Chapter Eleven.

Main was the search for water; though every inch of ground throughout the island was carefully surveyed, not a sign of a spring could be discovered.

Having examined all the provisions which had been collected, Mr Collinson found they had sufficient for two months or so, on short allowance. It might be managed so as to last rather longer; but could they hope to get away even in that time? Not only months, but years might go by, before any vessel might pass sufficiently near to distinguish them. They had no means of making a signal, for all the masts and spars had been carried away when the schooner first struck; and, being dashed about on the reef, had been broken to fragments. The group of trees were all close together, so that no signal could be seen flying from them.

Mr Collinson evidently had great difficulty in keeping up his own spirits; he did his best, however, for some time. Employment, he knew, was a great thing both for himself and the rest. He therefore advised that they should build a hut, which would shelter them from the heat in the day, and, should the rainy season come on, protect them from the rain. For this purpose there was an ample supply of timber. Having built the hut, they next began to furnish it. First, they made a table and stools. Jack Windy proposed, when the lieutenant was out of hearing, that they should make a chair for him. On this they all four set to work, and, whenever he was away, got on with it, putting it aside when he returned. In a couple of days, they had the satisfaction of presenting him with a comfortable armchair. It was evident, indeed, that he needed it, for, in spite of his courage, anxiety was preying upon him, and his health and strength were failing. Bill watched him anxiously.

“It will never do if he gives in,” he said to himself, and he thought how he could best arouse him.

Whenever Mr Collinson was within hearing, Bill talked more cheerfully than ever.

“You said, sir, the other day, that we should have the rainy season down upon us before long; if so, we need not be afraid of want of water. I was looking at a place at the other end of the island, where there’s a large piece of flat ground, and I thought to myself, if we could dig a hole in the middle, and just make some small trenches leading into it, when the rain comes down we might chance to get some water. Maybe it won’t be very clean, but we could pass it through some sail-cloth, or some of the linen we found in the carpenter’s chest, and so we shall be able to fill up our casks again.”

“A very good idea,” said Mr Collinson; “we will try it, at all events.”

“And I was thinking, sir, that we might get some fish. I found a paper of fish-hooks in the chest, among other things; and there’s no doubt we should find plenty of fish out in the lagoon.”

“We will make a raft and try,” said Mr Collinson. “I have been thinking of it, though, but I did not know any fish-hooks had been found.”

“I used to be a capital hand at fishing, sir, in Portsmouth Harbour,” said Bill, “and always had more luck than anybody else; so I hope I shall have here.”

While the rest of the party were building a raft, Bill hunted along the shore, where he found several varieties of shell-fish.

“Some of these will help to keep us alive, if we cannot get fish,” he observed, as he returned with them; “but I have no doubt that some of them will serve as bait; we will try, at all events.”

Next morning, at daybreak, all hands were engaged in constructing a small raft capable of carrying two or three people. Some paddles were formed, and a mast and sail rigged, so that they might even go out as far as the reef. Some small line was found that served pretty well for fishing-lines, when Bill and Jack Windy, getting on the raft, paddled out to a little distance from the shore. Bill’s line had not been in the water two minutes before he got a bite, and directly afterwards he hauled up a fine, big fish. In two or three minutes more he caught another; and, curiously enough, he had caught five, while Jack, who was on the other side of the raft, only caught one.

“Why, you are in luck, Bill,” said Jack.

“I don’t know how it is,” said Bill, “but it’s always the case with me. Whenever I used to go out fishing with anybody else, I always caught three times as many fish as they did. At all events, I am thankful that we have been so fortunate.”

In an hour, the raft returned with fish enough to serve the party for a couple of days. Their success put them in good spirits, and even Mr Collinson revived greatly. A tinder-box having been found in the chest, they were able to light a fire to cook their fish. Some they boiled, and some they roasted on spits. Mr Collinson, however, who had been as a midshipman in the South Seas, recollected the way the natives of several islands cooked their fish. Having collected a number of leaves, the fish were wrapped up in them. A hole was then dug, and a number of stones, heated in the fire, were thrown into it. On the top of these the fish were placed. More leaves were then thrown in, and the whole covered in with earth.

Old Grim looked on with a considerable amount of doubt as to the success of the experiment exhibited in his countenance. Mr Collinson, however, told them that he would let them know when it was time to remove the earth. In about half an hour he came back, and the earth being cleared away and the leaves removed, steam arose from the hole, and the fish were found perfectly cooked and hot. The whole party agreed that they had never before tasted more delicious fish.

They had now no longer any fear of starving. Still, as Mr Collinson gazed over the ocean, he could not help feeling that they were thus only prolonging their lives to meet, ultimately, with the same termination.

“We shall soon be getting the scurvy among us,” he thought to himself, “as no man can live on this diet, without vegetables, and escape that horrible complaint; and even if we do not get the scurvy, we must sink at last from want of water.”

He also felt the life he was compelled to lead far more than did the others. They were companions to each, while he was, as it were, alone. Often and often he went away by himself to the other end of the island to consider by what means they could escape from their imprisonment. He did not forget also to lift up his heart in prayer for guidance and protection.

“God may find a way for us to escape, though I know not how it is to be,” he said often to himself.

Thus day after day, and week after week, passed away. Although they had most carefully husbanded their water, it was now growing very scarce. Not a drop of rain had fallen by which it could be replenished.

They had wisely covered up the casks with planks and boughs, so as to keep them from the heat, and to diminish the evaporation as much as possible. Still, in that climate, a good deal of water, they knew, must thus be lost. From sunrise to sunset, their eyes were consequently cast over the ocean, in the hopes of discovering a sail; but none appeared, proving that Mr Collinson was right when he told them that few vessels were likely to pass that way. Still hope was kept alive in their bosoms.

As they saw the water decreasing, they now also began to look out eagerly for signs of rain; but the sky remained blue as ever, undimmed by a single cloud. Day after day the sun rose, and came burning down on their heads, to sink again into the same unclouded horizon. Their tank had long been formed. Bill especially made frequent visits to it, to keep it clean. He was more sanguine than the rest as to the advantage of the tank.

“I doubt, boy, in spite of all you say, if it will ever hold water, even if the rain does come down,” said old Grim, in his usual tone. “We are all doomed men—that’s my opinion. I may be wrong, of course; and I hope so for your sake, Bill. It’s hard for a young chap like you to die; but for an old fellow like me, it’s no odds to no one.”

At length Mr Collinson, in spite of all his efforts to keep up, again overcome by weakness, was unable to leave the hut. Bill sat by his side, doing his utmost to cheer him. His favourite topic was the drive from Kingston to Rock Hill Cottage, and the pleasant days he had spent there.

“And, sir, I am very sure we shall be back there one of these days. I don’t think, after we have been preserved so long, we shall be left to perish; though how we are to get away is more than I can say.”

On examining the cask, Jack Windy discovered, however, on that very day, that scarcely two quarts of water remained.

“Sam Grimshaw,” he said, addressing old Grim, as he pointed to the cask, “this is a bad job, but we must not let the lieutenant know of it. It will not do to give him less than his usual quantity; and you and I and the others must manage to go on still shorter commons.”

Old Grim readily agreed to this, as did Bill and Tommy—the latter, perhaps, somewhat unwillingly. For several days, whenever the lieutenant, who was suffering from fever, asked for water, it was brought to him, though the brave fellows felt their own throats parched and dry, and would only allow themselves just enough to wet their lips whenever they could no longer bear the thirst.

At length but a pint remained; and with heavier hearts than usual they went to bed, feeling almost as if they could not hold out more than another day. Several times during the night, Bill got up to give Mr Collinson the water he asked for. It was a sore trial to him, yet he would not put the cup to his own lips, though, if his pocket had been full of gold, he would have given the whole of it for a draught of water. By daylight they were up as usual, and Tommy Rebow, who was out-of-doors the first, came rushing back, singing out—

“Look there! Look there!”

They hurried to the door, expecting to see a vessel; but no sail was in sight. There was, however, in the horizon, a dark cloud, which, though small, was, after they had watched it for some time, evidently increasing in size. On it came, others following, till at length the whole horizon was dark with clouds. Eagerly they rushed forth to put out everything which could hold water, and then rolled up their casks to the side of the tank which they had formed. The whole sky, in the mean time, was overcast with dark clouds.

“There it is! There it is!” cried Jack, pointing to the sea, on which the rain was now pouring down.

On it came, like a wall of water. In a few minutes they were all soaked to the skin, while they lifted up their open mouths to catch the refreshing liquid. Several sails had been washed on shore, and one of these Grimshaw had employed himself in mending. He now brought it up with him, and, calling to his companions, they held it out with one side over one of the casks. So furiously did the rain fall, that the cask was quickly filled. This was indeed providential, for, in spite of all the labour that had been bestowed on the tank, the ground was so sandy that the greater portion of the water ran through it. As soon, however, as the rain had ceased, all hands ran and began to bale out a small quantity which had collected at the bottom. They saved enough to fill about half a cask.

