But the night passed on, and he was not molested. He did not know, down there below decks, that all night the Summer Shelter kept so close to the Dunkery Beacon that the people in charge of the latter cursed and swore dreadfully at times when the yacht, looking bigger and blacker by night than she did by day, rose on the waves in their wake, so near that it seemed as if a sudden squall might drive the two vessels together.

But there was really no reason for any such fear. Burke had vowed he would stick to Shirley, and he also stuck to the wheel all night, with Burdette or the sailing-master by his side. And there was not an hour when somebody, either a mariner or a clergyman, did not scan the deck of the Dunkery Beacon with a marine glass.

Shirley was not allowed to go on deck until quite late the next morning, after Burke had given up his desperate attempt to communicate with the Dunkery Beacon; and when he did come up, and had assured himself at a glance that the Summer Shelter still hung upon the heels of the larger steamer, and had frantically waved his hat, the next thing he saw was the small Mediterranean steamer which was rapidly coming down from the north, while the Dunkery Beacon was steaming northeast. He also noticed that some men near him were running up a queer little flag or signal, colored irregularly red and yellow, and then he saw upon the approaching steamer a bit of bunting which seemed to resemble the one now floating from the Dunkery. Of course, under the circumstances, there was nothing for him to believe but that this approaching vessel was one of the pirate ships, and that she was coming down not to capture the Dunkery Beacon, but to join her.

Now matters were getting to be worse and worse, and as Shirley glanced over at the yacht,—still hovering on the weather quarter of the Dunkery, ready at any time to swoop down and hail her if there should be occasion,—he trembled for the fate of his friends. To be sure these two pirate vessels—for sure the Dunkery Beacon now belonged to that class—were nothing but merchantmen. There was no cannon on this steamer, and as the other was now near enough for him to see her decks as she rolled to windward, there was no reason to suppose that she carried guns. If these rascals wished to attack or capture a vessel, they must board her, but before they could do that they must catch her, and he knew well enough that there were few ordinary steamers which could overhaul the Summer Shelter. If it were not for his own most unfortunate position, the yacht could steam away in safety and leave these wretches to their own devices, but he did not believe that his old friend would desert him. More than that, there was no reason to suppose that the people on the Summer Shelter knew that the Dunkery Beacon was now manned by pirates, although it was likely that they would suspect the character of the new-comer.

But Shirley could only stand, and watch, and wait. Once he thought that it might be well for him to jump overboard and strike out to the yacht. If he should be seen by his friends—and this he believed would happen—and if he should be picked up, his report would turn back into safer waters this peaceful pleasure vessel, with its two ladies and its seven clergymen. If he should be struck by a ball in the back of the head before he got out of gunshot of the Dunkery's crew, then his friends would most likely see him sink, the reason for their remaining in the vicinity of these pirates would be at an end, and they might steam northward as fast as they pleased.

The strange vessel came on and on, and soon showed herself to be a steamer of about nine hundred tons, of a model with which Shirley was not familiar, and a great many men on board. The Dunkery Beacon lay to, and it was not long before this stranger had followed her example, and had lowered a boat. When three or four men from this boat had scrambled to the deck of the Dunkery Beacon, they were gladly welcomed by the black-headed fellow who had passed himself off as Captain Hagar, and a most animated conversation now took place. Shirley could not understand anything that was said, and he had sense enough not to appear to be trying to do so; but no one paid any attention to him, nor seemed to care whether he knew what was going on or not.

At first the manner of the speakers indicated that they were wildly congratulating each other, but very soon it was evident that the Summer Shelter was the subject of their discourse. They all looked over at the yacht, some of them even shook their fists at her, and although Shirley did not understand their language, he knew very well that curses, loud and savage, were pouring over the bulwarks in the direction of his friends and their yacht.

Then the subject of the conference changed. The fellows began to gaze northward, a glass was turned in that direction, the exclamations became more violent than before, and when Shirley turned, he saw for the first time the other vessel which was coming down from the north. This was now far away, but she was heading south, and it could not be long before she would arrive on the scene.

Now Shirley's heart sank about as far down as it would go. He had no doubt that this very vessel was another of the pirates. If she carried a gun, even if it were not a heavy one, he might as well bid good-bye to the Summer Shelter. The pirates would not allow her to go to any port to tell her tale.

The noisy conference now broke up. The boat with its crew returned to the other vessel, which almost immediately started, turned, and steamed away to the north, in the direction of the approaching steamer. This settled the matter. She was off to join her pirate consort. Now the Dunkery Beacon started her engines, and steamed slowly in the direction of the yacht, as if she wished to hail her. Shirley's heart rose a little. If there was to be a parley, perhaps the pirates had decided to warn the yacht to stop meddling, and to take herself away, and if, by any happy fortune, it should be decided to send him to his friends, he would implore them, with all his heart and soul, to take the advice without the loss of a second.



CHAPTER XXVIII

THE PEOPLE ON THE "MONTEREY"

The vessel which had last appeared upon the scene and which was now steaming down towards the Dunkery Beacon and the Summer Shelter, while the small steamer from the Mediterranean was making her way northward to meet her, was the Monterey of Vera Cruz, and carried Captain Philip Horn and his wife Edna.

As soon as Captain Horn had heard of the danger which threatened the treasure which was on its way from London to the Peruvian government,—treasure which had cost him such toil, anxiety, and suffering, and in the final just disposition of which he felt the deepest interest and even responsibility,—although, in fact, the care and charge of which had passed entirely out of his hands,—he determined not only to write to Shirley to go to Jamaica, but to go there himself without loss of time, believing from what he had heard that he could surely reach Kingston before the arrival there of the Dunkery Beacon.

But that steamer started before her time, and when he reached Vera Cruz, he found it impossible to leave immediately for his destination. And when at last he bought a steamer, and arrived at Kingston, the Dunkery Beacon and the yacht Summer Shelter had both departed. But the Captain found the letter from Mrs. Cliff, and while this explained a great deal, it also puzzled him greatly.

His wife and Mrs. Cliff had corresponded with some regularity, but the latter had never mentioned the fact that she was the owner of a yacht. Mrs. Cliff had intended to tell Edna all about this new piece of property, but when she looked at the matter from an outside point of view, it seemed to her such a ridiculous thing that she should own a yacht that she did not want to write anything about it until her plans were perfected, and she could tell just what she was going to do. But when she suddenly decided to sail for Jamaica, her mind was so occupied with the plans of the moment that she had no time to write.

Therefore it was that Captain and Mrs. Horn wondered greatly what in the name of common sense Mrs. Cliff was doing with a yacht. But they knew that Shirley and Burke were on board, and that they had sailed on the track of the Dunkery Beacon, hoping to overtake her and deliver the message which Shirley carried. The Captain decided that it was his duty to follow these two vessels down the coast of South America.

The Monterey was a large steamer sailing in ballast, and of moderate speed, and the Captain had with him—besides his wife and her maid—the three negro men whom he had brought up from South America and who were now his devoted personal attendants, and a good-sized crew. Captain Horn had little hope of overhauling the two steamers, for even the yacht, which he had heard was a fast-sailing vessel, had had twenty-four hours' start of him; but he had reason to hope that he might meet one or both of them on their return; for if the yacht should fail to overhaul the Dunkery Beacon, she would certainly turn back to Kingston.

Edna was as enthusiastic and interested in this voyage as her husband. She sympathized in all his anxiety in regard to the safety of the treasure, but even stronger than this was her desire to see once more her dear friend, whom she had come to look upon almost as an elder sister.

During each day the Captain and his wife were almost constantly on deck, their glasses sweeping the south-eastern horizon, hoping for the sight of two steamers coming back to Kingston. They saw vessels coming and going, but they were not the craft they looked for, and after they left the Caribbean Sea the sail became fewer and fewer. On the second day after they left Tobago Island they fell in with a small steamer apparently in distress, for she was working her way under sail and against head-winds towards the coast.

When the Captain spoke this steamer, he received a request to lower a boat and go on board of her. There he found an astonishing state of affairs. The steamer was from a French port, she carried no cargo, and she was commanded and manned by Captain Hagar and the crew of the English ship Dunkery Beacon. Captain Hagar's story was not a long one, and he told it as readily to Captain Horn as he would to any other friendly mariner who might have boarded him.

He had left Kingston with his vessel as he left it many times before, and the Caribbees were not half a day behind him when he was hailed by a steamer,—the one he was now on, which had been following him for some time. He was told that this steamer carried a message from his owners, and without suspecting anything, he lay to, and a boat came to him from the other ship. This boat had in it a good many more men than was necessary, but he suspected no evil until half-a-dozen men were on his deck and half-a-dozen pistols were pointed at the heads of himself and those around him. Then two more boats came over, more men boarded him, and without a struggle, or hardly a cross word,—as he expressed it,—the Dunkery Beacon was in the hands of sea-robbers.

