Other figures of men, women, and children, naked and all but defenseless, emerged from their egg-shaped shelters, some fighting as best they could, others flying, and all apparently surrounded by a band of vociferous demons.

"Ben," called Ralph, "keep the boat with your gun. I must go and see what has become of Mr. Duff."

He sprang ashore, but had hardly climbed the bank when the mate appeared rifle in hand, cool and collected.

"They are surprised by some predatory party of savages," said Duff. "I don't think there are much if any firearms on either side, however. I think we had better help our dusky friends, don't you, boys? They've treated us white enough."

This was assented to, and the three crawled through the tall grass to the verge of the village, where more of a massacre than a battle was now going on.

The villagers were taken at a sad disadvantage, and were surrounded evidently by superior numbers. The red-shirted chief was on the point of being clubbed by one tall savage, while desperately engaged with another. Ralph, seeing this, leveled his gun with a swiftness that came of long practice amid the wilds of his native Hiawassee.

"Well done!" exclaimed the mate, as, after a sharp report, the negro with a club dropped his weapon and hopped away with a ball in his shoulder. "Now, let us spread out ten paces or so apart and advance. Pump the balls into 'em, boys, but don't hit our black friends."

"How can we tell which is which when they're all alike as two ha'pence?" growled Ben, but he received no answer, as both Mr. Duff and Ralph were intent on the duty before them.

The crack of the Winchesters soon diverted attention from the villagers to an extent that enabled them to recover somewhat from their panic. The rapid hail of balls that hardly ever missed their aim disconcerted the enemy.

The three whites, acting under Duff's orders, kept back in the tall elephant grass at the edge of the huts; but also within close and deadly range. Some of the blacks had thrown wood on the fires, and the light was now sufficient to enable the raiders to be distinguished clearly by their dress and adornments.

"Don't shoot to kill, if you can help it, lads," called Duff. "Maim 'em and lame 'em if you can. It isn't our quarrel you know, only as we——"

Here further utterance was choked off, as a powerful negro, who had made a detour, leaped upon the unwary mate from behind as he was delivering his merciful order. The knife was uplifted as the mate felt the grip of the man upon his collar, but the blow was not struck.

Ralph's Winchester cracked and the raised arm fell shattered and useless, while the knife dropped from the relaxing fingers.



The attacked villagers, inspirited by the assistance they were receiving, fought with renewed energy.

In those days repeating breech loaders were much less commonly used than in more recent years. The savages became terror stricken at guns which seemed to be always loaded.

A final and despairing yell gave the signal for retreat, and in a moment or two more, none of the enemy were to be seen, except the dead and wounded left behind.

Our three adventurers were then overwhelmed by the rude but expressive manifestations of thanks on the part of the villagers. The wounded were soon despatched, and it became evident to Duff, who partially understood their practices, that a cannibal feast would be next in order.

The very idea sickened Ralph, though Ben announced that he had no objections to see one "black nigger eat up another."

"Well, we have, if you haven't," said Duff, "so, as it is pretty near day and we're loaded, I think we had better be getting back to the ship, Captain's in a hurry to leave the coast anyhow."

But when the natives heard of this determination, they one and all tried to persuade the whites to remain at least until day. The red-shirted chief pleaded almost with tears, in the very few words of English at his command.

"You—me—brothers!" He pointed from Duff to himself. "You—stay. All—stay. Eat War-i-ka-ri much; eat—heap!"

But when he found that all persuasion was useless, he bade his people fill the yawl with vegetables and such meat as was on hand. He would have butchered another ox, but as the boat would now hold no more, Duff with difficulty made him stop.

As the whites were pushing off he came running down to the landing, bearing on his shoulder a human leg severed from the body at the hip.

"Take!" he shouted, but Ralph made haste to shove the boat off. "Take!"

Seeing that they would not return, he heaved the toothsome delicacy at the lad, who, instead of catching it, knocked it into the river, whereat the chief became highly excited, and evidently somewhat wroth. The last they saw of him, he and others were trying to recover it by the aid of a pole.