“We should have been badly off, lads, if it had not been for my notion,” exclaimed Grimshaw, triumphantly. “My sail has done more than your tank.”

“Very true,” answered Jack; “but suppose another time the rain was to come in the night, when we were all asleep? The tank would get more than the sail. I have a notion, too, now the ground has been wetted, that if another shower comes the tank will fill better.”

With the precious fluid they had collected they returned to the hut, their strength greatly restored from the water they had drunk.

Now, for the first time, Mr Collinson learned to what a fearful state they had been reduced, and felt very grateful to them for the way in which they had supplied him, when they so much wanted the water themselves. Mr Collinson continued very ill; and often Bill, as he sat up watching him, thought that he was going to die.

Rain now frequently fell, and the heat became even greater, at times, than during the bright weather. At length the rain ceased, and the water which had been collected began once more to diminish with fearful rapidity. A long, dry season was before them, and by what means the casks were to be replenished no one could tell.

Chapter Twelve.

One night they were all asleep in their hut—for, as there were neither natives nor animals to be feared, no watch was kept—when suddenly Bill was awoke by a loud roaring sound. He could hear the trees above the hut shaking and rustling as if their heads were knocking together, the wind whistling among their boughs. All hands were quickly awake. A hurricane had just broken, and appeared to be far more furious than that when the schooner was wrecked.

“I am afraid the trees will be coming down and crushing us,” cried old Grim, starting up.

“It won’t do to take Mr Collinson out now,” said Bill; “so, if you are afraid of their coming down, I’ll stay by him.”

Grim went to the door, followed by Jack and Tommy. As they looked out they could see the whole sea, which had been calm as a mirror when they went to sleep, now tossed into high waves topped by foam, which came roaring against the island. Sometimes, indeed, it seemed as if they would roll over it, and sweep them and the hut and everything away, for the reef at the side from which the wind was blowing at that time afforded but slight shelter.

“Look out, lads; we had better say our prayers, for to my mind our last days have come,” said old Grim, coming back into the hut.

“I’ll say my prayers,” said Bill, “whether or not the last day is likely to have come.”

“Right, boy,” said Mr Collinson, who overheard him. “If all prayed as you do, lad, in times of safety, no one need have cause to tremble in danger. However, lads, you need not fear that the sea will break over the island. Depend upon it, this hurricane is not worse than has often blown in these latitudes; and if the sea had ever broken over the island, these tall trees would not be standing. There is no fear either, I think, of their coming down. Our hut, too, seems to stand securely, thanks to your carpentering, and the strong way in which it has been built. Very likely many a larger mansion will be unroofed to-night by the wind which spares our little hut.”

Encouraged by Mr Collinson, his companions again lay down, but of course to sleep was impossible. They, therefore, passed the remainder of the night in conversation, though they had to raise their voices to make themselves heard. The more furious hurricanes often do not last for any length of time. By the time the sun once more rose, the wind had abated, and rapidly falling, there was once more a calm. Bill was the first to go out of the hut, for the rest of the party, as the noise ceased, had gradually fallen off to sleep again. As he looked seaward, his eyes caught sight of a dark object floating at some distance from the land. A second glance only was required to show him that it was a dismasted vessel. With the hope that she might perhaps afford them the means of escaping, he hurried back with the Intelligence into the hut. The whole party, with the exception of the lieutenant, were quickly on their feet, rushing out to see the stranger. Mr Collinson, hearing their exclamations, in spite of his weakness, rose from his bed and followed them.

“I should not mind going out on the raft, if either of you will accompany me,” cried Jack Windy. “It’s a long pull, to be sure; but if we don’t get quickly on board she may be drifting by, and be still farther off than she is now.”

“My lads,” said Mr Collinson, “I should not like to separate. I would therefore rather increase the size of our fishing-raft, and all go off together. Those on board will be glad of your assistance, probably; and, considering that our provisions and water have nearly come to an end, we cannot be worse off than we shall be in the course of a few days. I believe God in His mercy has sent that vessel to our assistance. Had she not been dismasted, she would have passed by, and we could not have got aboard of her.”

The lieutenant’s proposal pleased all hands. They immediately set to work to increase the size of their raft, by placing some broken spars on either side, which projected a considerable distance fore and aft, and lashing spars across them. A couple of fresh paddles were also made, and a larger one to serve as a rudder. The sail already used was sufficient in case a breeze should favour them. While they were employed, they constantly looked up to the vessel to see if she was drifting away, but she seemed rather to get nearer than farther off. So eager had they been, that no one had thought of breakfast. Mr Collinson, however, insisted that they should take a good meal before starting.

“We do not know how long it may be before we shall reach the vessel, and, at all events, it will be pretty hard work,” he observed.

By his directions, also, the cask containing the remaining stock of water was placed in the centre of the raft, and lashed there securely. Two other casks were placed below the raft to give it greater buoyancy. As soon as all was ready, Mr Collinson was lifted on to the raft, for he was as yet too weak to walk. A seat had been formed for him where he could sit and steer. Jack and old Grim paddled in the forepart of the raft, while Bill and Tommy stood, or rather knelt, farther astern. A couple of poles had been provided, with which the two men shoved off the raft, and then, when they were in deep water, all hands began to paddle away with might and main. It was satisfactory to find that they could go ahead faster than they had expected. They now began to speculate what sort of vessel was the one in sight. They judged her to be of no great size—a brig, or barque, perhaps; a trader, at all events; but whether English, American, French, or Spanish, it was hard to say at that distance. Unaccustomed of late to much exercise, they found the work very hard. The sun, too, came down from the blue sky with intense heat upon their heads. Fortunately they had protected them with caps, or turbans rather, made out of bits of sail-cloth, their own hats having been lost when they were washed ashore. They now also felt grateful to Mr Collinson for having advised them to bring a good supply of water, and over and over again they dipped their tin mug into it, to satisfy the burning thirst which the heat produced.

“I wonder if they see us coming,” said Bill. “I should think, by this time, they would have caught sight of the raft.”

“Maybe they have plenty to do to look after themselves,” said Jack, “working away to get up jury-masts, and labouring at the pumps. Depend upon it, when we get on board we shall not have an idle life of it.”

“If foreigners, they will make us work like galley-slaves, I have a notion,” observed old Grim. “I think, after all, it would have been better if we had stayed where we were.”

Mr Collinson, who had discovered Grimshaw’s character by this time, made no remark, but let him talk on. It seemed to those paddling the raft that the longer they paddled the farther off was the vessel. Still, urged by their officer, they persevered. They now began to scan her more narrowly, but still could not determine of what nation she was.

“We hope, lads, that they will prove friends,” said Mr Collinson, “and at all events when they hear our story, unless they are brutes indeed, they can scarcely fail to treat us kindly.”

“Not so sure of that,” growled out old Grim. “They won’t eat us, maybe, but if they take us on board, it will be to work for them; we may depend on that.”

Such remarks, made occasionally, assisted to pass the time. At length they really were convinced that they had got very much nearer the vessel. Still no one could be seen on board. There she lay, floating quietly on the calm sea, and, except that her masts were gone, not having apparently suffered much in the hurricane. On and on they paddled. At length, having got within hailing distance of the vessel, which they now discovered was certainly a brig, Jack shouted out—

“Brig, ahoy!”

No answer came in return. They drew nearer and nearer. Again he shouted, but without receiving a reply. It now became nearly certain that no one was on board. At length they got alongside, and Jack made fast the raft by a rope which was hanging over the main-chains. By the same means he hauled himself up. As he reached the deck, he gazed around. No one was to be seen.

“We have the ship to ourselves, sir,” he said, looking over the side. “Will you come up?”

“Of course,” said Mr Collinson.

However, he found it impossible to do so by himself. The two boys, therefore, sprung into the chains, and old Grim remained on the raft to assist him up. It was not without difficulty that he at length got on board. The brig had suffered more than they had at first supposed in the hurricane. Her bulwarks on the opposite side had been completely stove in, her boats had been carried away and her deck swept of everything. Altogether, she was in a deplorable condition. Still, as some of the rigging remained attached to her, and there were probably spare spars below, Mr Collinson told the men that he proposed getting up jury-masts, and endeavouring to carry the vessel to Port Royal.

“It may be a long business, though,” he observed; “and first, lads, get up our cask of water. That is the most precious thing out here, and we must not throw a drop away. Very likely we shall not find an over-supply on board.”

He spoke just in time, for Tommy, fancying that the raft would no longer be wanted, was on the point of letting it go.

“Hold fast with the raft too,” said the lieutenant. “As we have no boat, it is possible we may yet find it of use.”

The cask having been hoisted up, with a few other articles which had been brought off, as well as the paddles and mast, the raft was veered astern.

“As we are afloat again, lads, I must once more take the command,” said Mr Collinson. “Jack Windy, do you and Bill Sunnyside go below, and come and report to me what you see. Grimshaw, sound the well. After the battering the brig must have had, she must be making a good deal of water.”