Captain Hagar was a mild-mannered man, an excellent seaman, and of good common sense. He had before found orders waiting for him at Jamaica, and had not thought it surprising that orders should now have been sent after him. He had firearms on board and might have defended himself to a certain extent, but he had suspected no evil, and when the pirates had boarded him it was useless to think of arms or defence.

The men who had captured the Dunkery Beacon made very short work of their business. They simply exchanged vessels. They commanded Captain Hagar and all his men to go over to the French steamer, while they all came on board the Dunkery Beacon, bringing with them whatever they cared for. Captain Hagar was told that he could work his new vessel to any port in the world which suited him best, and then the Dunkery Beacon was headed southward and steamed away.

When Captain Hagar's engineers attempted to start the engines of their vessel, they found it impossible to do so. Several important pieces of the machinery had been taken out, hoisted on deck, and dropped overboard. Whatever port they might make, they must make it under sail.

A broken-hearted and dejected man was Captain Hagar. He had lost a vast treasure which had been entrusted to him, and he had not ceased to wonder why the pirates had not murdered him and all his crew, and thrown them overboard. He hoped that in time he and his men might reach Georgetown, or some other port, but it would be slow and disheartening work under the circumstances.

Captain Horn was also greatly cast down by the news he had received. With the least possible amount of trouble, the pirates had carried off, not only the treasure, but the ship which conveyed it, and now in all probability were far away with their booty. He could understand very well why they would not undertake such wholesale crime as the murder of all the people on the Dunkery, for it is probable that there were men among them who could not be trusted even had the leaders been willing to undertake such useless bloodshed. If Captain Hagar and his men were set adrift on a steamer without machinery, it would be long before they could reach any port, and even if they should soon speak a vessel and report their misfortune, where was the policeman of the sea who would have authority to sail after the stolen vessel, or, if he had, would know on what course to follow her?

Captain Horn gave up the treasure as lost. The Dunkery Beacon was probably shaping her course for the coast of Africa, and even if he had a swifter vessel and could overhaul her, what could he do?

But now he almost forgot his trouble about the treasure, in his deep concern in the fate of Mrs. Cliff and her yacht. He had made up his mind that his friends on board that little vessel—he had very shadowy ideas as to what sort of a yacht it was—had embarked upon this cruise entirely for his sake. They knew that he took such a deep personal interest in the safety of the Dunkery Beacon; they knew that he had done everything possible to detain that vessel at Jamaica, and that now, for his peace of mind, for the gratification of his feelings of honor,—no matter how exaggerated they might consider them,—they were following in a little pleasure craft a steamer which they supposed to be a peaceful merchantman, but which was in fact a pirate ship manned by miscreants without conscience.

His plan was soon decided upon. He told Captain Hagar that he would take him and his men on his own vessel, and that he would carry them with him on his search for the yacht on which his friends had sailed. Captain Hagar agreed in part to this proposition. He would be glad to go with Captain Horn, for it was possible he might hear news of his lost vessel, but he did not wish to give up the French steamer. She was worth money, and if she could be got into port, he felt it his duty to get her there. So he left on board a crew sufficient to work her to Georgetown, but with the majority of his crew came on board the Monterey, and Captain Horn continued on his southern course.

When on the following morning Captain Horn perceived far away to the south a steamer which Captain Hagar, standing by with a glass to his eye, declared to be none other than his old vessel, the Dunkery Beacon, and when, not long afterwards, he made out a smaller vessel, apparently keeping company with the Dunkery Beacon, with another steamer lying off to the eastward, he was absolutely amazed and confounded. He could not comprehend the state of affairs. What was the Dunkery Beacon doing down south, when by this time she ought to be far away to the east, if she were running away with the treasure, and what were those two other vessels keeping so close to her?

He could not imagine what they could be, unless, indeed, they were her pirate consorts. "If that's the case," thought Captain Horn, but saying no word to any one, "this is not a part of the sea for my wife to sail upon!"

Still he knew nothing, and he could decide upon nothing. He could not be sure that one of those vessels was not the yacht which had sailed from Kingston with Mrs. Cliff, and Burke, and Shirley on board, and so the Monterey did not turn back, but steamed on slowly towards the distant steamers.



CHAPTER XXIX

THE "VITTORIO" FROM GENOA

When Captain Horn on the Monterey perceived that one of the vessels he had sighted was steaming northward with the apparent intention of meeting him, his anxieties greatly increased. He could think of no righteous reason why that vessel should come to meet him. He had made out that this vessel with the two others had been lying to. Why should it not wait for him if it wished to speak with him? The course of this stranger looked like mischief of some sort, and the Captain could think of no other probable mischief than that which had been practised upon the Dunkery Beacon.

The steamer which he now commanded carried a treasure far more valuable than that which lay in the hold of the Dunkery, and if she had been a swifter vessel he would have turned and headed away for safety at the top of her speed. But he did not believe she could outsail the steamer which was now approaching, and safety by flight was not to be considered.

There was another reason which determined him not to change his course. The observers on the Monterey had now decided that the small vessel to the westward of the Dunkery Beacon was very like a yacht, and the Captain thought that if there was to be trouble of any sort, he would like to be as near Shirley and Burke as possible. Why that rapidly approaching steamer should desire to board him as the Dunkery Beacon had been boarded he could not imagine, unless it was supposed that he carried part of the treasure, but he did not waste any time on conjectures. It was not likely that this steamer carried a cannon, and if she intended to attack the Monterey, it must be by boarding her; probably by the same stratagem which had been practised before.

But Captain Horn determined that no man upon any mission whatever should put his foot upon the deck of the Monterey if he could prevent it. Since he had taken on board Captain Hagar and his men, he had an extraordinarily large crew, and on the number of his men he depended for defence, for it was impossible to arm them as well as the attacking party would probably be armed, if there should be an attacking party.

Captain Horn now went to Edna and told her of the approaching danger, and for the second time in his life he gave her a pistol and requested her to use it in any way she thought proper if the need should come. He asked her to stay for the present in the cabin with her maid, promising to come to her again very shortly.

Then he called all the available men together, and addressed them very briefly. It was not necessary to tell the crew of the Dunkery Beacon what dangers might befall them if the pirates should come upon them a second time, and the men he had brought with him from Vera Cruz now knew all about the previous affair, and that it would probably be necessary for them to stand up boldly for their own defence.

The Captain told his men that the only thing to be done was to keep the fellows on that approaching steamer from boarding the Monterey whether they tried to do so by what might look like fair means or by foul means. All the firearms of every kind which could be collected were distributed around among those who it was thought could best use them, while the rest of the men were armed with belaying pins, handspikes, hatchets, axes, or anything with which a blow could be struck, and they were ranged along the bulwarks on each side of the ship from bow to stern.

The other steamer was now near enough for her name, Vittorio, to be read upon her bow. This and her build made the captain quite sure that she was from the Mediterranean, and without doubt one of the pirates of whom he had heard. He could see heads all along her rail, and he thought it possible that she might not care to practise any trick upon him, but might intend a bold and undisguised attack. She had made no signal, she carried no colors or flag of any kind, and he thought it not unlikely that when she should be near enough, she would begin operations by a volley of rifle shots from her deck. To provide against this danger he made most of his men crouch down behind the bulwarks, and ordered all the others to be ready to screen themselves. A demand to lie to, and a sharp fusillade might be enough to insure the immediate submission of an ordinary merchantman, but Captain Horn did not consider the Monterey a vessel of this sort.

He now ran down to Edna, and was met by her at the cabin door. She had had ideas very like his own. "I shouldn't wonder if they would fire upon us," she said, her face very pale; "and I want you to remember that you are most likely the tallest man on board. No matter what happens, you must take care of yourself,—you must never forget that!"

"I will take care of you," he said, with his arms about her, "and I will not forget myself. And now keep close, and watch sharply. I don't believe they can ever board us,—we're too many for them!"

The instant the Captain had gone, Edna called Maka and Cheditafa, the two elderly negroes who were the devoted adherents of herself and her husband. "I want you to watch the Captain all the time," she said. "If the people on that ship fire guns, you pull him back if he shows himself. If any one comes near him to harm him, use your hatchets; never let him out of your sight, follow him close, keep all danger from him."

The negroes answered in the African tongue. They were too much excited to use English, but she knew what they meant, and trusted them. To Mok, the other negro, she gave no orders. Even now he could speak but little English, and he was in the party simply because her brother Ralph—whose servant Mok had been—had earnestly desired her to take care of him until he should want him again, for this coal-black and agile native of Africa was not a creature who could be left to take care of himself.