"Isn't it horrible?" said Ralph, feeling nauseated at the idea and the sight. "They seem friendly enough, yet—they eat one another. Pah!"

Duff, at the tiller, laughed. Ben shook his head as he took a fresh quid.

"Many of these coast tribes are cannibals I've heard," commented the mate. "In times of famine they eat the old folks and the girl babies. Queer world, isn't it?"

By the time the firelight had disappeared, and only the stars afforded a relief to the darkness, the wall of forest on either hand grew vague and indistinct.

Having the current with them, their progress was more rapid than their ascent of the stream, and by the time daylight appeared they were well on their way towards the mouth of the river.

Once, as they were rounding a bend, and were nearer the shore than usual, a deep, harsh, though distant roar met their ears. Ralph and Ben wondered what it was, but the mate replied by one significant word:

"Lions."

"I would like to see one," said Ralph. "But I thought lions were found mostly in Central and Southern Africa. At least so I've read."

"Right you are. But now and then they frequent the Gold Coast. I have heard them in Natal, and down about the diamond regions. Once you hear a wild lion roar, you never forget the sound."

As the sun mounted above the forest, the odorous mists that infest those regions were drawn upward, giving out as the air grew warm a sickening and malarious influence. Vast and gloomy cypress, bay, swamp palm, ironwood, and other tropical woods reared their columnar trunks, from out a dark and noisome undergrowth, to an immense height. In those leafy depths no sun ever shone, and the absence of bird life was noticeably depressing.

"I hardly wonder the captain wants to get away as soon as possible," remarked Duff, as they at last neared the narrow point where the river entered the little harbor. "A week in this place and half of us would be down with coast fever."

An exclamation from Ralph, who was in the bow, came next, as the yawl passed the last leafy point, and the surface of the anchorage became visible.

"What now?" demanded Duff.



CHAPTER XIX.

Left Behind.

No reply was necessary, for in another instant both the mate and the sailor comprehended the cause of Ralph's surprise and alarm.

The Wanderer was nowhere to be seen.

The entire surface of the small, landlocked bay was as deserted and seemingly untouched by man's presence, as if human eyes had never beheld its solitude. A glimpse of the inlet and the breakers far out on the bar beyond was visible between two islets.

They could hear the monotonous thunder of the surf and discern a glassy ocean farther out, for the morning was calm, promising also to be intensely hot.

The surprise of each was so supreme that for an instant nothing was said. Finally the mate, with an expression of deep perplexity on his countenance, said:

"I cannot understand it at all. Let us row to the landing. Perhaps we may gain some clue to the mystery."

So they pulled across to the part of the harbor where the schooner had been anchored when Duff, heading the boat for the shore, plunged them into the leafy recesses that overhung the water. Having once penetrated this outer curtain, Ralph saw they were close to a rude landing made of logs sunk endways into the oozy bottom, and floored with large canes similar to bamboo.

A sort of corduroy road led into the swamp, and disappeared amid the trees. Upon a post near by was an old marlin spike with something white fluttering beneath. This attracted the mate's eye.

"Here we are," said he, detaching the bit of paper. "Perhaps this will give us a little light."

And he read as follows:

"3 bells sekund dog watch. gOt to git out. Uncle Sam on the Lookoute. cap ses yu must shift fer yure selves."

"That looks as if a fo'c'stle fist had written it," remarked Duff ruminatively. "I have felt for some time that Gary wouldn't object to being rid of a few of us."

"'E's a bloomin' fool," quoth Ben, evidently feeling that this exigency had removed all restraint of speech as regarded the captain. "Wot will 'e do short handed with a hundred or more black devils aboard in case trouble comes? Barrin' I were out o' here though, I wouldn't care if I never touched a halyard of the Wanderer again."

"You see," said Duff, "we three were known to disapprove of the whole business. He needed me to get over here, for I know the coast. But he can get along without me going back."

"What does that mean about Uncle Sam," asked Ralph.