Old Grim soon returned aft, reporting that there was six feet of water in the hold.

“That looks bad,” observed the lieutenant. “However, some may have got in when the sea which carried away the masts struck the vessel.”

While he was speaking Jack and Bill came hurrying up from below.

“Oh! Sir,” exclaimed Jack, “I don’t like the look of things at all. We have found two people in the cabin—dead—who, from their looks, I am pretty certain, died of yellow fever; if so, it will be a bad job for us.”

“It may be so,” said Mr Collinson. “At all events, we shall be wise then not to live below. Go forward, and see if there are any people there. Bill, do you stay on deck.”

Jack disappeared down the fore-hatchway, but directly afterwards returned with a look of horror.

“There are three poor fellows there, sir. One of them is alive; but, from the way he was crying out, I don’t think he can live many minutes longer. She looks to me like a French vessel—at all events, she is not English.”

This announcement was truly alarming. Mr Collinson told the men to carry him down, that he might see the poor sick man.

“We don’t want to be mutinous, sir,” answered Jack, “but that is what we won’t do. You are ill already, and more likely to catch the fever than we are. I’ll carry him down a mug of water, maybe that will do him good, but it’s little use any of us can be to him, I have a notion.”

Saying this, Jack again disappeared down the fore-hatch. He quickly returned.

“It was of no use, sir,” he said. “No sooner did I put the water to the poor fellow’s lips, than he gave a gasp and off he went. And now, sir, there are five of them lying there all dead. The sooner we get them up and overboard the better.”

Mr Collinson agreed to this, and the two men accordingly went at once into the cabin, and returned bringing a man, whom from his appearance they supposed to have been the captain. Without more ado, they slid the body overboard. Thus one after the other was treated. There was no time for ceremony of any sort. For their own safety, the great point was to get rid of the bodies at once. A tar-pot having been found, Mr Collinson then sent the men below, to fumigate the cabin and the forepeak.

“If we do that thoroughly, I trust that we need not fear the fever,” he observed. “At all events, let us put our faith in Providence, and pray that we may be preserved.”

Chapter Thirteen.

There was no time for any one to be idle on board the brig. She had received a tremendous shaking in the hurricane, and was leaking considerably. It was a wonder, indeed, that she had not gone down. To have a chance of safety, jury-masts must be got up before another breeze should come on, or she might be driven on the reefs and lost.

Jack, having searched the cabin, brought all the papers he could find to Mr Collinson. By this he discovered that the brig was the Beatrix, bound from New Orleans to Point À Petre in Dominique.

“Poor fellows! Some probably died from the yellow fever before the hurricane came on, and the rest, unable to shorten sail in time, must have been washed overboard when the masts were carried away, as the wind struck her,” observed Mr Collinson. “Pray Heaven that we may be preserved; but I will not deceive you, lads; it will require all your courage and resolution to carry the vessel safely into port. We have a long passage before us, and I will do my best to navigate her, but I can do little more.”

“And we will do our best, Mr Collinson, to obey your orders,” answered Jack Windy.

“Then, Jack, the first thing will be to get hold of a quadrant and chart, and navigation books. Without these it will be very guess-work. Fortunately, I understand the French; so that, if they are found, there will not be much difficulty in the matter.”

As soon as Bill heard this, he hurried below, and soon returned with several books, a chart, and a quadrant.

“The first thing is to know whereabouts we are,” said the lieutenant; “and, as it must be nearly noon, I will take an observation at once. You must lift me up, though, lads; I am too weak to stand.”

Supported by Jack and Bill Sunnyside, the lieutenant leant against the companion-hatch, and made the required observation.

“I was only just in time, though,” he remarked. “The sun dipped not two minutes after I got a sight of him through the instrument. There,” he said, pointing to a spot on the chart, “is where, by my calculations, we now are. If you steer south-west, you will make Cape Saint Antonio, at the westernmost end of Cuba; but look out for the Colorados, and do not run the ship upon them. I tell you this, should anything happen to me.”

“But we hope, sir, nothing will happen to you,” said Jack, “and that you will live to carry in the brig to Port Royal, before many weeks are over.”

Mr Collinson replied that he had little hopes himself of ever again seeing land.

There appeared to be no want of provisions on board, for even in the cabin a couple of hams and cheese and a cask of biscuit were found, with several other articles; and on deck was a water-butt, which, having been tightly bunged and well secured, had escaped being washed away, or filled with salt water.

All hands now set to work to get up spars from below, and canvas, and rope. As the wind came from the northward, they were eager to make sail without loss of time. Spars were therefore secured to the stumps of the masts, and stayed up, and a couple of royals set on them. Fortunately, the rudder had escaped injury; and though, as Jack Windy observed, the brig was under-rigged, she slipped through the water at the rate of a couple of miles an hour.

“‘It’s a long lane that has no turning,’ I’ve heard say,” said Bill; “and it’s a long voyage, I conclude, that has no ending; and so, I suppose, if the brig keeps afloat as long, we shall reach port at last.”

“You may well say ‘if,’” observed old Grim; “but, to my mind, the water’s coming in faster than we are likely to pump it out; and directly we get a bit of a sea on, it will play old Harry with us.”

Though old Grim grumbled on all occasions, yet he worked as hard as anybody else, and so nobody minded his grumbling. The very worst sort of character is the fellow who grumbles and does not work; and there are some such on board ships, as well as on shore.

Having got up their temporary masts, they now set to work to build more permanent ones. In this, old Grim showed a good deal of skill, and ably carried out Mr Collinson’s directions. Darkness put an end to their labours. They, in the mean time, however, had rigged an awning on deck, under which Mr Collinson might sleep, for they agreed that it might not be wise to remain any length of time in the cabin. Jack and Bill took one watch, and old Grim and Tommy Rebow the other.

The binnacle as well as the wheel had escaped, and, oil being found, they were able to light the lamp at night. Bill had already learned to take his trick at the helm. He was therefore able to steer part of his time during his watch; indeed, there was no great difficulty, in consequence of the small amount of sail the brig was carrying. When Jack came aft to take the helm, Bill remembered what old Grim had said.

“Don’t you think it will be as well for us to try to sound the well, and see if the vessel has made more water?” he asked.

“Yes; hold on for a minute, and I will do it,” said Jack.

He came aft again in a short time.

“To my mind, she’s leaking faster than is pleasant,” he observed. “If you will stand to the helm, I will rig the pump, and see if we can’t clear her a little.”

In a short time the pump was heard going. It awoke Mr Collinson.

“I thought it would be safer, sir, to keep the pump going,” sung out Jack; “but don’t be concerned about it, sir; it’s just on the safe side.”

Jack pumped and pumped away till he could pump no longer; he then went and roused up old Grim, who grumbled fearfully.

“Come, Grimshaw,” he said, “just you take a spell at the pump. If we cannot manage to stop the leak, or to get the vessel clear, there’s not much chance of our getting into Port Royal harbour, that I can see.”

Old Grim, although he grumbled, pumped away as lustily as Jack; and then Tommy jumped up and took a spell, and when he was tired he called Bill, and took his place at the helm; and thus they went on till daylight, when Grim declared the water was considerably lessened in the hold. This gave them encouragement. Poor Mr Collinson felt very much vexed that he could not help. The men would not hear of it.

“No, sir, you just lie quiet there. Our lives depend upon your holding on, as much as your life depends on our exertions; for if you were to leave us, how should we ever find our way into port again?”

Jack insisted that the two boys should lie down again, and get some rest, while he and Grimshaw took it by turns at the pump. At length they agreed that by labouring at the pump every alternate hour, they might keep the leak under. They now again turned to, to get up jury-masts. A sufficient supply of rope was found for the standing rigging, and by night they had a very respectable foremast stepped and well secured with a short jib-boom, on which a fore-staysail was set. The night was spent much as the former had been, though all hands began to feel very weary with their exertions. Their only comfort was that Mr Collinson appeared to be gaining strength. Although the caboose had been carried away, there was a stove in the cabin, and in this they were able to cook their provisions. Some good tea was found, and other luxuries, which tended much to restore the lieutenant’s health. The following day they got up a mainmast, and besides this they rigged a small mizzen-mast, on which they were able to set a sail to assist in steering the vessel. It was rigged just in time, for the wind began to draw somewhat round to the north-west, making the coast of Cuba, which at length appeared in sight, a lee shore. They hauled up, therefore; but not without some anxiety weathered the Colorados, which they saw not a couple of miles to leeward of them.

In a short time, Mr Collinson was well enough to take the helm for several hours each day, giving more time to his small crew to work the pump and obtain necessary rest. At length Cape Saint Antonio appeared in sight; and, weathering it, the course was altered to south-east. Once more they were out of sight of land. Mr Collinson had showed all of them the chart, that they might the better understand where they were going, and that the progress they had made might keep up their spirits. They had still a passage of some four or five hundred miles before them; but though their vessel was somewhat leaky, and even with a good breeze they could not make more than three or four knots an hour, still, as Bill observed, “it must some day or other come to an end.”