The Vittorio, which was now not more than a quarter of a mile away, and which had slightly changed her course, so that she was apparently intending to pass the Monterey, and continue northward contented with an observation of the larger vessel, was a very dangerous pirate ship, far more so than the one which had captured the Dunkery Beacon. She was not more dangerous because she was larger or swifter, or carried a more numerous or better-armed crew, but for the reason that she had on board a certain Mr. Banker who had once belonged to a famous band of desperadoes, called the "Rackbirds," well-known along the Pacific coast of South America. He had escaped destruction when the rest of his band were drowned in a raging torrent, and he had made himself extremely obnoxious and even dangerous to Mrs. Horn and to Captain Horn when they were in Paris at a very critical time of their fortunes.

This ex-Rackbird Banker had had but a very cloudy understanding of the state of affairs when he was endeavoring to blackmail Mrs. Horn, and making stupid charges against her husband. He knew that the three negroes he had met in Paris in the service of Mrs. Horn had once been his own slaves, held not by any right of law, but by brutal force, and he knew that the people with whom they were then travelling must have been in some way connected with his old comrades, the Rackbirds. He had made bold attempts to turn this scanty knowledge to his own benefit, but had mournfully failed.

In the course of time, however, he had come to know everything. The news of Captain Horn's great discovery of treasure on the coast of Peru had gone forth to the public, and Banker's soul had writhed in disappointed rage as he thought that he and his fellows had lived and rioted like fools for months, and months, and months, but a short distance from all these vast hoards of gold. This knowledge almost maddened him as he brooded over it by night and by day. When he had been set free from the French prison to which his knavery had consigned him, Banker gave himself up body and soul to the consideration of the treasure which Captain Horn had brought to France from Peru. He considered it from every possible point of view, and when at last he heard of the final disposition which it had been determined to make of the gold, he considered it from the point of his own cupidity and innate rascality.

He it was who devised the plan of sending out a swift steamer to overhaul the merchantman which was to carry the gold to Peru, and who, after consultation with the many miscreants whom he was obliged to take into his confidence and to depend upon for assistance, decided that it would be well to fit out two ships, so that if one should fail in her errand, the other might succeed. The steamers from Genoa and Toulon were fitted out and manned under the direction of Banker, but with the one which sailed from Marseilles he had nothing to do. This expedition was organized by men who had quarrelled with him and his associates, and it was through the dissension of the opposing parties in this intended piracy that the detectives came to know of it.

Banker had sailed from Genoa, but the Toulon vessel had got ahead of him. It had sighted the Dunkery Beacon before she reached Kingston; it had cruised in the Caribbean Sea until she came sailing down towards Tobago Island; it had followed her out into the Atlantic, and when the proper time came it had taken her—hull, engine, gold, and everything which belonged to her, except her captain and her crew, and had steamed away with her.

Banker did not command the Vittorio, for he was not a seaman, but he commanded her captain, and through him everybody on board. He directed her course and her policy. He was her leading spirit and her blackest devil.

It had been no part of Banker's intentions to cruise about the South Atlantic and search for a steamer with black and white stripes running up and down her funnel. His plan of action was to be the same as that of the other pirate, and the Vittorio therefore steamed for Kingston as soon as she could manage to clear from Genoa. His calculations were very good ones, but there was a flaw in them, for he did not know that the Dunkery Beacon sailed three days before her regular time. Consequently, the Vittorio was the last of the four steamers which reached Jamaica on business connected with the Incas' treasure.

The Vittorio did not go into Kingston Harbor, but Banker got himself put on shore and visited the town. There he not only discovered that the Dunkery Beacon had sailed, that an American yacht had sailed after her, but that a steamer from Vera Cruz, commanded by Captain Horn, now well known as the discoverer of the wonderful treasure, had touched here, expecting to find the Dunkery Beacon in port, and had then, scarcely twelve hours before, cleared for Jamaica.

The American yacht was a mystery to Banker. It might be a pirate from the United States for all he knew, but he was very certain that Captain Horn had not left Kingston for any reason except to accompany and protect the Dunkery Beacon. If a steamer commanded by this man, whom Banker now hated more than he hated anybody else in the world, should fall in and keep company with the steamer which was conveying the treasure to Peru, it might be a very hard piece of work for him or his partner in command of the vessel from Toulon to get possession of that treasure, no matter what means they might employ, but all Banker could do was to swear at his arch-enemy and his bad luck, and to get away south with all speed possible. If he could do nothing, he might hear of something. He would never give up until he was positive there was no chance for him.

So he took the course that the Dunkery Beacon must have taken, and sailed down the coast under full head of steam. When at last he discovered the flag of his private consort hoisted over the steamer which carried the golden prize, and had gone on board the Dunkery Beacon and had heard everything, his Satanic delight blazed high and wild. He cared nothing for the yacht which hung upon the heels of the captured steamer,—it would not be difficult to dispose of that vessel,—but his turbulent ecstasies were a little dampened by the discovery of a large steamer bearing down from the north. This he instantly suspected to be the Monterey, which must have taken a more westerly course than that which he had followed, and which he had therefore passed without sighting.

The ex-Rackbird did not hesitate a moment as to what ought to be done. That everlastingly condemned meddler, Horn, must never be allowed to put his oar into this business. If he were not content with the gold which he had for himself, he should curse the day that he had tried to keep other people from getting the gold that they wanted for themselves. No matter what had to be done, he must never reach the Dunkery Beacon—he must never know what had happened to her. Here was a piece of work for the Vittorio to attend to without the loss of a minute.

When Banker gave orders to head for the approaching steamer he immediately began to make ready for an attack upon her, and, as this was to be a battle between merchant ships, neither of them provided with any of the ordinary engines of naval warfare, his plan was of a straightforward, old-fashioned kind. He would run his ship alongside the other; he would make fast, and then his men, each one with a cutlass and a pistol, should swarm over the side of the larger vessel and cut down and fire until the beastly hounds were all dead or on their knees. If he caught sight of Captain Horn,—and he was sure he would recognize him, for such a fellow would be sure to push himself forward no matter what was going on,—he would take his business into his own hands. He would give no signal, no warning. If they wanted to know what he came for, they would soon find out.

Before he left Genoa he had thought that it was possible that he might make this sort of an attack upon the Dunkery Beacon, and he had therefore provided for it. He had shipped a number of grappling-irons with long chains attached which were run through ring-bolts on his deck. With these and other appliances for making fast to a vessel alongside, Banker was sure he could stick to an enemy or a prize as long as he wanted to lie by her.

Everything was now made ready for the proposed attack, and all along the starboard side of the Vittorio mattresses were hung in order to break the force of the shock when the two vessels should come together. Every man who could be spared was ordered on deck, and fully armed. The men who were to make fast to the other steamer were posted in their proper places, and the rest of his miscreants were given the very simple orders to get on board the Monterey the best way they could and as soon as they could, and to cut down or shoot every man they met without asking questions or saying a word. Whether or not it would be necessary to dispose of all the crew which Captain Horn might have on board, Banker had not determined. But of one thing he was certain: he would leave no one on board of her to work her to the nearest port and give news of what had happened. One mistake of that kind was enough to make, and his stupid partner, who had commanded the vessel from Toulon, had made it.



CHAPTER XXX

THE BATTLE OF THE MERCHANT SHIPS

When the Vittorio showed that in veering away from the Monterey she had done so only in order to make a sweep around to the west, and when she had headed south and the mattresses lowered along her starboard side showed plainly to Captain Horn that she was about to attack him and how she was going to do it, his first thought was to embarrass her by reversing his course and steering this way and that, but he instantly dismissed this idea. The pirate vessel was smaller and faster than his own, and probably much more easily managed, and apart from the danger of a collision fatal to his ship, he would only protract the conflict by trying to elude her. He was so sure that he had men enough to beat down the scoundrels when they tried to board that he thought the quicker the fight began, the better. If only he had Shirley and Burke with him, he thought; but although they were not here, he had Edna to fight for, and that made three men of himself.

With most of his men crouching behind his port bulwarks, and others protected by deck houses, smokestack, and any other available devices against gunshots, Captain Horn awaited the coming of the pirate steamer, which was steaming towards him as if it intended to run him down. As she came near, the Vittorio slowed up, and the Monterey veered to starboard; but, notwithstanding this precaution and the fact that they sailed side by side for nearly a minute without touching, the two vessels came together with such force that the Monterey, high out of water, rolled over as if a great wave had struck her. As she rolled back, grappling-irons were thrown over her rail, and cables and lines were made fast to every available place which could be reached by eager hands and active arms. Some of the grappling-irons were immediately thrown off by the crew of the Monterey, but the chains of others had been so tightened as the vessel rolled back to an even keel that it was impossible to move them.

The Monterey's rail was considerably higher than that of the Vittorio, and as none of the crew of the former vessel had shown themselves, no shots had yet been fired, but with the activity of apes the pirates tried to scramble over the side of the larger vessel. Now followed a furious hand-to-hand combat. Blows rained down on the heads and shoulders of the assailants, some of whom dropped back to the deck of their ship, while others drew their pistols and fired right and left at the heads and arms they saw over the rail of the Monterey.