"That is to make us think some Yankee cruiser is in the neighborhood, and that they left for safety's sake. I half believe that is a blind. But come. We must be stirring, and see if they are really gone, and also if we can cross the bar in a calm, loaded as we are. I know we can't, should a breeze spring up."

Presently they were aboard again, pulling for the inlet. As they passed between a number of mangrove islets Ralph, looking down, could see an occasional shark or sawfish leisurely prodding about ten or fifteen feet below the surface.

But as they neared the bar the water grew clouded, though a dark dorsal appendage thrusting itself here and there above the wave indicated the terrible result that would probably follow should the boat capsize.

When they rounded the last intervening point and the open ocean was disclosed, the first object that met their eyes was the Wanderer with all sails set, about two miles in the offing. She lay motionless, for the calm was complete.

"Well," remarked Duff, "we're all right if we pass the bar. There would be no trouble about that with a lighter load. We can try it as we are, for our supplies will be needed; but if necessary—over they go."

They were already nearing the first line of breakers, when the mate detected a second sail to the left and much nearer the shore.

This stranger was a full rigged ship hardly a mile away and to the southward, while the Wanderer was almost due west from the inlet.

"She's a sailing corvette, or I'm much mistaken," said the mate, "but—mind yourselves, men! Pull with a will."

The first line of breakers was passed without trouble. The second was rougher, and the men strained at the oars to give the yawl as much headway as possible.

The last wave came "quartering" and threw a hatful of water into Ralph's face, whereat Mr. Duff laughed cheerily.

"One ducking!" he cried. "But now comes the tug of war. Jump her, boys! Jump her, I say!"

The third and last line was longer, larger, and in every way more formidable, owing to the sudden deepening of the water. Both Ben and Ralph were rather exhausted from their previous exertions, and Duff yelled himself hoarse in his repeated entreaties to:

"Give way! G-g-give wa-a-a-y I tell you! Don't you see—we're gone? Keep her nose up! K-e-e-p it u-u-u-p-p! Sharks and sawfish, men! are you going to let her broach? Now then! All together, a-n-d—over she—good heavens!"

A barrel or two of brine hurled over the starboard quarter choked off the mate's adjurations. But it was the last of the angry combers and the next minute the three were wiping the salt water from their faces while the yawl was riding easily on the glassy swell just beyond the bar.

"Now head her for the schooner, boys," said Duff, bailing with one hand as he steered with the other. "If we hadn't had the ebb with us, we'd have had to lighten her. Now—give me your oar, Ralph. You steer. We've no time to lose, for if a breeze starts before we reach the side, I fear they're not so fond of our company but what they might give us the slip yet."

"Couldn't we ship on that other vessel?" asked Ralph, by no means reluctant to change his berth to a ship less liable to the law's penalties.

"We probably could," replied Duff dryly. "We probably might also have to spend several months in jail somewhere as slavers, or for aiding and abetting in the traffic. I think we'd better overhaul the schooner and wait for better times."

The sun was now high in the heavens, and the growing heat already almost unbearable. They stripped to their shirt and trousers while the sweat rolled in streams from the faces of the oarsmen.

While nearing the Wanderer rapidly they noticed a faint, dark line approaching up from the southeast along the line of the coast.

"A wind, by thunder!" exclaimed Duff, renewing his efforts at the oar. "Look! the corvette already feels it. Give way, Ben? Gary is none too good to leave us yet if the wind reaches him before we do."

Ralph, now rested, sprang forward.

"Take the tiller, Ben," said he. "I'm good for a sharp pull."

But the old sailor, whose muscles were like whipcord, shook his head and fairly made the yawl spring beneath his redoubled strokes.

For the next three or four minutes Duff kept his eye upon the advancing line, behind which a sea of steely ripples danced in the sunlight.

The cruiser, slowly heeling to leeward, veered her bow round to her course, and Duff could see the dash of water about her cutwater as she forged ahead. Still the Wanderer lay motionless, like a beautiful picture, every sail that would draw set to catch the first whiff of the breeze that was bringing the corvette slowly within range.