The brig was now about mid-way between the main land of Central America and Cuba, when the wind, which had been for some time light, dropped altogether. In vain old Grim growled; in vain Jack whistled for a breeze. The water they had brought on board, as well as that in the cask, was almost exhausted.

“It will be pretty well time to be getting this cask filled again,” observed old Grim, as he drew out a tin cupful of water. “I will just go down below, and see about getting up another.”

He was a considerable time absent, hunting about with a lantern in his hand. At length he came up again, with a look of dismay on his countenance.

“Jack,” he said, “do you know I have been hunting from stem to stern, and not a cask, which looks as if it had water in it, can I find?”

Mr Collinson, who was steering at the time, guessed from the looks of the men that something was wrong.

“We ought to have economised it more,” he observed; “it was wrong in me not to warn you. However, we must make the most of what we have got; and perhaps in another search we may be more fortunate.”

“I will have a look,” said Jack; “and here, Bill, you come with me.”

Jack and Bill hunted about as old Grim had done. At length, he appeared under the hatchway, and shouted out—

“Here’s a cask of some sort, at all events: it contains liquor, if it does not contain water.”

The cask was got up.

“You must promise me, lads, if that cask contains spirits, not to drink it. Let’s broach it, however, and see.”

On a hole being bored, wine spouted out.

“We should be thankful for this,” said Mr Collinson, “it is light claret, and a small quantity will probably do us all good.”

It was arranged that a pint of wine only should be taken by each of them every day. This would save the consumption of water.

“I would rather it had been water,” said old Grim; “though, to be sure, the wine is not bad, and I should not mind if it had been a little stronger.”

The calm continued. The sea was like glass. Chips of wood, even some feathers, thrown overboard, did not move from the side of the vessel. There she lay, her battered sides reflected in the mirror-like surface of the ocean. Now her head slowly moved round in one direction, now in another, but no progress was made. At night they lay down, hoping that the morning would bring a breeze; but when the morning sun began its upward course, his rays getting hotter and hotter, till the pitch in the seams bubbled and hissed, on he went, passing almost overhead, till he again glided down into his ocean bed in the west.

Chapter Fourteen.

Day after day, the brig floated on the motionless ocean. The water was almost exhausted, so also was the cask of claret. There was still some food remaining, but, without water, it would be of little avail in keeping those on board the brig alive. Grimshaw had hitherto kept up his spirits, as well as the rest of the party, but he and Tommy Rebow declared that they would work no more, that the vessel was doomed to destruction, and that sink she would in the course of a few days.

“But before that time, perhaps, a breeze will spring up, and we shall be slipping along merrily through the water,” observed Sunshine Bill.

“We shall be slipping down to the bottom, rather,” said Old Grim. “Though we have been pumping away till we have nearly pumped our arms off, the water has been gaining upon us for the last two days, to my knowledge. It comes in all round the vessel, and human power can no longer keep her afloat.”

Even Mr Collinson looked graver than he had done for some time. He was now able to take an occasional spell at the pumps, and, as if to shame Grimshaw, he took hold of the brake. After working away for some time, he sounded the well His countenance showed that there was more water in the vessel than he liked.

“My lads,” he said at length, “I am afraid, after all, that we shall be unable to keep the brig afloat. At all events, in case she should go down, it will be wise to have some means of saving our lives. Our raft is small for a long voyage: we will, therefore, haul it up alongside, and enlarge and strengthen it. It will enable us to keep afloat till some vessel passes, though I cannot promise you that we should be able to reach Jamaica on it.”

Several empty bottles had been found in the cabin, and into these all the water that remained was put, as was also the claret into others. They, with the remainder of the biscuit and meat which had been found, were put ready to place on the raft. In the mean time, following Mr Collinson’s directions, they increased and strengthened the raft. This being done, it was once more dropped astern. The heat and the anxiety they underwent was now telling on all hands. Mr Collinson again became ill; indeed, none of the party were in a much better condition. Still they had to keep their watch at night as usual. Bill was forward, looking out over the ocean, and wishing that a breeze would come, when he cried out—

“See! See! She’s coming towards us! I see her white canvas shining in the moonlight. She’s coming on fast. Look, Jack, look! Can’t you make her out?”

Jack Windy at first declared he could see nothing, but when Bill more clearly described the vessel, he also asserted that he saw her. Yet not a breath of wind had reached them. On came the stranger.

“Shall we call up Mr Collinson?” asked Bill.

“No, no, boy, I can’t make it out. Don’t say anything. I fancied I heard a voice hail us; yet I don’t know. Why, there she goes, not two cables’ length off from us. I could almost declare I saw the people on her deck. Yet I have never before seen a vessel sailing head to wind, as some say they do, or in a calm like this.”

Rapidly the vessel glided away to the east, till she was lost to sight.

“Boy, this is the strangest thing I ever saw in my life,” said Jack Windy. “It’s not a thing I should like to talk about—no more will you, I have a notion—yet both of us saw it, I’ll swear to that.”

On calling Grimshaw and Tommy to relieve the deck, they could not resist telling them what they had seen.

“Maybe we shall see something of the same sort,” said old Grim. “I don’t like those sort of things, but I am not surprised.”

When daylight broke, old Grim declared that he also had seen a vessel passing rapidly by, and disappearing to the east. They determined to tell Mr Collinson.

“I am not surprised,” he answered, “at what you tell me, my lads; but I have to assure you that the vessels you think you have seen have been all the time inside your own brains. Bill thought he saw a vessel, and that made Jack think he had seen one; and when they told Grimshaw and Tommy Rebow, it made them fancy the same; but, depend upon it, you have not, in reality, seen a vessel of any sort. If God should wish to relieve us, He will send one in His own good time; but if not, He has His reasons for leaving us alone.”

“That I am sure He will have, sir,” said Bill.

They waited the whole of the day, anxiously looking out for the sight of a breeze, but still round them was the same unbroken surface of water, blue and shining in the day, and dark and leaden at night. The water in their cask was decreasing fearfully; their provisions, also, were nearly exhausted. Though they kept lines overboard, and Bill was constantly fishing, no fish were caught. At last they gave up even attempting to catch them. As their strength decreased from want of food and water, they were less able to work the pump. The consequence was, the leak again gained upon them. All but Bill began to despair. He, true to his principles, kept up his spirits.

“Well, Bill, I do envy you,” said Tommy Rebow; “but your hoping is of no use. If the vessel does not go down, we shall all be starved in a few days, so it will make but little difference.”

“I don’t say that,” said Bill. “A breeze will some day or other spring up, and then, in this narrow sea, some vessel must surely pass us, and it’s not likely that they would leave us to perish; and if not, we may still be able to carry the vessel to some land or other, even if we can’t carry her to Jamaica, where we shall find provisions and water. I think it’s wrong, therefore, to despair. Let’s trust in God. He has taken care of us up to this time, do not you think He can take care of us still longer? He can’t be tired of looking after us, and if He cared for us once, He will care for us still.”

Still neither Tom nor the rest of the party could recover their spirits. At length one night it was Jack and Bill’s watch. Jack had sat down and dropped off to sleep, for he had little strength remaining, and all his spirits were gone. Bill, however, kept awake. He was standing at the helm, for though there was no wind, the sails were set ready to catch the first breath of air which might come to them. As he was looking round, he thought he saw a dark line on the water. It rapidly approached.

“Jack! Jack!” he shouted out, “here comes the breeze!”

But poor Jack was fast asleep, and fancied when he heard Bill’s voice that he was only dreaming. Again Bill shouted. The vessel began to lift with the heaving sea. Jack sprang to his feet.

“A breeze! A breeze!” he shouted out, running to the sheets; but at that instant a strong blast struck the vessel, and before the rest of the crew could come on deck, with a loud crash both the masts were carried away, and the brig lay as helpless as at first on the water.

With great exertions, however, the spars and sails were saved, and got inboard. Still, it was evident that nothing could be done that night, and they must wait till the wind abated, before they could again get up their masts and sails.

“We have been waiting for this breeze, lads,” said Mr Collinson, “and now it has come, we ought to make the best use we can of it. Even if we can rig a rag of a sail forward, it will help us along.”

Though weak and ill, Mr Collinson set the example, and at length a short spar with a royal was fixed to the stump of the foremast. Aided by this, the vessel ran on before the wind. The breeze, however, though moderate at first, increased towards daylight, and the vessel now began to pitch and roll greatly. In the morning, when old Grim, who acted as cook, sent Tommy for some water, he returned with a look of dismay. Not a drop remained in the cask. This was sad news.

“Give me a lantern,” said Bill; “and, Tommy, you and I will have another hunt, and see if there is another cask to be found.”

“It’s of no use,” observed old Grim; “I hunted everywhere, and could not find one.”

“Maybe we shall be more fortunate,” said Bill; and, taking the lantern, he and Tommy went down into the hold. The water was washing about fearfully inside, and he could not help fearing that a good deal more was now coming in than during the calm. There was some danger, too, of their being struck by various articles which were tumbling about in the hold, having broken loose, or been washed up by the water.