The pirate leaders were amazed at the resistance they met with. They had not imagined that Captain Horn had so large a crew, or that it was a crew which would fight. But these pirates had their blood up, and not one of them had any thought of giving up their enterprise on account of this unexpected resistance. Dozens of them at a time sprang upon the rail of their own vessel, and, with cutlass or pistol in one hand, endeavored to scramble up the side of the Monterey; but although the few who succeeded in crossing her bulwarks soon fell beneath the blows and shots of her crew, the attack was vigorously kept up, especially by pistol shots.

Whenever there was a chance, a pirate hand would be raised above the rail of the Monterey and a revolver discharged upon her rail, and every few minutes there would be a rush to one point or another and a desperate fight upon the rail. The engines of both vessels had been stopped, and the screaming and roaring of the escaping steam gave additional horror to this fearful battle. Not a word could be heard from any one, no matter how loudly it might be shouted.

Whatever firearms were possessed by the men on the Monterey were used with good effect, but in this respect they were vastly inferior to the enemy. When they had fired their pistols and their guns, some of them had no more ammunition, and others had no opportunity to reload. The men of the Vittorio had firearms in abundance and pockets full of cartridges. Consequently it was not long before Captain Horn's men were obliged to rely upon their hatchets, their handspikes, their belaying-pins, and their numbers.

Banker was in a very furious state of mind. He had expected to board the Monterey without opposition, and now he had been fighting long and hard, and not a man of his crew was on board the other vessel. He had soon discovered that there were a great many men on board the Monterey, but he believed that the real reason for the so far successful resistance was the fact that Captain Horn commanded them.

Several times he mounted the upper deck of the Vittorio, and with a rifle in hand endeavored to get a chance to aim at the tall figure of which he now and then caught sight, and who he saw was directing everything that was going on. But every time he stood out with his rifle a pistol ball whizzed by him, and made him jump back. Whoever fired at him was not a good shot, but Banker did not wish to expose himself to any kind of a shot. Once he got a chance of taking aim at the Captain from behind the smokestack, but at that moment the Captain stepped back hurriedly out of view, as if somebody had been pulling him by the coat, and a ball rang against the funnel high above his own head. It was plain he was watched, and would not expose himself.

But that devil Horn must be killed, and he swore between his grinding teeth that he himself would do it. His men, many of them with bloody heads, were still fighting, swearing, climbing, and firing. None of them had been killed except those who had gained the deck of the other vessel, but Banker did not believe that they would be able to board the Monterey until its captain had been disposed of. If he could put a ball into that fellow, the fight would be over.

Banker now determined to lead a fresh attack instead of simply ordering one. If he could call to his men from the deck of the Monterey, they would follow him. The Vittorio lay so that her bow was somewhat forward of that of the Monterey, and as the rails at the bows of the two vessels were some distance apart, there was no fighting forward. The long boom of the fore-mast of the Vittorio stretched over her upper deck, and, crouching low, Banker cut all the lines which secured it. Then with a quick run he seized the long spar near its outer end, and thus swinging it out until it struck the shrouds, he found himself dangling over the forward deck of the Monterey, upon which he quickly dropped.

It so happened that the fight was now raging aft, and for a moment Banker stood alone looking about him. He believed his rapid transit through the air had not been noticed. He would not call upon his men to follow as he had intended. Without much fear of detection he would slip quietly behind the crew of the Monterey, and take a shot at Captain Horn the moment he laid eyes on him. Then he could shout out to his men to some purpose.

Banker moved on a few steps, not too cautiously, for he did not wish to provoke suspicion, when suddenly a hand was placed upon his chest. There was nobody in front of him, but there was the hand, and a very big one it was, and very black. Like a flash Banker turned, and beheld himself face to face with the man Mok, the same chimpanzee-like negro who had been his slave, and with whom in the streets of Paris he had once had a terrible struggle, which had resulted in his capture by the police and his imprisonment. Here was that same black devil again, his arms about him as if they had been chain-cables on a windlass.

Banker had two pistols, but he had put them in his pockets when he made his swing upon the boom, and he had not yet drawn them, and now his arms were held so tightly to his sides that he could not get at his weapons. There was no one near. Banker was wise enough not to call out or even to swear an oath, and Mok had apparently relapsed into the condition of the speechless savage beast. With a wrench which might have torn an ordinary limb from its socket, Banker freed his left arm, but a black hand had grasped it before he could reach his pistol.

Then there was a struggle—quick, hard, silent, and furious, as if two great cobras were writhing together, seeking each other's death. Mok was not armed. Banker could not use knife or pistol. They stumbled, they went down on their knees, they rose and fell together against the rail. Instantly Banker, with his left arm and the strength of his whole body, raised the negro to the rail and pushed him outward. The action was so sudden, the effort of the maddened pirate was so great, that Mok could not resist it—he went over the side. But his hold upon Banker did not relax even in the moment when he felt himself falling, and his weight was so great and the impetus was so tremendous that Banker could not hold back, and followed him over the rail. Still clutching each other tightly, the two disappeared with a splash into the sea.

Fears were beginning to steal into the valiant heart of Captain Horn. The pirates were so well armed, they kept up such a savage fire upon his decks, that although their shots were sent at random, several men had been killed, and others—he knew not how many—wounded, that he feared his crew, ordinary sailors and not accustomed to such savage work as this, might consider the contest too unequal, and so lose heart. If that should be the case, the affair would be finished.

But there was still one means of defence on which he thought he might rely to drive off the scoundrels. The Monterey had been a cotton ship, and she was provided with hose by which steam could be thrown upon her cargo in case of fire, and Captain Hagar had undertaken to try to get this into condition to use upon the scoundrels who were endeavoring to board the vessel. By this time two heavy lines of hose had been rigged and attached to the boiler, and the other ends brought out on deck—one forward and the other amidships.



Captain Hagar was a quiet man, and in no way a fighter, but now he seemed imbued with a reckless courage; and without thinking of the danger of exposing himself to pistol or to rifle, he laid the nozzle of his hose over the rail and directed it down upon the deck below. As soon as the hot steam began to pour upon the astonished pirates there were yells and execrations, and when another scalding jet came in upon them over the forward bulwarks of the Monterey, the confusion became greater on the pirate ship.

It was at this moment, as Edna, her face pale and her bright eyes fixed upon the upper deck of the Vittorio, stood with a revolver in her hand at the window of her cabin, which was on deck, that her Swedish maid, trembling so much that she could scarcely stand, approached her and gave her notice that she must quit her service. Edna did not hear what she said. "Are you there?" she cried. "Look out—tell me if you can see Captain Horn!"

The frightened girl, scarcely knowing what she did, rushed from the cabin to look for Captain Horn, not so much because her mistress wanted information of him as because she thought to throw herself upon his protection. She believed that the Captain could do anything for anybody, and she ran madly along the deck on the other side from that on which the battle was raging, and meeting no one, did not stop until she had nearly reached the bow. Then she stopped, looked about her, and in a moment was startled by hearing herself called by her name. There was no one near her; she looked up, she looked around.

Then again she heard her name, "Sophee! Sophee!" Now it seemed to come from the water, and looking over the low rail she beheld a black head on the surface of the sea. Its owner was swimming about, endeavoring to find something on which he could lay hold, and he had seen the white cap of the maid above the ship's side. Sophia and Mok were very good friends, for the latter had always been glad to wait upon her in every way possible, and now she forgot her own danger in her solicitude for the poor black man.

"Oh, Mok! Mok!" she cried, "can't you get out of the water? Can I help you?"

Mok shouted out one of his few English words. "Rope! rope!" he said. But Sophia could see no rope except those which were fast to something, and in her terror she ran aft to call for assistance.

There was now not so much noise and din. The steam was not escaping from the boilers of the Monterey, for it was needed for the hose, and there were no more shots fired from the Vittorio. The officers of the pirate ship were running here and there looking for Banker, that they might ask for orders, while the men were crowding together behind every possible protection, and rushing below to escape the terrible streams of scalding steam.

Now that they could work in safety, the Monterey's men got their handspikes under the grappling-irons, and wrenched them from their holes, and leaning over the side they cut the ropes which held them to the pirate ship. The two vessels now swung apart, and Captain Horn was on the point of giving orders to start the engines and steam ahead, when the maid, Sophia, seized him by the arm. "Mrs. Horn wants you," she said, "and Mok's in the water!"

"Mok!" exclaimed the Captain.

"Yes, here! here!" cried Sophia, and running to the side, she pointed to where Mok's black head and waving arms were still circling about on the surface of the sea.

When a rope had been cast to Mok, and he had been hauled up the side, the Captain gave orders to start ahead, and rushed to the cabin where he had left Edna; but it was not during that brief interval of thankfulness that he heard how she had recognized the Rackbird, Banker, on the pirate ship, and how she had fired at him every time he had shown himself.

