, the heavy panting was resumed, and another sharp crack or two arose, followed by the fall of pieces on the sand.

“That’s it!” muttered Bart, as a dull clang arose from the earth. “We needn’t have been afraid of any one watching here.”

“I’ll help.”

“Nay; I want no help,” panted Bart, as he seemed to be lifting some weight. “You lead on, my lad. Pity we couldn’t have landed here.”

The reason was obvious; for seaward the waves could be heard rushing in and out of a reef with many a strange whisper and gasping sound, giving plain intimation that a boat would have been broken up by the heavy waves.

“Shall I go first?”

“Ay; go first, lad. Keep close to the water’s edge; and you must kick against the rope.”

There proved to be no need to trust to this, for, as they reached the water’s edge, where the sand, instead of being ankle deep, was once more smooth and hard, a phosphorescent gleam rose from the breaking waves, and the wet shore glistened with tiny points of light, which were eclipsed from time to time as the two dark, shadowy figures passed slowly along, the first accommodating its pace to that of the heavily-burdened second, till the first stopped short, close to where the boat was moored.

It was plain to see, for the rope shone through the shallow water, as if gilded with pale, lambent gold; while, when it was seized and drawn rapidly, the boat came skimming in, driving from each side of its bows a film as of liquid moonlight spread thinly over the water beyond, where the waves broke upon the sand.

There was the sound of a voice as the figures waded in, one holding the boat, and the other depositing his burden there.

“What’s that?” whispered Bart. “Did you speak?”

“No.”

“Quick! Get hold of the grapnel. No. On board, lad, quick!”

“Halt! Who goes there?” cried a voice close by from where the darkness was thickest.

For answer Bart cut the grapnel line, made sure that his companion was in the boat, and then, exerting his great strength, he ran out with it through the shallow water, just as there was a vivid flash of lightning, revealing, about twenty yards away, a group of soldiers standing on the rough shore, just beyond the reach of the tide.

“Halt!” was shouted again, followed by a warning. And then followed a series of rapid orders; four bright flashes darted from as many muskets, and the bullets whistled overhead, the intense darkness which had followed the lightning disturbing the soldiers’ aim.

Orders to re-load were heard; but the boat was well afloat by now, and Bart had crawled in, the tiller had been seized, and the sail was rapidly hoisted, the wind caught it at once, and by the time another flash of lightning enabled the patrol to make out where the boat lay, it was a hundred yards from shore, and running rapidly along the coast.

A volley was fired as vainly as the first, and as the bullets splashed up the water, Bart laughed.

“They may fire now,” he said. “We shall be a hundred yards farther before they’re ready again.”

They sailed on into the darkness for quite two hours, during which the lightning ceased, and the mutterings of the thunder were heard no more. But though a careful look-out was kept—and Bart felt that they had pretty well calculated the position of the schooner—they could not find her, and the sail was lowered down.

“We’ve gone quite far enough,” growled Bart. “Where’s that light that Dinny was to show?”

There was no answer, and no light visible from where they lay for the next three hours, waiting patiently till the first faint streak of dawn should show them the waiting vessel, and their ghastly burden could be carried aboard ready for a sailor’s grave.

“It is a trick, Bart,” said Jack at last, as he glanced at their freight lying forward beneath a spare sail.

“Ay, I felt it, my lad,” said Bart, frowning. “I felt it last night. Black Mazzard hain’t the man to leave alone; and what’s a couple o’ bottles o’ rum to such as he?”

“The villain—the coward!” cried Jack, bitterly. “At a time like this!”

“Ay, it’s a bad time, my lad,” said Bart, “but we’ve done our work, poor chap; and the sea’s the sea, whether it’s off a boat or a schooner. You mean that, don’t you, now?”

“No,” said Jack, fiercely, as he pointed to the back-fins of a couple of sharks.

“Ugh!” ejaculated Bart. “What, then, my lad?”

“To find the schooner first, and if not, to make for one of the little islands, where we’ll land.”

“Little more to the west, my lad,” said Bart, after they had been sailing in silence for some time. “You’ll land at the Sandy Key, won’t you?”

“Yes,” said Jack, shortly, as he sat there with eyes fixed and frowning brow.

“Poor old Abe!” said Bart to himself, as he gazed in turn at the ghastly object in the bottom of the boat. “One never used to think much of dying in the old days; but if one did, it was of being drowned at sea, washed ashore, and buried decently in the old church-yard atop of the hill. And now, old mate, after being a captain out here, we’re a-going to lie you over yonder in the warm, dry sand, where the sun always shines and the cocoa-nuts grow; but you’ll have no tombstone, lad, and no words writ, only such as is writ in her heart, for she loved you, Abe, old mate, more than she’ll ever love me.”

A sharp look-out was kept for the schooner; but though the horizon was swept again and again, she was not in sight.

“It’s one o’ Black Mazzard’s games, lad,” Bart said at last, as a faint, cloudy appearance was visible on their bow; “but we shall find him yonder.”

Jack bowed his head in acquiescence, and the boat skimmed rapidly on, till the cloudy appearance began to take the form of a low island, from whose sandy shore cocoa-nut palms waved their great pinnate leaves, looking lace-like against the clear blue sky.