“See! See!” cried Bill. “Hold up the lantern! Why, that looks like a water-cask!”

They waited till the vessel seemed steady for a moment; then, making a rush together, they caught hold of the cask. It was but a small one, such as was used to bring the water off, in boats, from the shore. It was full: there was no doubt about that. Having secured it under the hatchway, Bill told Tommy to go and call Jack or old Grim to assist them in getting it up. Jack soon came down with a tackle, and the cask was hoisted up on deck. It was quickly opened. Mr Collinson praised Bill very much for finding it.

“And now, lads,” he said, “we must consider this worth its weight in gold, and more than that, too.”

The men promised to husband it with the greatest care. All hands now went below, to search for more provisions, while Mr Collinson remained at the helm. A few onions were discovered, and another small cask of biscuits, but they were somewhat damaged by the salt water. Nothing else eatable could be found. Even during the short time they had been below, the wind had increased considerably, and the vessel was now tumbling about more than ever. Jack’s face, too, looked unusually long as he went up to Mr Collinson.

“I am afraid, sir, the brig won’t swim many hours longer, for, as she rolls about, the water comes pouring in on both sides.”

“I was afraid it would be so,” said Mr Collinson. “We must have another spell at the pumps, then.”

“Very little use in that, sir,” said old Grim. “I don’t think if we were to pump spell after spell we should keep the vessel afloat. To my mind, if there’s any shore near, we should steer directly for it, and even then I doubt if we should reach it.”

Under the present circumstances, Grim could venture to speak to an officer with more freedom than on ordinary occasions. Although Mr Collinson wished to keep up the men’s spirits, he could not help seeing that they were right. Indeed, from the peculiar motion of the vessel, in a short time he began to fear that she would not float even as long as they had expected. All this time the raft had been towing astern. It was well-built, or it would have come to pieces from the tossing about it was now receiving. Should the vessel go down, it was their only hope. Still the lieutenant determined to try and save her; and, going to the pump, he began working away himself. Jack followed him, and even old Grim took a spell. He worked on for some time.

“It’s of no use,” he said at length; “I am sure we are not keeping the water under.”

It was too evident that he was right, as it came in faster than ever. Mr Collinson now ordered them to bring the water-cask, and their scanty supply of provisions, and a few other articles up on deck, ready to lower down on the raft.

Chapter Sixteen.

The ship by which Mr Collinson and his companions had been rescued was the Poisson Volant, a privateer fitted out at Port a Petre, in Dominique. She had had a long run of ill-luck, so the surgeon told him, and this had put her officers in very bad humour. The dark, stout man was her captain, of whom the surgeon seemed to stand greatly in awe.

“He would make no scruple of shooting any one through the head who offends him, and as I have no fancy to be treated in that way, I purpose, if I can once get on shore, to leave the ship.”

This was not very pleasant information; but Mr Collinson hoped to be able to escape giving the tyrant any cause of offence. Bill Sunnyside was very hungry, as were his companions, when they fell asleep. He kept dreaming about feasts, and then at length he thought he was once more at home, and that his mother had got a capital supper ready for him, and that she and his brothers and sisters were collected round the table, and he thought that he himself was, somehow or other, kept out of the room. The smell of the sausages, however, came through a chink in the door, and made him feel still more hungry. He could not open the door, and he could not cry out to ask any one to let him in. Still, there they all sat, with the sausages bubbling away on the table, and the kettle hissing on the hearth, and a large loaf of bread and a big pat of butter, all ready, waiting to be eaten. At length he made a run, and resolved to burst open the door, when he heard old Grim sing out, and he found that he had, somehow or other, tumbled over him. His nostrils were at the same time assailed with savoury odours, and he saw men coming from the galley-fire with pans and dishes from which wreaths of steam were ascending. The mess-tables were quickly spread, and the men began their dinners. Bill and his companions watched them for some minutes, and could then stand it no longer, but getting up, they came to the nearest mess-table, pointing to their mouths. The Frenchmen laughed, and then invited them to join them.

“It was the smell of their dinner made me dream,” thought Bill, as he thankfully accepted the dish of soup and meat which was handed to him. Never had he eaten a more delicious mess; hunger, indeed, increased its flavour, and he did his best to show the Frenchmen the satisfaction it afforded him. They seemed much amused when he held out his bowl for more. Of course, Bill could not understand what was said, as none appeared to speak English. When dinner was over, Bill and his companions were allowed to lie down again out of the way, on the hammocks, and were once more quickly asleep. They woke up again at supper-time, when Bill felt himself perfectly ready for another meal. The next day, however, the Frenchmen looked somewhat sulkily at them, and some hard biscuit and water was given them for breakfast; while at dinner, instead of being invited to the messes, a bowl of soup was placed before them, from which, by signs, they understood they were to help themselves. The next day their bedding was taken away, and they found that they had only the hard deck to lie upon. Grimshaw, as may be supposed, grumbled greatly.

“We must bear it, however,” said Bill. “The voyage will come to an end before long; then, I suppose, if the English have got hold of any Frenchmen, these people will be glad to give us up, and get them back instead. I wonder how Mr Collinson is getting on? I hope they don’t treat him as they do us.”

Although Grimshaw grumbled, he could not help acknowledging that they were all gaining health and strength, with the rest they were enjoying; and in the course of three days they were so much better, that they could manage to crawl on deck. The wind had been very light, so they had made but little progress. As they were able to get into a shady place, the fresh air revived them. Bill looked aft, anxiously looking for Mr Collinson, but he did not appear. When he attempted to go aft himself, one of the seamen made signs to him that he was to remain where he was. The ship was running some three or four knots only through the water, with all sail set.

“I say, Tommy,” said Bill to his companion, “there’s another chance of our escaping a French prison. What do you think if the Lilly, or some other ship of war, was to fall in with us? That would be a happy thing.”

“I don’t know,” answered Tommy. “Perhaps they would cut our throats and throw us overboard, just in revenge. They look as if they were up to anything of that sort.”

“No no, Tommy! Don’t be cast down. I would run the risk of that, for, rough as they are, I don’t think they would do anything as bad as that.”

At length the town of Point a Petre, in the island of Dominique, appeared in sight. All this time they had not seen Mr Collinson, nor had they been able to hear anything about him. When the ship came to an anchor, they were ordered below. After some time they were called on deck, and they then saw that a French boat with six soldiers was alongside.

“You Englishmen, get into that boat!” shouted the mulatto captain.

They of course obeyed. As soon as they were in her, they saw Mr Collinson, who had just then come up on deck, look over the side.

“Glad, sir, to see that no harm has happened to you,” shouted Jack. “We hope you are coming with us.”

“I believe I am, my men; and thanks to you for your kind wishes,” answered Mr Collinson, who just then turned round to shake hands with the surgeon. Directly afterwards, he came down the side into the boat.

As soon as they landed, they were taken up before a military officer, who cross-questioned them, by means of an interpreter, addressing Mr Collinson directly in French.

“You are to be sent into the interior,” said the interpreter, “and you will there remain, till the war is concluded.”

Their examination being over, they were taken away by the guards who had them in charge. Mr Collinson had, fortunately, his purse in his pocket with a few gold pieces.

“Now, my men,” he said, “I wish to lay this out to the best advantage of us all. If I spend it in clothing, which we all very much want, we shall have nothing to buy food. I will, therefore, reserve it for an emergency.”

The lieutenant, however, supplied the party with hats, which they very much wanted. Though shoes would have been pleasant, they could still do without them. Their clothes were, as may be supposed, in a sadly tattered condition. To obtain new ones, was out of the question. Their guards, however, allowed them to go to the barber’s, where, their hair being cut, they looked a little less like Robinson Crusoes than they had hitherto done. They were then marched to the prison, and were all shut up in a room, with no greater indulgence shown to Mr Collinson than to them.

“It’s a great shame!” exclaimed Jack Windy, “to treat our officer in this way. It’s all very right and proper for us, but they ought to show more respect, that they ought.”

“Never mind, my lad,” said Mr Collinson. “I thank you for your good feeling, and more faithful, kind fellows I could not wish to be cast among.”

Next day the gaoler came in, and told them they were to prepare for a journey, and in a short time they were brought out of prison, at the door of which they found four mules waiting to carry them, with a guard of black soldiers.

“You speak French?” said a man, addressing the first lieutenant. “Tell your people, then, that each of the men is to mount a mule, while one will serve for the two boys. You take the other.”

The animals were far from gaily caparisoned, straw packs on their backs serving the place of saddles. The boys quickly climbed up to the back of their beast, while the lieutenant and the two men mounted theirs.

“Forward!” was the word given, and they moved on, the black soldiers, grinning and gabbling negro French, running by their sides. They were soon out of the town, and proceeding along a dusty road, with coffee-plantations on either side, no trees remaining to shelter them from the sun. At length, however, they got into a wilder part of the country, where the dense tropical vegetation occasionally afforded them shade. After some miles, they came in sight of a large country house. Hot, thirsty, and weary, they turned their eyes towards it, wishing that some of the inmates might have the charity to invite them to stop and rest.