The Monterey started southward towards the point where they had last seen the yacht and the Dunkery Beacon, and the pirate ship, veering off to the south-east, steamed slowly away. The people on board of her were looking everywhere for Banker, for without him they knew not what they ought to do, but if their leader ever came up from the great depth to which he had sunk with Mok's black hands upon his throat, his comrades were not near the spot where, dead or alive, he floated to the surface.



CHAPTER XXXI

"SHE BACKED!"

When Captain Burke observed the Dunkery Beacon steaming in his direction, and soon afterwards perceived a signal on this steamer to the effect that she wished to speak with the yacht, he began to hope that he was going to get out of his difficulties. The natural surmise was that as one of the pirates had gone to join another just arriving upon the scene, the Dunkery Beacon—the Captain and crew of which must have turned traitors—was now coming to propose some arrangement, probably to give up Shirley if the yacht would agree to go its way and cease its harassing interference.

If this proposition should be made, Burke and Mrs. Cliff, in conference, decided to accept it. They had done all they could, and would return to Kingston to report to Captain Horn what they had done, and what they had discovered. But it was not long before the people on the yacht began to wonder very much at the conduct of the great steamer which was now rapidly approaching them, apparently under full head of steam.

The yacht was lying to, her engines motionless, and the Dunkery Beacon was coming ahead like a furious ram on a course, which, if not quickly changed, would cause her to strike the smaller vessel almost amidships. It became plainer and plainer every second that the Dunkery did not intend to change her course, and that her object was to run down the yacht.

Why the Dunkery Beacon should wish to ram the Summer Shelter nobody on board the yacht considered for a moment, but every one, even Willy Croup, perceived the immediate necessity of getting out of the way. Burke sprang to the wheel, and began to roar his orders in every direction. His object was to put the yacht around so that he could get out of the course of the Dunkery Beacon and pass her in the opposite direction to which she was going, but nobody on board seemed to be sufficiently alive to the threatening situation, or to be alert enough to do what was ordered at the very instant of command; and Burke, excited to the highest pitch, began to swear after a fashion entirely unknown to the two ladies and the members of the Synod. His cursing and swearing was of such a cyclonic and all-pervading character that some of those on board shuddered almost as much on account of his language as for fear of the terrible crash which was impending.

"This is dreadful!" said one of the clergymen, advancing as if he would mount to the pilot house.

"Stop!" said Mr. Arbuckle, excitedly placing his hand upon the shoulder of the other. "Don't interfere at such a moment. The ship must be managed."

In a very short time, although it seemed like long, weary minutes to the people on the yacht, her engines moved, her screw revolved, and she slowly moved around to leeward. If she could have done this half a minute sooner, she would have steamed out of the course of the Dunkery Beacon so that that vessel must have passed her, but she did not do it soon enough. The large steamer came on at what seemed amazing speed, and would have struck the yacht a little abaft the bow had not Burke, seeing that a collision could not be avoided, quickly reversed his helm. Almost in the next second the two vessels came together, but it was the stem of the yacht which struck the larger steamer abaft the bow.

The shock to the Summer Shelter was terrific, and having but little headway at the moment of collision she was driven backward by the tremendous momentum of the larger vessel as if she had been a ball struck by a bat. Every person on board was thrown down and hurled forward. Mrs. Cliff extended herself flat upon the deck, her arms outspread, and every clergyman was stretched out at full length or curled up against some obstacle. The engineer had been thrown among his levers and cranks, bruising himself badly about the head and shoulders, while his assistant and Mr. Hodgson, who were at work below, were jammed among the ashes of the furnace as if they were trying to stop the draught with their bodies.

Mr. Burdette was on the forward deck, and if he had not tripped and fallen, would probably have been shot overboard; and the sailing-master was thrown against the smokestack with such violence that for a few moments he was insensible.

Burke, who was at the wheel, saw what was coming and tried to brace himself so that he should not be impaled upon one of the handles, but the shock was too much for him and he pitched forward with such force that he came near going over the wheel and out of the window of the pilot house. As soon as Captain Burke could recover himself he scrambled back to his position behind the wheel. He had been dazed and bruised, but his senses quickly came to him and he comprehended the present condition of affairs.

The yacht had not only been forced violently backward, but had been veered around so that it now lay with its broadside towards the bow of the other steamer. In some way, either unwittingly by the engineer or by the violence of the shock, her engine had been stopped and she was without motion, except the slight pitching and rolling occasioned by the collision. The Dunkery Beacon was not far away, and Burke saw to his horror that she was again moving forward. She was coming slowly, but if she reached the yacht in the latter's present position, she would have weight and force enough to turn over the smaller vessel.

Immediately Burke attempted to give the order to back the yacht. The instant performance of this order was the only chance of safety, but he had been thrown against the speaking-tube with such violence that he had jammed it and made it useless. If he pulled a bell the engineer might misunderstand. She must back! She could not pass the other vessel if she went ahead. He leaned out of the door of the pilot house and yelled downward to the engineer to back her; he yelled to somebody to tell the engineer to back her; he shouted until his shouts became screams, but nobody obeyed his orders, no one seemed to hear or to heed. But one person did hear.

Willy Croup had been impelled out of the door of the saloon and had slid forward on her knees and elbows until she was nearly under the pilot house. At the sound of Burke's voice, she looked up, she comprehended that orders were being given to which no attention was paid. The wild excitement of the shouting Captain filled her with an excitement quite as wild. She heard the name of the engineer, she heard the order, and without taking time to rise to her feet, she made a bound in the direction of the engine room.

Thrusting her body half through the doorway she yelled to the engineer, who, scarcely conscious of where he was or what he was doing, was pushing himself away from among his bars and rods. "Back her!" screamed Willy, and without knowing what she said or did, she repeated this order over and over again in a roaring voice which no one would have supposed her capable of, and accompanied by all the oaths which at that moment were being hurled down from the pilot house.

The engineer did not look up; he did not consider himself nor the situation. There was but one impression upon his mind made by the electric flash of the order backed by the following crash of oaths. Instinctively he seized his lever, reversed the engine, and started the Summer Shelter backward. Slowly, very slowly, she moved. Burke held his breath!

But the great steamer was coming on slowly. Her motion was increasing, but so was that of the yacht, and when, after some moments of almost paralyzing terror, during which Willy Croup continued to hurl her furious orders into the engine room, not knowing they had been obeyed, the two vessels drew near each other, the Dunkery Beacon crossed the bow of the Summer Shelter a very long biscuit-toss ahead.

"Miss Croup," said Mr. Litchfield, his hand upon her shoulder, "that will do! The yacht is out of immediate danger."

Willy started up. Her wild eyes were raised to the face of the young clergyman, the roar of her own invectives sounded in her ears. Tears poured from her eyes.

"Mercy on me, Mr. Litchfield," she exclaimed, "what have I been saying?"

"Never mind now, Miss Croup," said he. "Don't think of what you said. She backed!"



CHAPTER XXXII

A HEAD ON THE WATER

With her engines in motion and her wheel in the hands of Captain Burke, the Summer Shelter was in no danger of being run into by the Dunkery Beacon, for she was much the more easily managed vessel.

As soon as they had recovered a moderate command of their senses, Burdette and Portman hurried below to find out what damage had been sustained by the yacht; but, although she must have been greatly strained and might be leaking through some open seams, the tough keelson of the well-built vessel, running her length like a stiff backbone, had received and distributed the shock, and although her bowsprit was shivered to pieces and her cut-water splintered, her sides were apparently uninjured. Furniture, baggage, coils of rope, and everything movable had been pitched forward and heaped in disordered piles all over the vessel. A great part of the china had been broken. Books, papers, and ornaments littered the floors, and even the coal was heaped up in the forward part of the bunkers.

Burke gave the wheel to Burdette and came down, when Mrs. Cliff immediately rushed to him. She was not hurt, but had been dreadfully shaken in body and mind. "Oh, what are we going to do?" she cried. "They are wretched murderers! Will they keep on trying to sink us? Can't we get away?"

"We can get away whenever we please," said Burke, his voice husky and cracked. "If it wasn't for Shirley, I'd sail out of their sight in half an hour."

"But we can't sail away and leave Mr. Shirley," said she. "We can't go away and leave him!"

But little effort was made to get anything into order. Bruised heads and shoulders were rubbed a little, and all on board seemed trying to get themselves ready for whatever would happen next. Burke, followed by Portman, ran to the cases containing the rifles, and taking them out, they distributed them, giving one to every man on board. Some of the clergymen objected to receiving them, and expostulated earnestly and even piteously against connecting themselves with any bloodshed. "Cannot we leave this scene of contention?" some of them said. "Not with Shirley on that steamer," said Burke, and to this there was no reply.