In a couple of hours they were close in, and the boat was run up in a sandy cove sheltered by a point, with the result that, instead of the tide setting in heavy rollers, there was just a soft curl over the waves, and a sparkling foam to wash the fine pebble sand.

“No,” said Bart, speaking as if in answer to his companion.

“Never mind,” said Jack, quietly. “We shall find the schooner by-and-by. Let’s land.”

Bart assisted to draw the boat well ashore, waiting till a good-sized wave came, and then running the boat on its crest some yards farther up the sand.

He looked up then at Jack, who nodded his head, and the canvas-draped figure was lifted out and borne up to where the sand lay soft and thick, as it had been drifted by the gales of the stormy season.

As Bart bent beneath his burden he nearly trod upon one of the great land-crabs, with which the place seemed to swarm, the hideous creatures scuffling awkwardly out of his way, snapping their claws menacingly, and rolling their horrible eyes, which stood out on foot-stalks far from their shelly orbits, and gave them a weird look as they seemed to be inspecting the canvas-wrapped bag.

“Here?” said Bart, as they reached a smooth spot, where a clump of palms made a slight shade.

“Yes,” was the laconic reply.

“No tools,” said Bart, half to himself; “but it don’t matter, Abe, old lad. I can scratch a grave for you, and cut your name arter with my knife on one o’ them trees.”

He laid his load tenderly down upon the sand, in the shadiest spot, and then, stripping off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves over his muscle-knotted arms, he began to scrape the sand away rapidly, and soon made a long, narrow trench, though it was not easy work, for the soft, fine, dry sand flowed slowly, as if it were a liquid, back into the trench.

“That will do,” said Jack, suddenly rising from where he had been kneeling by Abel’s side.

Bart ceased his task without another word, and at a sign from his companion reverently went to the foot of the canvas-covered figure, while Jack went to the head, and they lifted it into the shallow trench.

“And never said so much as a prayer over it!” muttered Bart to himself, as he rapidly scooped back the sand with his hands, till the lower part of his old mate’s body was covered, leaving the head instinctively to the last.

He was then about to heap the sand over gravewise, but Jack stopped him, and, taking a piece of wreck wood, drew it along the place so as to leave the sand level.

“What are you going to do?” he said, sternly, as Bart drew his knife.

“Cut a hay and a dee on that there tree,” said the man, shortly.

“No.”

“Not cut his letters there?” cried Bart, in a wondering tone.

“No, man, no. Do you suppose I am going to leave him here?”

Bart closed his knife with a click, and screwed up his face.

“You’re captain,” he said, quietly; “what next?”

“Back to the boat.”

Bart obeyed without another word, and as they walked down over the hot sand, it was to pass several of the land-crabs, which rolled their eyes and leered at them in a goblin way till the boat was launched, the sail hoisted, and they coasted the side of the island to get round to its back, and make sure that the schooner had not cast anchor off this—one of the rendezvous for boats which had missed the schooner after being sent away upon some expedition.

But their sail availed them nothing. The schooner was not off the island, and Bart looked at his companion for orders.

“It would take three days to reach the shelter,” he said at last.

“With this wind—yes,” replied Bart. “No food, no water. Shall us get some nuts?”

There was no reply. Jack sat with his arms resting upon his knees, holding the tiller and gazing right before him, seeing nothing, but trying to pierce the future.

“A-wondering what to do next,” muttered Bart, watching his companion furtively. “If the poor thing could see the old cottage now, and the bay, and a decent lugger lying off the point with her sails shivering, would it still be no?”

“Still be no,” he said to himself softly; “and yet I wouldn’t ask to be different to what I am.”

“Mazzard has taken command, Bart,” said Jack at last, “and we must make a fresh start, my lad.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” cried Bart, sharply.

“We must get sufficient provisions somehow, and run across to the shelter. If the schooner is not there we must wait till she comes in.”

“And you won’t give up without a struggle?”

“Give up?”

“Hurrah!” cried Bart, joyously. “Let’s run up the Usa river to one of the Indian places, and get some food and nuts, and then be off. Hard down!”

Instead of obeying and changing the boat’s direction, Jack suddenly pointed right away into the distance.

“What’s that?”

Bart stood up and sheltered his eyes with his hand, so as to get a good view of a triangular piece of sail glistening white in the sunshine, far away, about the horizon line.

“There ain’t another vessel with a raking sail like that!” he cried. “I shaped that sail. Why, it is she!”

“Yes,” said Jack, after a long look across the dazzling blue sea, “it’s the schooner, Bart; and she’s coming here.”

The boat danced over the sparkling waves, and three hours after she was alongside the schooner, which was hove to—the wind being contrary—as soon as the boat was descried by those on board. Dinny was the foremost in the group waiting to lower down the falls, and in a few minutes the boat hung from the davits, and Jack gave a sharp look round as he stepped upon the deck.

“Why was the schooner not waiting?”

“Faix, the captain gave orders for sail to be made,” said Dinny, in a meaning tone; “and away we wint.”

