As the boat grated upon the beach and Cap’n Pem and the two boys leaped ashore, Mike started to relate his story of the raiders and the battle, but in the midst of his narrative his jaw dropped, he rubbed his eyes and then suddenly burst into a roar of laughter.

“Saints presarve us!” he shouted. “Shure an’ ’tis another cripple yez are afther bringin’,—an’ black as the ace o’ spades! B’gorra ’tis three av’ a koind we are. An’ what wid the b’yes, ’twill be a foine full-house we’ll be afther havin’ on the barrk!”

Then, controlling his mirth with an effort, he related the events of the raid.

“Didn’t I tell ye that there bo’sun bird was bad luck!” ejaculated Cap’n Pem. “Fust the storm an’ then this ’ere raid. How much ’ile’d they git off with?”

“But who were they?” queried Tom, before Mike could reply.

“Jes’ low-down or’nary, black Portugee raiders,” exploded the old whaleman. “’T’ain’t the fust time they’ve turned the trick. Derned ef I ain’t sorry I didn’t spear a few on ’em!”

“Shure, sor, Misther Potter, O’im not countin’ av thim casks they took,” explained Mike as Pem ceased. “’T’was three boatloads they put aboard the brig, but b’gorra Oim thinkin’ ’tis not manny. The most av thim wuz yonder where we druv thim off. An’ faith, Oim afther thinkin’ the storrm bust more av the casks than the haythens sthole.”

But the loss of oil was far greater than Mike had imagined, for when they reached the pile of casks which had served as a barricade, they discovered that nearly every one in the outer tiers was riddled with bullets and that the precious oil had leaked out. Of the hundreds of filled casks which the men had toiled so hard to secure, barely two hundred were left—not enough to grease their boots with, as Cap’n Pem put it.

It was all very discouraging and disheartening, and while Cap’n Pem knew that, had he not gone to rescue Sam, the loss would not have occurred, or at least would have been far less, still he refrained from mentioning it, for to the whalemen the saving of a human life, even if a crippled negro, meant far more than several thousand dollars worth of oil. Mike too, was far more disturbed and disgruntled over the injury to his wooden leg than over the loss of oil or the other misfortunes that had befallen the whalemen, and every man agreed that it was all due to the bo’sun bird having rested upon the Hector’s mast.

In fact, the men, as a whole, were very morose and sullen and not a few, including Cap’n Pem himself, expressed doubts of the Hector coming back and declared that if she were wrecked it would be no more than might be expected. It was useless for the boys to try to laugh at their forebodings, or to ridicule them out of their superstitions, for their belief was firmly fixed and the very fact that so many misfortunes had befallen them was proof, to their minds, that they were right.

Indeed, as the boys constantly heard the men discussing the matter and listened to stories of death and disaster following the visits of bo’sun birds to other ships, they found themselves getting nervous. And when, after the Hector was a week overdue no signs of her had been seen, the boys began to fear that something had happened to the bark and that they would be marooned upon the island for an indefinite time. But despite their troubles and superstitious fears, the men went back to their labors and as the sea elephants again began to return to the island they resumed the killing and boiling.

In the meantime, the two wounded raiders were on the road to recovery, although unable to work, but they steadfastly refused to divulge any information in regard to the brig or the raid.

“Wall, I reckon ye’ll tell when we git ye back to New Bedford an’ shet up in jail,” remarked Cap’n Pem. And deciding it was useless to question them further, he dropped the matter.

Then, one day, as the boys clambered over the hillside above the camp, Jim glanced seawards and gave a glad shout. Faint upon the horizon gleamed the upper sails of a ship.

“Hurrah!” he cried. “There’s a ship. I’ll bet it’s the Hector!”

“Maybe it’s some other ship,” said Tom. “And perhaps it’s not coming here at all. Let’s wait and be sure before we tell the others.”

But the vessel was evidently heading for the island, for gradually sail after sail rose above the tossing sea and each minute the ship became more and more distinct, until the watching boys could see that it was a bark with every sail set.

“It must be the Hector!” insisted Jim. “Come on, Tom, let’s go down and tell the men.”