Burke had no definite reason for thus arming his crew, but with such an enemy as the Dunkery Beacon had proved herself to be, lying to a short distance away, two other vessels, probably pirates, in the vicinity, and the strong bond of Shirley's detention holding the yacht where she was, he felt that he should be prepared for every possible emergency. But what to do he did not know. It would be of no use to hail the Dunkery and demand Shirley. He had done that over and over again before that vessel had proved herself an open enemy. He stood with brows contracted, rifle in hand, and his eyes fixed on the big steamer ahead. The two other vessels he did not now consider, for they were still some miles away.

Willy Croup was sitting on the floor of the saloon, sobbing and groaning, and Mrs. Cliff did not know what in the world was the matter with her. But Mr. Litchfield knew, and he knew also that it would be of no use to try to comfort her with any ordinary words of consolation. He was certain that she had not understood anything that she had said, not even, perhaps, the order to back the yacht, but the assertion of this would have made but little impression upon her agitated mind. But a thought struck him, and he hurried to Burke and told him quickly what had happened. Burke listened, and could not even now restrain a smile. "It's just like that dear Willy Croup," said he; "she's an angel!"

"Will you be willing," said Mr. Litchfield, "to come and tell her that your orders could not have been forcibly and quickly enough impressed upon the engineer's mind in any other way?"

Without answering, Burke ran to where Willy was still groaning. "Miss Croup," he exclaimed, "we owe our lives to you! If you hadn't sworn at the engineer, he never would have backed her in time, and we would all have been at the bottom of the sea!"

Mrs. Cliff looked aghast, and Willy sprang to her feet. "Do you mean that, Mr. Burke?" she cried.

"Yes," said he, "in such desperate danger you had to do it. It's like a crack on the back when you're choking. You were the only person able to repeat my orders, and you were bound to do it!"

"Yes," said Mr. Litchfield, "and you saved the ship!"

Willy looked at him a few moments in silence, then wiping her eyes, she said, "Well, you know more about managing a ship than I do, and I hope and trust I'll never be called upon to back one again!"

Burke and most of the other men now gathered on deck, watching the Dunkery Beacon. She was still lying to, blowing off steam, and there seemed to be a good deal of confusion on her deck. Suddenly Burke saw a black object in the water near her starboard quarter. Gazing at it intently, his eyes began to glisten. In a few moments he exclaimed, "Look there! It's Shirley! He's swimming to the yacht!"

Now everybody on deck was straining his eyes over the water, and Mrs. Cliff and Willy, who had heard Burke's cry, stood with the others. "Is it Shirley, really?" exclaimed Mrs. Cliff. "Are you sure that's his head in the water?"

"Yes," replied Burke, "there's no mistake about it! He's taking his last chance and has slipped over the rail without nobody knowing it."

"And can he swim so far?" gasped Willy.

"Oh, he can do that," answered Burke. "I'd steam up closer if I wasn't afraid of attracting attention. If they'd get sight of him they'd fire at him, but he can do it if he's let alone!"

Not a word was now said. Scarcely a breath seemed to come or go. Everybody was gazing steadfastly and rigidly at the swimmer, who with steady, powerful strokes was making a straight line over the gently rolling waves towards the yacht. Although they did not so express it to themselves, the coming of that swimmer meant everything to the pale, expectant people on the Summer Shelter. If he should reach them, not only would he be saved, but they could steam away to peace and safety.

On swam Shirley, evenly and steadily, until he had nearly passed half the distance between the two vessels, when suddenly a knot of men were seen looking over the rail of the Dunkery. Then there was a commotion. Then a man was seen standing up high, a gun in his hand. Willy uttered a stifled scream, and Mrs. Cliff seized her companion by the arm with such force that her nails nearly entered the flesh, and almost in the same instant there rang out from the yacht the report of eight rifles.

Every man had fired at the fellow with the gun, even Burdette in the pilot house. Some of the balls had gone high up into the rigging, and some had rattled against the hull of the steamer, but the man with the gun disappeared in a flash. Whether he had been hit or frightened, nobody knew. Shirley, startled at this tremendous volley, turned a quick backward glance and then dived, but soon reappeared again, striking out as before for the yacht.

"Now, then," shouted Burke, "keep your eyes on the rail of that steamer! If a man shows his head, fire at it!"

If this action had been necessary, very few of the rifles in the hands of the members of the late Synod would have been fired, for most of them did not know how to recharge their weapons. But there was no need even for Burke to draw a bead on a pirate head, for now not a man could be seen on the Dunkery Beacon. They had evidently been so surprised and astounded by a volley of rifle shots from this pleasure yacht, which they had supposed to be as harmless as a floating log, that every man on deck had crouched behind the bulwarks.

Now Burke gave orders to steam slowly forward, and for everybody to keep covered as much as possible; and when in a few minutes the yacht's engine stopped and Shirley swam slowly around her stern, there was a rush to the other side of the deck, a life preserver was dropped to the swimmer, steps were let down, and the next minute Shirley was on deck, Burke's strong arm fairly lifting him in over the rail. In a few moments the deck of the yacht was the scene of wild and excited welcome and delight. Each person on board felt as if a brother had suddenly been snatched from fearful danger and returned to their midst.

"I can't tell you anything now," said Shirley. "Give me a dram, and let me get on some dry clothes! And now all of you go and attend to what you've got to do. Don't bother about that steamer—she'll go down in half an hour! She's got a big hole stove in her bow!"

With a cry of surprise Burke turned and looked out at the Dunkery Beacon. Even now she had keeled over to starboard so much that her deck was visible, and her head was already lower than her stern. "She'll sink," he cried, "with all that gold on board!"

"Yes," said Shirley, turning with a weak smile as he made his way to the cabin, accompanied by Mr. Hodgson, "she'll go down with every bar of it!"

There was great commotion now on the Dunkery Beacon. It was plain that the people on board of her had discovered that it was of no use to try to save the vessel, and they were lowering her boats. Burke and his companions stood and watched for some minutes. "What shall we do!" exclaimed Mr. Arbuckle, approaching Burke. "Can we offer those unfortunate wretches any assistance?"

"All we can do," said Burke, "is to keep out of their way. I wouldn't trust one of them within pistol shot." Now Shirley reappeared on deck—he had had his dram, and had changed his clothes. "You're right," said he, "they're a set of pirates—every man of them! If we should take them on board, they'd cut all our throats. They've got boats enough, and the other pirates can pick them up. Keep her off, Burke; that's what I say!"

There was no time now for explanations or for any story to be told, and Burke gave orders that the yacht should be kept away from the sinking steamer and her boats. Suddenly Burdette, from the pilot house, sung out that there was a steamer astern, and the eyes which had been so steadfastly fixed upon the Dunkery Beacon now turned in that direction. There they saw, less than a mile away, a large steamer coming down from the north.

Burke's impulse was to give orders to go ahead at full speed, but he hesitated, and raised his glass to his eye. Then in a few moments he put down his glass, turned around, and shouted, "That's the Monterey! The Monterey! and Captain Horn!"



CHAPTER XXXIII

11 deg. 30' 19" N. LAT. BY 56 deg. 10' 49" W. LONG.

The announcement of the approach of Captain Horn created a sensation upon the Summer Shelter almost equal to that occasioned by any of the extraordinary incidents which had occurred upon that vessel. Burke and Shirley were wild with delight at the idea of meeting their old friend and commander. Willy Croup had never seen Captain Horn, but she had heard so much about him that she considered him in her mind as a being of the nature of a heathen deity who rained gold upon those of whom he approved, and utterly annihilated the unfortunates who incurred his displeasure.

As for Mrs. Cliff, her delight in the thought of meeting Captain Horn, great as it was, was overshadowed by her almost frantic desire to clasp once more in her arms her dear friend Edna. The clergymen had heard everything that the Summer Shelter people could tell them about Captain Horn and his exploits, and each man of them was anxious to look into the face and shake the hand of the brave sailor, whom they had learned to look upon as a hero; and one or two of them thought that it might be proper, under the circumstances, to resume their clerical attire before the interview. But this proposition, when mentioned, was discountenanced. They were here as sailors to work the yacht, and they ought not to be ashamed to look like sailors. The yacht was now put about and got under headway, and slowly moved in the direction of the approaching steamer.

When Captain Horn had finished the fight in which he was engaged with the Vittorio, and had steamed down in the direction of the two other vessels in the vicinity, it was not long before he discovered that one of them was an American yacht. Why it and the Dunkery Beacon should be lying there together he could not even imagine, but he was quite sure that this must be the vessel owned by Mrs. Cliff, and commanded by his old shipmate, Burke.

When at last the Monterey and the Summer Shelter were lying side by side within hailing distance, and Captain Horn had heard the stentorian voice of Burke roaring through his trumpet, he determined that he and Edna would go on board the yacht, for there were dead men and wounded men on his own vessel, and the condition of his deck was not such as he would wish to be seen by Mrs. Cliff and whatever ladies might be with her.