“If you will tell me what to say, sir, I will go and ask,” said Bill, “if the guards will let me.”

Mr Collinson advised him simply to point to his mouth, and to make signs that he was very weary. The guards, who were entertaining, perhaps, the same ideas as their prisoners, without difficulty let Bill go off, while they drew up in the shade near the house. In a short time Bill returned.

“It’s all right, sir,” he said. “There was a tall young lady came out, and she looked so kindly at me when I spoke; and when I pointed to you all here, she made signs that we were to come up to the house.”

Mr Collinson, on this, explained to the guards what the boy said, and the whole party proceeded to the wide steps which led up to the entrance-door, under a deep verandah. The young lady was there. Mr Collinson took off his hat, and explained in his best French who they were.

“Oh!” she said, “my father will be at home presently, and he, I am sure, will gladly afford you any assistance in his power.”

On this they all dismounted, the black soldiers taking the mules round to the stables by the side of the house, allowing their prisoners to follow the young lady into the interior. She led them into a large airy room, covered with fine matting, the only furniture consisting of several cane sofas and chairs, and a long table down the centre. She then clapped her hands, and a negro servant appeared.

“He will attend on you,” she said, “while I go and see that a meal is prepared for you. My father will, I hope, soon return, and will, I am sure, be glad to afford you every assistance in his power.”

The negro looked at Mr Collinson with a somewhat doubtful air, but the few fragments of gold lace remaining on his coat showed him that he was an officer.

“Would monsieur like to refresh himself?” he asked. “A bath is at his service, and, pardon me, monsieur, perhaps a fresh suit of clothes would be pleasant in which to sit down to dinner.”

“Indeed, thank you,” answered Mr Collinson, “but I must beg you at the same time to look after my people. We all have gone through many hardships, and I dare say they will enjoy a bath and some clean clothes as much as I shall.”

“Yes, yes! I will look after them,” answered the negro, in French; not very good French, by-the-by, but Mr Collinson understood it. “I must, however, obey my young mistress first, and attend to you; so, if monsieur pleases, come along.”

Saying this, the negro led the way out into a garden, where was a building with a marble bath, through which the water ran from a copious stream. Leaving the lieutenant, he soon returned with a supply of light clothing, such as is usually worn in that climate. The lieutenant could not help feeling, when he returned into the dining-room, that he was far more presentable than he had been before. On looking out of the window, he saw Jack and Grimshaw with the two boys, coming along laughing heartily, dressed in negro costume of shirt and trousers. Considering the heat of the weather, their clothing was ample. Though it had not a nautical cut, any one looking at them would easily have discovered that they were British seamen, as they rolled along in their usual happy-go-lucky style.

Chapter Seventeen.

Mr Collinson had not been many minutes in the dining-room, when the young lady, accompanied by an elderly-looking Frenchman with white hair, entered the room.

“You are welcome, sir, to my house,” he said; “and I am happy to receive you. I lately received great kindness from your countrymen, when I was in your situation, a captive in their hands, and I am thankful to have an opportunity of returning it.”

Mr Collinson made a suitable reply, adding that it was a sad thing that peaceable people should be made prisoners, and inconvenienced because their nations happened to be at war.

“Yes, indeed,” added the Frenchman; “but don’t speak about it. It was our Emperor who set the example.”

“How long ago was it since the circumstance occurred?” asked Mr Collinson.

“But a few weeks ago,” answered the Frenchman; “indeed, we have only returned home about ten days. My daughter and I were on our way from France, when our vessel was captured by an English corvette, and carried into Port Royal. The captain of the English ship treated us with great kindness, as, indeed, did several of the inhabitants of the place, especially a military officer commanding a regiment there, with whom I was formerly acquainted when I was in the army. We, on that occasion, met as enemies, but we parted as friends, and I was very glad to renew my acquaintance.”

The English lieutenant listened to this account with great interest.

“And what was the name of the ship by which your vessel was captured?” he asked.

“She was a corvette, I know,” he answered. “Yes, yes, I remember; her name is the Lilly, and her captain is Mr Trevelyan.”

“That was indeed a curious coincidence, for it is the ship to which I belong,” said Mr Collinson.

“The captain is indeed a kind and generous man!” exclaimed the young lady with enthusiasm. “And, now I think of it, how very strange! Surely we heard of you from Colonel Lydall. They were very anxious indeed about you. Some, in truth, thought you were lost, but Miss Lydall would not believe that; yet often she was very sad. Now I understand it all.”

As may be supposed, after this information, Mr Collinson had numberless questions to ask. Sometimes he was grieved at the thoughts of the anxiety Miss Lydall was suffering; at other times, he could not help feeling grateful that her affection for him was undiminished.

While they were still speaking, a handsome repast was placed on the table, brought in by several black slaves.

“We will have your people in,” said the French gentleman. “You will not object to their sitting at table, for I cannot ask them to join the black slaves.”

“Certainly not,” said Mr Collinson; “though I do not believe they would object to that. Probably, indeed, they would be happier by themselves.”

However, the Frenchman insisted that they should come in. The boys’ eyes sparkled as they found themselves seated at the table, for it was seldom or never they had seen so fine a repast.

“Won’t I have a good tuck-out!” said Tommy Rebow, as he eyed the viands. “In case our nigger-guards should be inclined to starve us, we may as well take in enough to last for some days.”

All hands did ample justice, as may be supposed, to the repast, the black soldiers being fed, in the mean time, in another part of the house.

At length the sergeant of the party appeared at the door, and summoned his prisoners.

“I have not asked your name,” said Mr Collinson, turning to his host. “I should like to remember one of whom I shall always think with gratitude.”

“My name is Mouret, and my daughter’s name is AdÈle; but don’t suppose that I shall lose sight of you. Every influence I possess with the authorities I will exert in your favour, though I fear that is not very great.”

The sergeant becoming impatient, the English party had to take a hurried farewell.

“Good-bye, monsieur; much obliged for your good dinner!” cried Jack Windy, as Monsieur Mouret kindly shook him and his companions by the hand. “We will not forget you, and be sure to give you a call, if we come this way again.”

The party were once more on their road.

“Here, sir, the nigger servant gave us these bundles to look after,” said Jack. “They’re our duds, I suppose. One is yours, sir, and the rest ours.”

“Take care of them,” said Mr Collinson. “They may be useful to show who we are, should there be any doubt about the matter.”

They pushed on till it was dark, as fast as the negro soldiers could march, the sergeant being anxious, apparently, to make up for the time they had spent at Monsieur Mouret’s house. They reached a village at length, where he told them they must stop.

“Is there an inn to which we can go?” asked Mr Collinson.

The negro grinned.

“No, monsieur,” he answered; “but quarters will be assigned to you.”

After being kept waiting for some time, the sergeant, who had gone away, returned, and told them to follow.

“Here’s a fine place,” he said, pointing to a tumbledown barn, or shed rather; “but I will see if we can get some straw, and something for supper. You will not require much, after the good dinner you enjoyed.”

In vain Mr Collinson expostulated: he found, at length, that he must submit. The soldiers went out, and came back in a short time with some straw, which they piled up in one corner.

“Here’s enough for all of us,” they grunted out; “and as for food, some farina, and cold water to wash it down, is all that is allowed. If monsieur has any money, we may procure something more suitable to his taste.”

When Mr Collinson told his companions what the negro soldier said, they begged that he would not submit to any imposition.

“We can do very well without any supper, or with only what the niggers bring us,” answered Jack; “and maybe we shall all want it more by-and-by.”

However, when the bowl of boiled corn-meal was brought, they did ample justice to it, declaring that, for once in a way, it was not such bad food, after all. Old Grim, however, grumbled considerably, especially at night, when the rats began to chase each other about the place; and the negro soldiers kept up an interrupted snore, with occasional grunts, as a variation to the music.

“I don’t see why we should complain,” said Bill, at length. “We’re better off than we were on the raft; and, to my mind, it is not worse than being with those cut-throat looking fellows on board the privateer.”

“You are always contented,” answered Grimshaw. “I can make nothing out of you.”

“Just for the reason that I stick to my belief that the sun is shining up above the clouds, however dark they may be over us,” answered Bill.

In spite of the rats, and the snoring and grunting of the negroes, and the unpleasant odours, even Mr Collinson fell asleep, his example being followed by his companions. They were roused up by the black sergeant at daybreak, and, without any breakfast, were ordered to proceed on their journey.

“The people have given us supper and bed, and that’s all they’re obliged to do,” said the sergeant. “We must get breakfast where we stop at.”

They travelled on as on the previous day, the scenery being sometimes very picturesque—the prickly palm, and cocoa-nut trees, and numberless shrubs with long waving leaves. Sometimes thickets of the graceful bamboo lined either side of the road; but persons, when carried off as prisoners, are not generally apt to admire the beauty of the scenery. Sunshine Bill, however, was not to be put down.