But by the time they had reached the shore, Cap’n Pem had already sighted the oncoming vessel and both he and Mike were studying her through their glasses.

“Is it the Hector?” cried Tom. “Oh, do hurry up and tell us!”

“Looks like her,” admitted Cap’n Pem, “but can’t say yit awhile. Comin’ dead head-on and can’t make her out.”

“Shure an’ ’tis the barrk all right, all right,” declared Mike, decisively. “Oi kin say thot patch on her foretorpsail phwat Oi put there mesilf.”

“Derned ef ye kin, ye old liar!” exclaimed Cap’n Pem. “Reckon my eyes is better’n yourn, an’ I can’t see it.”

“Thin ye’re oisight’s a-failin’ yez,” replied Mike, with a chuckle, “as well as yer manners, Misther Potter, sor.”

But here further argument ceased, for at the moment the bark altered her course a little disclosing her hull and spars and old Pem slapped his thigh.

“Blow me if ’tain’t!” he cried. “Comin’ a sky-hookin’, too! Git busy, lads, the Hector’s a-comin’! Work lively an’ we’ll be home’ard boun’ this time to-morrer!”

Elated at the good news, the men fell to with a will and by the time the bark shortened sail and slowly worked into the anchorage, everything was in readiness to be sent aboard. The boys thought they had never seen anything quite so beautiful as the old bark and a wave of homesickness swept over them as the anchor plunged into the sea and the Hector swung to her moorings off the beach. But even before the yards had been swung or the cable had roared out, Cap’n Pem had manned his boat and the boys were speeding towards the bark.

Welcome, indeed, to the boys were the kindly, sunbrowned features of Captain Edwards, the scarred face of Mr. Kemp, the stolid, expressionless face of Swanson, the freckled countenance of the boy and even the rough, unshaven, but well-known members of the crew. It was almost like being home again to be once more upon the decks of the bark and the boys could scarcely believe that they had been away from her for more than two months.

“How are you getting on, boys?” cried the captain as he shook their hands heartily. “Got enough oil to fill up, I suppose.”

Then, turning to Cap’n Pem: “Everything ready to come aboard, Pem? How many casks you got? Hope you’ve had good luck. Crew we put ashore on Deception had tough luck. Elephants scarce and whole catch didn’t come to two hundred bar’ls.”

But the news that Cap’n Pem brought was far from encouraging and the face of the skipper became very grave as he listened to the mate’s story of the raid and the loss by storm.

“I expect that’s the same ship that’s been over to Deception,” he said. “The men reported vast quantities of bones from last season. Very likely they intended killing here, and finding the oil and so few men decided to raid it and save the trouble of killing and boiling for themselves. It’s an old trick of some of the island Portugees, and with oil so high they could well afford to take risks. Glad you got a couple of ’em. Maybe they’ll tell enough so the gang can be broken up. It’s too bad, though, the whole catch won’t pay expenses unless we have good luck and take whales on the voyage. Well, no use crying over spilt milk. I’m thankful no men are lost. So you found a castaway, eh? If everything’s ready, lower the boats and get everything off. I’m anxious to get clear as soon as possible. Don’t like the looks of the glass. I’m afraid we’re in for a rip-snorter of a blow.”

Rapidly the goods on shore were loaded into the boats and brought off and within a few hours of the time when the Hector had arrived, the last boat load was on board, the boats were at davits, and with the joyous feeling of being homeward bound the crew bent to the handspikes and roared the ever-welcome chorus of:

Then, as the bark veered to the wind and the great sails filled and the land slipped away astern, the boys looked for the last time upon the desolate Antarctic island with its towering mountains, its wheeling albatrosses, its giant seals and its forbidding shores.

With every stitch of canvas set, the Hector heeled far over to the freshening breeze and plunged forward like a steamer through the seas, with the foaming bow-wave rising to the catheads and acres of yeasty froth streaming astern.

Steadily she raced onward towards the north and still no signs of the approaching storm which the skipper had feared. But the glass was falling steadily, the clouds scurried in wispy shreds across the sky and the waves constantly increased in size.

The following morning, the boys came on deck to find the crew aloft shortening sail, with only the lower topsails and spanker set and the bark wallowing sluggishly to the long, oily rollers running in from the western horizon.