When Captain Horn and his wife, with Captain Hagar, rowed by four men, reached the side of the Summer Shelter, they were received with greater honor and joy than had ever been accorded to an admiral and his suite. The meeting of the five friends was as full of excited affection as if they were not now standing in the midst of strange circumstances, and, perhaps, many dangers of which none of them understood but a part.

Captain Horn seized the first opportunity which came to him to ask the question, "What's the matter with your yacht? You seem to have had a smash-up forward."

"Yes," said Burke, "there's been a collision. Those beastly hounds tried to run us down, but we caught her squarely on her bow."

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by a shout from Captain Hagar, who had taken notice of nobody on the yacht, but stood looking over the water at his old ship. "What's the matter," he cried, "with the Dunkery Beacon? Has she sprung a leak? Are those the pirates still on board?"

Captain Horn and the others quickly joined him. "Sprung a leak!" cried Shirley. "She's got a hole in her bow as big as a barrel. I've been on board of her, but I can't tell you about that now. There's no use to think of doing anything. Those are bloody pirates that are lowering the boats, and we can't go near them. Besides, you can see for yourself that that steamer is settling down by the head as fast as she can."

Captain Horn was now almost as much excited as the unfortunate commander of the Dunkery Beacon. "Where's that gold?" he cried. "Where is it stowed?"

"It is in the forward hold, with a lot of cargo on top of it!" groaned Captain Hagar.

Shirley now spoke again. "Don't think about the gold!" he said. "I kept my eyes opened and my ears sharpened when I was on board, and although I didn't understand all their lingo, I knew what they were at. When they found there was no use pumping or trying to stop the leak, they tried to get at that gold, but they couldn't do it. The water was coming in right there, and the men would not rig up the tackle to move the cargo. They were all wild when I left."

Captain Horn said no more, but stood with the others, gazing at the Dunkery Beacon. But Captain Hagar beat his hands upon the rail and declared over and over again that he would rather never have seen the ship again than to see her sink there before his eyes, with all that treasure on board. The yacht lay near enough to the Dunkery Beacon for Captain Hagar to see plainly what was going on on his old ship, without the aid of a glass. With eyes glaring madly over the water, he stood leaning upon the rail, his face pale, his whole form shaking as if he had a chill. Every one on the deck of the yacht gathered around him, but no one said anything. This was no time for asking questions, or making explanations.

The men on the Dunkery Beacon were hurrying to leave the vessel. One of the starboard boats was already in the water, with too many men in her. The vessel had keeled over so much that there seemed to be difficulty in lowering the boats on the port side. Everybody seemed rushing to starboard, and two other boats were swinging out on their davits. Every time the bow of the steamer rose and fell upon the swell it seemed to go down a little more and up a little less, and the deck was slanted so much that the men appeared to slide down to the starboard bulwarks.

Now the first boat pushed off from the sinking ship, and the two others, both crowded, were soon pulling after her. It was not difficult to divine their intentions. The three boats headed immediately for the northeast, where, less than two miles away, the Vittorio could be plainly seen.

At this moment Captain Hagar gave a yell; he sprang back from the rail, and his eyes fell upon a rifle which had been laid on a bench by one of the clergymen. He seized it and raised it to his shoulder, but in an instant Captain Horn took hold of it, pointing it upward. "What are you going to do?" he said. "Captain, you don't mean to fire at them?"

"Of course I mean it!" cried Captain Hagar. "We've got them in a bunch. We must follow them up and shoot them down like rats!"



"We'll get up steam and run them down!" shouted Burke. "We ought to sink them, one boat after another, the rascally pirates! They tried to sink us!"

"No, no," said Captain Horn, taking the gun from Captain Hagar, "we can't do that. That's a little too cold-blooded. If they attack us, we'll fight them, but we can't take capital punishment into our own hands."

Now the excited thoughts of Captain Hagar took another turn. "Lower a boat! Lower a boat!" he cried. "Let me be pulled to the Dunkery! Everything I own is on that ship, the pirates wouldn't let me take anything away. Lower a boat! I can get into my cabin."

Shirley now stepped to the other side of Captain Hagar. "It's no use to think of that, Captain," he said. "It would be regular suicide to go on board that vessel. Those fellows were afraid to stay another minute. She'll go down before you know it. Look at her bows now!"

Captain Hagar said no more, and the little company on the deck of the yacht stood pale and silent, gazing out over the water at the Dunkery Beacon. Willy Croup was crying, and there were tears in the eyes of Mrs. Cliff and Edna. In the heart of the latter was deep, deep pain, for she knew what her husband was feeling at that moment. She knew it had been the high aim of his sensitive and honorable soul that the gold for which he had labored so hard and dared so much should safely reach, in every case, those to whom it had been legally adjudged. If it should fail to reach them, where was the good of all that toil and suffering? He had in a measure taken upon himself the responsibility of the safe delivery of that treasure, and now here he was standing, and there was the treasure sinking before his eyes. As she stood close by him, Edna seized her husband's hand and pressed it. He returned the pressure, but no word was said.

Now the Dunkery Beacon rolled more heavily than she had done yet, and as she went down in the swell it seemed as if the water might easily flow over her forward bulwarks; and her bow came up with difficulty, as if it were sticking fast in the water. Her masts and funnel were slanting far over to starboard, and when, after rising once more, she put her head again into the water, she dipped it in so deep that her rail went under and did not come up again. Her stern seemed to rise in the air, and at the same time the sea appeared to lift itself up along her whole length. Then with a dip forward of her funnel and masts, she suddenly went down out of sight, and the water churned, and foamed, and eddied about the place where she had been. The gold of the Incas was on its way to the bottom of the unsounded sea.

Captain Hagar sat down upon the deck and covered his face with his hands. No one said anything to him,—there was nothing to say. The first to speak was Mrs. Cliff. "Captain Horn," said she, her voice so shaken by her emotion that she scarcely spoke above a whisper, "we did everything we could, and this is what has come of it!"

"Everything!" exclaimed Captain Horn, suddenly turning towards her. "You have done far more than could be expected by mortals! And now," said he, turning to the little party, "don't let one of us grieve another minute for the sinking of that gold. If anybody has a right to grieve, it's Captain Hagar here. He's lost his ship, but many a good sailor has lost his ship and lived and died a happy man after it. And as to the cargo you carried, my mate," said he, "you would have done your duty by it just the same if it had been pig lead or gold; and when you have done your duty, there's the end of it!"

Captain Hagar looked up, rose to his feet, and after gazing for a second in the face of Captain Horn, he took his extended hand. "You're a good one!" said he; "but you're bound to agree that it's tough. There's no getting around that. It's all-fired tough!"

"Burke," said Captain Horn, quickly, glancing up at the noon-day sun, "put her out there near the wreckage, and take an observation."

It was shortly after this that Mr. Portman, the sailing-master, came aft and reported the position of the yacht to be eleven degrees, thirty minutes, nineteen seconds north latitude by fifty-six degrees, ten minutes, forty-nine seconds west longitude.

"What's the idea," said Burke to Captain Horn, "of steering right to the spot? Do you think there'll ever be a chance of getting at it?"

Captain Horn was marking the latitude and longitude in his note-book. "Can't say what future ages may do in the way of deep-sea work," said he, "but I'd like to put a dot on my chart that will show where the gold went down."

Nothing could be more unprofitable for the shaken and disturbed, spirits of the people on the Summer Shelter than to stand gazing at the few pieces of wood and the half-submerged hencoop which floated above the spot where the Dunkery Beacon had gone down, or to look out at the three boats which the pirates were vigorously rowing towards the steamer in the distance, and this fact strongly impressed itself upon the practical mind of Mrs. Cliff. "Captain Horn," said she, "is there any reason why we should not go away?"

"None in the world," said he, "and there's every reason why your vessel and mine should get under headway as soon as possible. Where are you bound for now?"

"Wherever you say, Captain," she answered. "This is my ship, and Mr. Burke is my captain, but we want you to take care of us, and you must tell us where we should go."

"We'll talk it over," said he, and calling Burke and Captain Hagar, a consultation was immediately held; and it did not take long to come to a decision when all concerned were of the same mind.

It was decided to set sail immediately for Kingston, for each vessel had coal enough, with the assistance of her sails, to reach that port. Mrs. Cliff insisted that Edna should not go back to the Monterey, and Captain Horn agreed to this plan, for he did not at all wish any womankind on the Monterey in her present condition. The yacht had been found to be perfectly seaworthy, and although a little water was coming in, her steam pump kept her easily disposed of it. Edna accepted Mrs. Cliff's invitation, provided her husband would agree to remain on the yacht, and, somewhat to her surprise, he was perfectly willing to do this. The idea had come to him that the best thing for all parties, and especially for the comfort and relief of the mind of Captain Hagar, was to put him in command of a ship and give him something to think about other than the loss of his vessel.