“It’s one way of seeing the world that I did not expect, when I left home,” he remarked to Jack Windy. “I shall have many more yarns to spin, when I get back, in consequence. Now, Tommy, look out where you are going to. You have nearly brought the mule down two or three times; and the next time we get off, I must sit ahead and steer.”

They brought up at another village, where the sergeant procured some messes of boiled meal, such as they had had for supper.

“If it had not been for that kind gentleman, I don’t know where we should have been by this time,” said Jack. “We should have been desperately hungry, I know. Howsumdever, when we are once settled, I suppose we shall be able to get sufficient grub to keep body and soul together.”

At length the prisoners arrived at a wretched-looking village, though picturesquely situated with hills rising round it.

“Halt here,” said the sergeant, “while I go and inquire what quarters are to be assigned to you.”

“Nothing very grand,” he said, with a laugh, when he returned. “Follow me!”

“Why,” said Mr Collinson, “the authorities cannot think of putting us into a place like that. It is a stable!”

“Very likely; but there’s only one old horse in it, and there are three stalls: you can have one, monsieur, all to yourself, and your men can have he other. What more can you desire?”

All expostulations were vain.

“Well, we must make the best of it, my lads,” said Mr Collinson, walking into the place.

“There’s just one thing you must remember,” shouted the sergeant: “don’t be playing tricks, and turning out the horse. The owner made that a bargain; and he requires shelter as much as you do.”

“Well, well!” answered the English lieutenant; “complaining is beneath us.”

“We shall not do badly, sir,” observed Jack, as he surveyed the place; “we don’t, however, like it for you, sir; but we will get some straw and some planks, and make it as comfortable-like as we can and rig up a table. It’s a shame, that it is, to turn a British officer into such a place; and the next time we get alongside a French man-of-war, in the Lilly, won’t we give it her, that’s all!”

“I hope, my lads, we may have the opportunity before long,” said the lieutenant. “I am glad you take things so well. Perhaps they will mend. It’s a compliment, I suspect, they pay us, to bring us here; for they have heard of the way English sailors have made their escape from prison, so they consider it is necessary to carry us all this distance from the coast.”

It was nearly dark when they arrived, so that they had not much time to get their habitation in order. The night passed quietly enough, except that they were startled, every now and then, by the asthmatic cough of the horse, the croaking of the bull-frogs in a neighbouring pond, and the sound of the sentry’s musket, as he grounded it every now and then, when he halted, after pacing up and down in front of the hut. Bill was awoke by hearing a voice shouting—

“Hillo, shipmates, ahoy! Where are they, blacky? What! In there? Then they are as bad off as we are.”

Bill jumped up, and went to the door. There he saw an English sailor, who was, however, a stranger to him.

“Hillo! Boy,” said the sailor, “what cheer? What has brought you here?”

Bill told him what had occurred.

“Well, we heard of some fresh arrivals, so I came along to see who you were. We have had nearly two score of Englishmen here, officers and men; some privateersmen, some merchant seamen, the men-of-war’s men having been taken mostly in prizes, except a dozen of us who belong to the Buzzard schooner, and we should not have been taken had not the sloop of war we were engaging knocked away our fore-topmast, and pretty well killed or wounded two-thirds of our ship’s company. Some of them, howsumdever, have been exchanged, and some have died; so that there are only a few of us remaining to make you welcome.”

In a short time, the rest of the Englishmen came to greet the newcomers. One was a lieutenant, whose thin, careworn countenance showed suffering and anxiety; and another was a grey-haired old mate, who evidently cared very little what might become of him. The account they gave of their treatment was far from satisfactory.

“We receive scarcely sufficient food to keep life in us,” observed the lieutenant.

All had similar complaints to make. Several days passed by, and Mr Collinson found that his countrymen had ample reason for the complaints they made.

Chapter Eighteen.

Mr Collinson had expected to hear from Monsieur Mouret, but day after day passed by and no news reached him. The other lieutenant, Mr Mason, at length proposed that they should endeavour to make their escape to the coast.

“I fear that the undertaking is too hazardous to be attempted,” answered Mr Collinson. “Even should we reach the coast, we may find no vessel to take us on board.”

Still, as he thought over the matter, he felt greatly inclined, at all risks, to make the attempt. He had husbanded the small sum of money he possessed, in case of dire necessity, either to help them to escape or to obtain food. Meantime, the rest of the party, who had scarcely recovered from their previous hardships, were growing thinner and thinner.

Sunshine Bill was the only one who kept up his spirits. In a neighbouring cottage, to which the stable belonged, lived an old negress, the wife of the proprietor. More than once she had caught sight of Bill, who used to go outside their habitation in the evening, and amuse the rest of the party, by showing that he had not forgotten Jack Windy’s instructions in dancing the hornpipe. Jack declared that he had neither strength nor inclination to shake a leg himself, but he would not mind singing a tune for Bill to dance; and dance Bill did with great glee. He did his best to try and persuade Tommy to join him, but Tommy was too weak and ill to do anything of the sort. At length, one evening, when Bill had just finished his performance, the old black woman was seen approaching with a steaming bowl in her arms.

“Dare, brave garÇon,” she said, patting Bill on the head, and pointing to the bowl, and making signs for him to eat.

She then signified that the rest might have what he chose to leave. Bill was for giving it to them at once, but she snatched the bowl back again, and squatted herself down upon the ground to see that he took enough. Whenever he stopped, she insisted upon his going on again, till at last he put his hands before him, and made signs that he could eat no more. She then allowed him to give the remainder to his hungry companions, who very soon finished it.

“Thank you, mammy,” said Bill; “but, I say, could you not just bring a plate for our officer? He is as hungry as we are. He is inside there, very ill;” and Bill made signs which could scarcely be mistaken.

The old woman caught the word “officer,” and she nodded her head. She soon returned with another dish of meat and vegetables, which Bill took in to Mr Collinson.

The next day after Bill had danced his hornpipe, old Mammy Otello, as they called her, came with her usual bowl of food, but on this occasion she brought a basket with various fruits besides. This she did for two or three days. One day, however, she came at an earlier hour, and made signs to Bill that he must come over to her house. The rest of the party offered to accompany him, but she very significantly showed that she did not want their society. Bill went on, wondering what she could require, though from her good-natured looks, he felt sure she intended him no harm.

As they were going towards the house, he saw a number of black people in gay dresses coming towards it from various quarters; and when he got there, he found a large room almost full of negroes in ruffles and shirt frills, and negresses in the gayest of gay gowns, somewhat scanty over the shoulder, and fitting rather close to the figure. Bill found that there was to be a black ball. At one end of the room sat, perched up on the top of a cask, a fiddler, who began scraping away as he entered.

The guests were beginning to stand up for dancing, but Mammy Otello, taking Bill by the hand, led him up to the musician, and made him understand that he was to describe the tune he wanted to have played. Bill sung out his tune as well as he could, and the fiddler made violent attempts to imitate it. At length he succeeded to his own satisfaction, if not to Bill’s.

Mammy then led him back into the middle of the room, and made him understand that he was to commence dancing.

“Well, you have been a kind old soul to us,” he observed; “the only one who has shown us any attention in this place; and I will do my best to please you.”

The musician began to play, and Bill began to dance, and very soon the former seemed to understand exactly the sort of music required, and off he went. The guests shouted and shrieked, and clapped their hands; and the fiddler went on playing, and Bill went on dancing, and it seemed a great question which would first grow tired.

“I’ll do it, that I will,” thought Bill to himself; “if it’s only to see these blackamoors grinning, and rolling their eyes, and shrieking, and clapping their hands in the funny way they do.”

At length, so eager did the spectators become, that they pressed closer and closer upon the dancer, and Mammy Otello had to rush in and shove them back with her stout arms to prevent him from being overwhelmed.

“Tired yet, old fellow?” shouted Bill, as he went on shuffling away and kicking his heels; “I am not, let me tell you!”

The fiddler, although he might not have understood the words, comprehended the gesture, and continued working away till it seemed as if either his head or his arms and fiddle would part company, flying off in different directions. Still Bill danced, and the black fiddler played, roars of applause proceeding from the thick lips of the dark-skinned audience.

At length, Mammy Otello, fancying that Bill himself would come to pieces, or that he would fall down exhausted, rushed in, and seizing him in her arms, carried him to a seat, amid the laughter and shouting and grinning and stamping of all present; the fiddler, dropping down his right hand, and letting his instrument slip from his chin, gave vent to a loud gasp, as if he could not either have continued his exertions many seconds longer.

Bill wanted to go back for his friends, to bring them up to see the fun, but his hostess would not hear of it; and, whenever he got up to beat a retreat, she ran and brought him back again. Meantime, the room was occupied by the negroes, who danced away in a fashion Bill had never seen before.

They bowed and scraped, and set to each other, however, with all the dignity of high-bred persons. At length Bill watched his opportunity and while Mammy Otello had gone to another part of the room, he bolted out of the house, and set off as fast as his legs could carry him to his companions in captivity.