“Looks like a mighty hard blow a-comin’,” remarked Mr. Kemp to the boys. “Some wind behind these rollers you can bet.”

Then, hurrying forward, he barked out orders while the crew scurried about, lashing down everything movable, securing the boats and making everything snug. Much to the boys’ surprise the negro, Sam, was the liveliest and hardest worker of all and despite his peg-leg, he scrambled aloft like a cat and hopped along on the footropes with the best of them.

Cap’n Pem eyed him approvingly. “Derned if he ain’t a proper sailorman,” he remarked. “Wisht ev’ry gosh-derned man’d lose a leg if ’twould make ’em good as him.”

By noon, the sky had become a deep, sickly, yellowish-gray, the seas had increased to mountainous size, and ever and anon, a sudden blast of cold, chilling wind screeched through the rigging, heeling the bark to her lee-rails, only to be followed by an ominous calm. By now, the bark had been stripped to close-reefed topsails and Captain Edwards and old Pem paced the deck with anxious faces, peering intently into the west, while at the wheel three men were stationed with lashings ready for instant use in case of emergency. Along the rails and between the masts, lifelines had been stretched and everywhere were evidences of preparations for severe weather.

Suddenly, from the lookout forward, came a sharp, warning shout and against the black horizon, the boys saw a streak of milky-white, gleaming like snow against the inky sea.

“Hold fast!” roared Cap’n Pem, plunging to the shrouds and bracing himself. “Git below there, boys! Hurricane’s a comin’!”

But before they could obey, the screaming wind was upon them. The boys had a passing glimpse of the steersmen hastily lashing themselves fast, of the skipper wrapping his arms about a backstay, and the next second, they were half smothered under a blinding, roaring sheet of snow and hail. They felt themselves lifted from the deck, their hands were torn loose from their grip upon the companionway; they were whirled, bumped, tossed and rolled head over heels and were sure their last moment had come when, with a resounding thump, they brought up against the mizzen mast and clung to the belaying pins for dear life. Over and over went the bark, until it seemed as if her swaying yards would be buried in the hissing brine and her deck sloped like the roof of a house, while overhead, with the roar of thunder, howled the gale. Then, when the boys thought destruction was inevitable, there was a report like a cannon above them and the great topsail ripped from its bolt-ropes and sped, like a huge bird, into the murk. Gradually and sluggishly the bark righted, her bow swung off, and gathering headway, she sped before the hurricane like a frightened bird. For hour after hour the wind screeched through the rigging and the Hector tore onwards before the gale, burying herself under tons of green water, staggering drunkenly to the summits of the white-crested waves, but gallantly, bravely, weathering the storm. After the first mad onslaught the worst of the hurricane had blown itself out and the boys, clinging to the lifeline, had crawled aft, drenched and half frozen and had taken to the cabin. Then, changing clothes and buttoning pea-jackets and oil skins about them, they again made their way on deck, for life was unbearable in the tossing, groaning, heaving cabin and the boys felt deathly sick as long as they were below.

The storm, however, while severe, was not of long duration and by eight bells the wind had died down, the glass had begun to rise and Captain Edwards ordered the crew to make more sail.

Under her increased canvas, the bark made better weather of it and by night she was sailing easily, but with terrific speed, through the still heavy seas. By the following morning, the sky was clear and blue, the wind had died to a good, stiff sailing breeze, the sea had fallen to a moderate swell and the decks and woodwork glistened like frost as the dried salt sparkled under a brilliant sun.

“Gee, but the old Hector is a wonder, isn’t she!” exclaimed Tom, as the boys reached the deck and gazing about saw that there was not a sign of damage from the stress the ship had been through.

“She is, that,” replied the captain. “Ships like her are not built nowadays and she’s good for another hundred years.”

“How about your old bo’sun bird, now?” laughed Jim as Cap’n Pem approached. “According to you we should have sunk yesterday.”

“Hump!” snorted the old man. “Don’t ’spect one bird kin bring bad luck f’rever, do ye? Reckon he’d oughta be satisfied with all the shennanigans he’s kicked up a’ready.”