While they were talking over these matters, and making arrangements to send to the Monterey for Edna's maid and some of her baggage, Captain Horn sought Burke in his room. "I want to know," said he, "what sort of a crew you've got on board this yacht? One of them—a very intelligent-looking man, by the way, with black trousers on—came up to me just now and shook hands with me, and said he was ever so much pleased to make my acquaintance and hoped he would soon have some opportunities of conversation with me. That isn't the kind of seaman I'm accustomed to."

Burke laughed. "It's the jolliest high-toned, upper-ten crew that ever swabbed a deck or shoveled coal. They're all ministers."

"Ministers!" ejaculated Captain Horn, absolutely aghast. Then Burke told the story of the Synod. Captain Horn sank into a chair, leaned back, and laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.

"I didn't suppose," he said presently, "that anything could make me laugh on a day like this, but the story of those Synod gentlemen has done it! But, Burke, there's no use of their serving as seamen any longer. Let them put on their black clothes and be comfortable and happy. I've got a double crew on board the Monterey, and can bring over just as many men as are needed to work this yacht. I'll go over myself and detail a crew, and then, when everything is made ready, I'll come on board here myself. And after that I want you to remember that I'm a passenger and haven't anything to do with the sailing of this ship. You're Captain and must attend to your own vessel, and I'm going to make it my business to get acquainted with all these clergymen, and that lady I see with Mrs. Cliff. Who is she?"

"By George!" exclaimed Burke, "she's the leading trump of the world! That's Willy Croup!"

There was no time then to explain why Willy was a leading trump, but Captain Horn afterwards heard the story of how she backed the ship, and he did not wonder at Burke's opinion.

When the Summer Shelter, accompanied by the Monterey, had started northward, Burke stood by Shirley on the bridge. Mr. Burdette had a complete crew of able seamen under his command; there was a cook in the kitchen, and stewards in the saloons, and there was a carpenter with some men at work at a spare spar which was to be rigged as a bowsprit.

"I'm mighty glad to lay her course for home," said Burke, "for I've had enough of it as things are; but if things were not exactly as they are, I wouldn't have enough of it."

"What do you mean?" said Shirley.

"I mean this," was the answer. "If this was my yacht, and there was no women on board, and no ministers, I would have put on a full head of steam, and I would have gone after those boats, and I would have run them down, one after another, and drowned every bloody pirate on board of them. It makes my blood boil to think of those scoundrels getting away after trying to run us down, and to shoot you!"

"It would have served them right to run them down, you know," said Shirley, "but you couldn't do it, and there's no use talking about it. It would have been a cold-blooded piece of business to run down a small boat with a heavy steamer, and I don't believe you would have been willing to do it yourself when you got close on to them! But the Captain says if we get to Kingston in good time, we may be able to get a cable message to London, and set the authorities at every likely port on the lookout for the Vittorio."

The voyage of the Summer Shelter to Kingston was uneventful, but in many respects a very pleasant one. There had been a great disappointment, there had been a great loss, and, to the spirits of some of the party, there had been a great shock, but every one now seemed determined to forget everything which had been unfortunate, and to remember only that they were all alive, all safe, all together, and all on their way home.

The clergymen, relieved of their nautical duties, shone out brightly as good-humored and agreeable companions. Their hardships and their dangers had made them so well acquainted with each other, and with everybody else on board, and they had found it so easy to become acquainted with Captain and Mrs. Horn, and they all felt so much relieved from the load of anxiety which had been lifted from them, that they performed well their parts in making up one of the jolliest companies which ever sailed over the South Atlantic.

At Kingston the Summer Shelter and the Monterey were both left,—the former to be completely repaired and brought home by Mr. Portman, and the other to be coaled and sent back to Vera Cruz, with her officers and her crew,—and our whole party, including Captain Hagar, sailed in the next mail steamer for New York.



CHAPTER XXXIV

PLAINTON, MAINE

It was late in the summer, and Mrs. Cliff dwelt happy and serene in her native town of Plainton, Maine. She had been there during the whole warm season, for Plainton was a place to which people came to be cool and comfortable in summer-time, and if she left her home at all, it would not be in the months of foliage and flowers. It might well be believed by any one who would look out of one of the tall windows of her drawing-room that Mrs. Cliff did not need to leave home for the mere sake of rural beauty. On the other side of the street, where once stretched a block of poor little houses and shops, now lay a beautiful park, The Grove of the Incas.

The zeal of Mr. Burke and the money of Mrs. Cliff had had a powerful influence upon the minds of the contractors and landscape-gardeners who had this great work in hand, and the park, which really covered a very large space in the village, now appeared from certain points of view to extend for miles, so artfully had been arranged its masses of obstructing foliage, and its open vistas of uninterrupted view. The surface of the ground, which had been a little rolling, had been made more unequal and diversified, and over all the little hills and dells, and upon the wide, smooth stretches there was a covering of bright green turf. It had been a season of genial rains, and there had been a special corps of workmen to attend to the grass of the new park.

Great trees were scattered here and there, and many people wondered when they saw them, but these trees, oaks and chestnuts, tall hickories and bright cheerful maples, had been growing where they stood since they were little saplings. The people of Plainton had always been fond of trees, and they had them in their side yards, and in their back yards, and at the front of their houses; and when, within the limits of the new park, all these yards, and houses, and sheds, and fences had been cleared away, there stood the trees. Hundreds of other trees, evergreens and deciduous, many of them of good size, had been brought from the adjacent country on great wheels, which had excited the amazement of the people in the town, and planted in the park.

Through the middle of the grounds ran a wide and turbulent brook, whirling around its rocks and spreading out into its deep and beautiful pools, and where once stood the widow Casey's little house,—which was built on the side of a bank, so that the Caseys went into the second story when they entered by the front,—now leaped a beautiful cataract over that very bank, scattering its spray upon the trunks of the two big chestnuts, one of which used to stand by the side of Mrs. Casey's house, and the other at the front.

In the shade of the four great oak trees which had stood in William Hamilton's back yard, and which he intended to cut down as soon as he had money enough to build a long cow-stable,—for it was his desire to go into the dairy business,—now spread a wide, transparent pool, half surrounded at its upper end by marble terraces, on the edges of which stood tall statues with their white reflections stretching far down into the depths beneath. Here were marble benches, and steps down to the water, and sometimes the bright gleams of sunshine came flittering through the leaves, and sometimes the leaves themselves came fluttering down and floated on the surface of the pool. And when the young people had stood upon the terraces, or had sat together upon the wide marble steps, they could walk away, if they chose, through masses of evergreen shrubbery, whose quiet paths seemed to shut them out from the world.

On a little hill which had once led up to Parson's barn, but now ended quite abruptly in a little precipice with a broad railing on its edge and a summer-house a little back, one could sit and look out over the stretch of bright green lawns, between two clumps of hemlocks, and over a hedge which concealed the ground beyond, along the whole length of the vista made by Becker Street, which obligingly descended slightly from the edge of the park so that its houses were concealed by the hemlocks, and then out upon the country beyond, and to the beautiful hills against the sky; and such a one might well imagine, should he be a stranger, that all he saw was in the Grove of the Incas. Upon all the outer edges of this park there were masses of shrubbery, or little lines of hedge, irregularly disposed, with bits of grass opening upon the street, and here and there a line of slender iron railing with a group of statuary back of it, and so the people when they walked that way scarcely knew when they entered the park, or when they left it.

The home of Mrs. Cliff, itself, had seemed to her to be casting off its newness and ripening into the matured home. Much of this was due to work which had been done upon the garden and surrounding grounds, but much more was due to the imperceptible influence of the Misses Thorpedyke. These ladies had not only taken with them to the house so many of the time-honored objects which they had saved from their old home, but they had brought to bear upon everything around them the courtly tastes of the olden time.

Willy Croup had declared, as she stood in the hall gazing up at the staircase, that it often seemed to her, since she came back, as if her grandfather had been in the habit of coming down those stairs. "I never saw him," she said, "and I don't know what sort of stairs he used to come down, but there's something about all this which makes me think of things far back and grand, and I know from what I've heard of him that he would have liked to come down such stairs."

Mrs. Horn and her husband had made a long visit to Mrs. Cliff, and they had departed early in the summer for a great property they had bought in the West, which included mountains, valleys, a canon, and such far extending groves of golden fruit that Edna already called the Captain "The Prince of Orange."

Edna's brother, Ralph, had also been in Plainton. He had come there to see his sister and Captain Horn, and that splendid old woman, Mrs. Cliff, but soon after he reached the town it might well be supposed it was Mr. Burke whom he came to visit. This worthy mariner and builder still lived in Plainton. His passion for an inland residence had again grown upon him, and he seemed to have given up all thoughts of the sea. He and Ralph had royal times together, and if the boy had not felt that he must go with Captain Horn and his sister to view the wonders of the far West, he and Burke would have concocted some grand expedition intended for some sort of an effect upon the civilization of the world.