“The captain!” said Jack, with a angry look in his eyes. “Where is the captain, then?”

“Sure,” cried Dinny, as a murmur ran through the group gathered on the deck; “sure, he’s in his cabin, having a slape.”

“It’s all over, Bart, my lad,” said Jack, bitterly. “What will you do—stop and serve under Captain Mazzard, or shall we go?”

“Do!” cried Bart, angrily, as he turned toward the men, who seemed to be divided into two parties. “Look here; I can’t parley; but is it going to be fair-play or no?”

“Yes!” rose with a shout; but it was met by a menacing growl; and one man ran to the cabin, to return directly, half dragging, half leading Mazzard, who stared round wildly in a drink-stupefied manner, and faltered out, as if in answer to a question—

“No more, now! Who’s altered her course?”

There was a few moments’ silence, during which the self-elected captain stared about him, and tried to comprehend what was going on, for he had just been roused suddenly from a rum-engendered sleep, and seemed like one in a dream.

“What, isn’t annybody going to spake?” cried Dinny; “thin I will. Who althered the ship’s course! Why, I did. D’yer think I was going to stand by and see a messmate left in the lurch? Look here, my lads; I am not going to make a spache, but the captain’s dead, and you’ve got to choose a new one.”

“Hurrah for Dinny Kelly; he’s the man!” shouted one of the sailors.

“If I didn’t know ye can’t help it, Sam Marlow, I’d say don’t be a fool!” cried Dinny, scornfully. “Now, do I look like a captain! Bad luck to ye for an omadhaun. I’m a foighting man, and not a sailor at all; but ye’ve got to choose bechuckst two. Who is it to be—Black Mazzard there, or the old captain’s brave little brother, Master Jack here, the best sailor, steersman, and bravest little chap that ever stepped on a plank? What do you say, Dick?”

“Three cheers for Captain Jack!” cried Dick Dullock.

“Nay, nay, Commodore Junk!” cried Dinny; “that name’s a power, me boys. Now, then, who among ye says it isn’t to be the captain’s brother?”

“I do!” cried Mazzard, who was growing sobered by the excitement of the scene. “I do. I’m captain of the schooner now; and if any man dares—”

He dragged a pistol from his belt and cocked it.

“Do you hear?” cried Mazzard again. “I’m captain now, and if any man dares to say I’m not, let him—Well, no, I won’t give him time to say his prayers!”

He stared round the ring of people, of which he now formed the centre, the pistol barrel pointing all round, as if its holder were in search of a mark.

Just then Bart stepped forward, but Jack drew him aside.

“No; let me speak,” he said.

“Oh, it’s you, is it, my whipper-snapper!” cried Mazzard, scornfully. “There, we had enough of your little baby of a brother, and he’s dead; so now, if you want to keep your skin whole, go back to your place, and if you behave yourself I’ll make you my cabin-boy.”

Jack continued to advance, looking round at the crew, who, some fifty strong, had now hurried upon deck.

“D’yer hear?” roared Mazzard, who seemed brutally sober now. “Go back, or—”

He took aim at Jack with the pistol, and a murmur ran round the crew once more—a murmur which was turned to a shout of applause, for, gazing full at the drink inflamed countenance before him, Jack stepped right up to Mazzard and seized the pistol, which exploded in the air.

The next moment it was wrenched out of the ruffian’s hand, and sent flying over the side, to fall with a splash in the sea.

“Look here, my lads,” cried Jack, turning his back to Mazzard, and ignoring the threatening gesture he made with a knife; “look here, my lads; it is not for any man to say he will be your captain. My brave brother is dead—”

“God rest him!” cried Dinny.

“And it is for you to choose someone in his place. Do you select Black Mazzard?”

“No,” roared Dinny, “the divil a bit! Three cheers, me boys, for the bowld little Commodore Junk!”

The crew burst into a roar, even those who had favoured Mazzard being carried away.

“A lad who was niver afraid of anny man’s pishtle,” cried Dinny, leaping on a cask and waving his cap.

“Hurrah!” shouted the men, enthusiastically.

“A lad who has only wan failing in him.”

“Hurrah!” came in chorus, and a voice cried: “What’s that, Dinny?”

“Faix, his mother made a mistake and let him be born out of Oireland.”

There was another roar, and the crew pressed round Jack, whose face flushed as he hold up his hand.

“Stop a minute, my lads!” he cried. “Don’t decide in haste, for I shall be a hard officer.”

“And a brave one,” shouted Dinny.

“Hurrah!”

“Am I to understand,” continued Jack, “that you select me for your captain?”

“Yes, yes,” came in a roar.

“Then I have a request to make,” cried Jack; “and that is, that you support and obey my first lieutenant.”

“Hurrah for owld Bart Wrigley!” roared Dinny.

“No, no; stop!” cried Jack. “I choose my own lieutenant. Mazzard, will you serve under me faithfully as a man?”

Black Mazzard stood scowling for a few moments, and then held out his hand.

“I will,” he said. “There’s no jealousy in me.”

“Hurrah!” shouted the crew again; and directly after the new captain gave orders for the schooner’s head to be laid for Sandy Key, towards which she was soon tacking to and fro.