Less than three miles separated the vessels, while the yawl, scarcely four hundred yards from the schooner, was lessening the distance rapidly. But the breeze traveled faster.

Ralph could see Gary in the rigging watching the cruiser through a glass. No attention seemed to be paid to the boat.

Three hundred yards—then two hundred—one hundred; and as the distance lessened their spirits rose. They were, however, half a cable length away, when a sullen boom was heard, and a solid shot came skipping along the surface of the sea to the left of the schooner.

"That is an order to 'stay where you are'," remarked Duff. "Ah! here comes our wind," he added, as a cool, refreshing whiff fanned their brows. "Any other time and I would welcome it; but—come down on her, Ben!"

Ralph, fancying that he saw the Wanderer's sails beginning to fill, sprang forward, seized an extra oar and pulled with all his might. The tired muscles were strained in a final effort, and the moist veins bulged about their temples.

"Boat ahoy!" came from the schooner. "Look alive or we'll leave you."

"Leave——" the rest of Duff's exclamation was lost as he threw his whole effort into a last spurt.

The shadow of the lofty sails was towering over the yawl when the Wanderer began to glide ahead. Another gun from the cruiser, and the ball drove between boat and schooner, missing the first by but a few yards.

"Boat there! Make ready for a rope!"

A sailor sprang upon the taffrail and the next instant a slim line uncoiled itself over the water. Duff, springing up, caught the end on his oar blade, and by a dexterous twist brought it within reach.

As he rose from making it fast, the yawl was spinning through the water in the schooner's wake, as the latter, heeling to the wind, responded like a thing of life to the wishes of those on board.

Hand over hand the mate drew the heavily laden boat under the Wanderer's lee, made fast the davits as they were lowered, and a moment or two later the three tired boatmen found themselves safely on deck.

When the ample supply of meat and vegetables was hoisted over the bulwarks, the few who had time to look were loud in their expressions of approval. Captain Gary hardly vouchsafed them more than a glance. To Duff, however, he briefly said:

"We had warning in the night that the Adams" (a sailing vessel in the old United States navy) "was making up the coast, and we had to pull out. We're short of water. Your grub comes in handy, though."

"I suppose then we might have been left, had we been a little later, or the wind had sprung up sooner."

The captain shrugged his shoulders, then glowered at Ralph, who was relating his adventures to several men about the cook's galley.

"When John Bull or Uncle Sam are as close as that fellow yonder, a slaver has to look out for himself. Now, Mr. Duff, you are a gunner, I understand. I want you to make ready our stern chaser. If they keep on firing we must try to cripple their sailing powers if we can. It's lucky she didn't happen to be a steamer."

But Duff, already somewhat piqued by Gary's apparent indifference as to whether the yawl was picked up or not, drew himself up stiffly.

"When I shipped with you, Captain Gary," he replied, "there was nothing said about my serving as a gunner. I must respectfully decline to fire on an American ship. I am too much of an American myself."

Without waiting for the burst of anger which he knew would follow this mutinous(?) delivery, the second mate wheeled and made his way to the galley, where he ordered Neb to serve him breakfast in the cabin.

Gary gave vent to a subdued oath or two, then bottled his wrath for a more auspicious occasion.

Meanwhile the Wanderer, when once fully under way, began to evince her remarkable sailing qualities, especially in light winds. She steadily drew away from the cruiser, whose people, having obtained the range, were sending shot after shot, with a view of crippling the schooner's sailing powers.

One round shot tore a great hole through the mainsail, as it went shrieking by. Gary himself, aided by Rucker, got ready one of the two guns wherewith the Wanderer was equipped and soon returned their fire, though no effect was manifest.

The cruiser must have been informed of the character of the slaver, or she would not have attempted to cripple her so persistently. Duff, after eating, returned to the quarter-deck, where he watched with folded arms the rather unskillful efforts to handle the long twelve pounder pointed sternwards from the Wanderer's waist. At each discharge a chorus of cries from the hold reminded him of their living cargo, deepening still more his disgust at the nature of the venture into which he had been inveigled.