“I told you, Bill, that hornpipe of yours would gain friends wherever you go,” said Jack. “I wish the old lady would give me a chance, however. Perhaps she will now be civil to us on your account.”

The next day, when Mammy Otello came, she seemed rather inclined to scold Bill for running away. He got Mr Collinson to explain that he would not have done so had the rest of the party been invited, as he did no think it fair to enjoy all the fun by himself.

“Bon garÇon; bon garÇon!” said Mammy Otello. “The next time, for his sake, we will invite you all.”

Mr Collinson was surprised, after the many promises of assistance made by Monsieur Mouret, the planter, that he should neither have seen nor heard anything of him. At length one day, a black, dressed in livery, rode into the village, inquiring for the English lieutenant who had last come. On seeing Mr Collinson, he presented a note in a lady’s hand. It contained but a few words. It was from Mademoiselle Mouret.

“The day after you came here,” she said, “my father was taken ill, just as he was about to set off to Point a Petre, to make interest for you. I watched over him for some days, and I confess that my grief allowed the promises he had made to escape my memory. Alas! He has been taken from me, while I myself have barely escaped with life; and only now am I sufficiently recovered to write. Fearing that you will receive very uncourteous treatment from my countrymen, and that you may be even suffering from want of food, I have sent you some provisions by our faithful servant Pierre, as also a purse, which, I trust, you will accept from one who, though in affliction, is grateful for the kindness she has received from your friends.”

Mr Collinson felt that he had no right to refuse the gift which the young lady had so liberally sent. When Jack Windy heard of it, he exclaimed—

“They’re all alike! Never mind whether they’re French, or Dons, or blackamoors, there’s a tender place in most women’s hearts, unless they’re downright bad, and then stand clear of them, I say, for they’re worse than us men.”

The next time Mammy Otello appeared, Mr Collinson placed a gold piece in her hand.

“Here, madame,” he said; “I beg that you will accept this as a mark of how sensible we are of your kindness; and I beg to assure you, that, if you can give us better accommodation, we will gladly pay for it.”

Mammy Otello’s countenance beamed, her mouth grew considerably wider, and her eyes sparkled, partly at the sight of the money, and partly at the lieutenant’s polite speech. Putting the coin into her pocket, she hastened away. In a short time she returned.

“Our family is a small one,” she said; “and as the authorities here do not object, my good man and I have arranged to give you two rooms in our house, while you shall take your meals in our public room.”

Mr Collinson’s great difficulty was to find paper and pen to write a suitable reply to Mademoiselle Mouret. His own pocket-book had been destroyed. Not a particle of paper could he find in the place, not even the fly-leaf of a book. The other two officers had no paper of any sort. He was able, therefore, only to return a verbal answer to the young lady.

“I told you so,” said Bill, when these satisfactory arrangements had been made, “that things would improve with us, and so they have.”

“Yes; but we’ve not had yellow Jack among us yet; and depend upon it he will be coming before long,” answered old Grim.

The good fortune of the Lillys, as the other prisoners called Mr Collinson and his followers, rather excited their jealousy. It tended, however, but little to raise his spirits, and he began to fear that he should never again see his friends.

“Cheer up, sir,” said Bill, who had constituted himself his special attendant, “things have mended, and they will mend still more. It’s a dark day when the sun does not shine out; and depend upon it, though the clouds seem pretty heavy just now, the sun will come out before long.”

One day there was an unusual commotion in the village. The negroes were running about and talking to each other, and the white people especially wore anxious countenances. Soon afterwards, drums were heard, and a regiment of militia marched by. For some time, the prisoners could not ascertain what was taking place, though it was evident that something of importance was about to occur. The few regulars in the neighbourhood were seen hurriedly to march away.

Mr Collinson and the other two officers were talking together.

“Hark!” said the former; “that’s the sound of a heavy gun!”

Others followed. Eagerly they listened. Some thought that they were fired at sea, others on shore. At length the excitement of the people, who had also heard the firing, greatly increased, and they confessed that an English force had come off the island, and that the English troops had landed that morning.

“I wish we could manage to get to the top of some hill to see what is going forward,” exclaimed Jack Windy. “Bill, what do you say? We could get away from these fellows now.”

“If Mr Collinson wishes it, I am ready enough to go,” answered Bill.

“I am afraid he would say no, if we were to ask him,” said Jack. “I would give anything to find out who is winning the day.”

However, the nearest hills were some way off, and, even if they had got to the top of them, they could not at all tell that they would be able to see what was taking place. The sound of the firing increased, and it became very certain that a fierce engagement was going on. The people about them, however, knew no more than they did, so they could gain no information.

At length a body of men was seen coming over a pass in the distance. They were watched anxiously. Who could they be—English or French? On they came, increasing their speed. As they drew nearer, it was evident that they were black troops—the same regiment, indeed, which had passed through the village in the morning. It seemed, from the way they marched, or rather ran, that they thought an enemy was behind them. They bore among them several wounded men. Not till they had hurried through the village did they halt.

At first, no one would say what had happened. The hopes of the English prisoners, however, began to rise, and soon the news spread through the village that a fierce battle had been fought, and that the English had been victorious. At length a French officer was seen coming along the road, who stopped for a few minutes to give his horse some water. Mr Collinson approached him.

“I am one of the English officers who have been some time prisoners in the island,” he said, addressing him in French.

“Ah!” he answered, “you need consider yourselves prisoners no longer. Your countrymen have come with an overwhelming force and taken possession of the island. I am sent with despatches to the other side, to give notice of the capitulation.”

This news rapidly spread throughout the village.

A loud cheer burst from Jack and the boys’ throats, in which even Grimshaw joined.

The other prisoners came hurrying up to hear the news, and three more hearty cheers were given, in which even many of the negroes for sympathy could not help joining. There, whites and blacks were shouting together, and shaking hands cordially.

There was some difficulty in getting conveyances for the whole party. At length, however, mules and horses sufficient to carry them were collected. Mammy Otello gave Bill an affectionate embrace, as he wished her good-bye, an honour she did not bestow on the rest of the party. She insisted, however, on their taking several delicacies of her own cooking; and, at length, all hands being under weigh, with repeated cheers, the sailors set out from the place of their long imprisonment.

Mr Collinson stopped at the house where they had been entertained on their way. Mademoiselle Mouret entreated him not to thank her for the trifle she had sent, and begged him to assure his friends that, should they ever come to the island, it would be her pride and pleasure to receive them.

On arriving in sight of the sea, a large fleet of men-of-war and transports were seen below them, while British troops lay encamped on the side of the hill. Having been delivered over by the French authorities, in due form, to the English, they once more had the satisfaction of feeling themselves free men. Among the ships lay a fine corvette. No sooner did Jack Windy’s eye fall on her than he exclaimed—

“She’s the Lilly herself, or I’m a Dutchman!”

Hastening down to the port, they eagerly put off in the first boats they could find. As they pulled alongside, none on board knew them. Captain Trevelyan and the other officers were on deck. Besides Mr Barker, there was another lieutenant.

“Then they must suppose I am lost,” thought Mr Collinson, as he stepped aft. “I am afraid I am not known,” he said.

Captain Trevelyan started. A beam of pleasure lighted up his face.

Fortunately, the corvette was immediately despatched with news of the capture of the island. She had a quick passage to Jamaica, and Mr Collinson lost not many hours, after his arrival, in hurrying to Uphill Cottage. The black cook told Bill, who went up with him on his next visit, that the young lady did not go into hysterics at the sight of him, but, although she had been somewhat sad and pale before, her colour returned, and her voice was as cheerful and merry as it used to be. As Mr Collinson had been superseded, he did not return to the Lilly; indeed, a few days after her arrival, he received his promotion.

“Now he is a commander, I suppose he will be marrying Miss Lydall,” observed Bill—a remark the sagacity of which was proved a few days before the Lilly sailed for England, where Mr and Mrs Collinson soon after arrived in a merchant-vessel.

Although Bill did not bring home as much gold as he had expected, he was received not the less warmly by widow Sunnyside and his brothers and sisters. Soon afterwards, Captain Collinson called at the widow’s house, and left with her a roll of gold pieces.

“Here are Bill’s wages,” he said. “He attended me as my servant, and I consider them justly his due; indeed,” he added, “if it had not been for his hopeful and cheerful spirit, I believe that I should have sunk under the hardships we had to go through.”

The next time Captain Trevelyan went to sea, he took Sunshine Bill with him; indeed, for many years he served either with him, or with Captain Collinson, whose coxswain he became. At that time, finding an honest girl who reminded him of his happy little mother, he married, and had no reason to repent his choice. Ultimately, having improved in his education, he passed as a boatswain, in which capacity he served for many years, till he was laid up, like many another noble tar, in ordinary; but to the end of his days he maintained the same cheerful and hopeful disposition which had carried him through so many trials in his youth—a disposition which was happily inherited by a numerous offspring.

The End.