The breeze began to freshen and whip somewhat to the southwest. Duff went forward to where Gary and Rucker were trying to sight the loaded gun.

"Shall I have the sheets trimmed, Captain Gary," he asked.

Gary surveyed the mate from head to foot with cool insolence. Then he stamped his foot.

"You shall either go before the mast as a common sailor, or you can remain a prisoner in your stateroom during my pleasure. If I gave you your deserts, I'd have you clapped in irons."

"As a sailor you would probably put me in irons for again refusing to fire, should you order me to; so I will go to the cabin. Take notice, however, Captain Gary, I protest against your treatment. To fire on an American man-of-war under these circumstances is piracy, and I submit that no captain has a right to issue such orders to true American seamen."

Gary's fury was such that he laid hold of one of the cutlasses in the rack at the foot of the mainmast, but the screech of a shot and the crash of a splintered topsail boom, diverted his attention.

Duff, laying aside his own weapon, descended to the cabin.

"Up with you!" shouted the captain. "Lay out along the fo's'l gaff there. Lively now!"



CHAPTER XX.

Ralph Stumbles on a Discovery.

Three nimble sailors were soon stretched along the slanting gaff of the great foresail, a perilous and quivering berth, with nothing for the hands to grasp but the shivering leech and shivered boom of the topsail. The crippled boom was soon lashed with pieces of spun yarn, and the damage thus temporarily repaired.

Ralph, after a comfortable meal in the galley for himself and Ben, was attracted to the grating over the main hatch by the strange noises that issued thence. Shading his eyes from the light, he peered below, and through the semi-darkness saw a sight that made him heartsick and disgusted. More than ever he wished that he had never gone on this luckless cruise.

The main hold was a place, perhaps sixty feet long by less than twenty-five wide. Into this "black hole," where the upright space between decks was less than seven feet, were crowded one hundred and seventy naked creatures, like hogs in a stock car.

They could not lie down unless a portion stood up to make room, neither could all remain seated except by drawing up their limbs in cramping and painful postures. The odors already arising from this pit of torture were such that the lad had to turn his face away for fresh air.

"It's awful!" he gasped to himself. "It's simply awful. I never had very much liking for niggers—as niggers, but such as this is enough to bring God's punishment on every one of us that have helped to bring it about. Jeemineddy! I wouldn't care much if that ship did overhaul us. Want water, do you?"

This last remark was brought out by Ralph's noticing several of the negroes make signs to him as of drinking from their hands. Ralph walked straight to Captain Gary and saluted.

"May I give those people below some water, sir?" he asked. "They seem to want some."

"No!" shouted Gary, not sorry to vent his spleen on so inviting an object as Ralph. "We'll all be wanting water if that fellow there drives us from the coast without another chance to fill the butts. Get forward there and don't let me hear from you till you're spoken to. D'ye understand?"

Ralph retreated, and Gary, after another unsuccessful trial at the cruiser's masts, gave orders to cease firing.

The wind was now a stiff breeze, and the Adams was holding her own. With the rising of the sea it was probable that the larger vessel would gain on the smaller one.

The cruiser also stopped firing, as the increased rolling of the ship rendered a long range shot too ineffective.

For an hour or more the relative positions of the two vessels remained comparatively unchanged. If there was any advantage it was on the side of the cruiser, though the Wanderer behaved beautifully.

But the wind steadily rose, and by the time eight bells was struck, and Neb announced dinner, the Adams was perceptibly gaining.

"Send that boy aft," ordered Gary, and when Ralph appeared the captain said sneeringly: "You seem to think so much of those black brutes below, I guess you can help deal out their rations. Go to Long Tom."

That worthy was buckling a brace of revolvers about his person, and had in his hand a sharp rawhide. Two sailors bore a great basket of corn bread and ship's hard bread. To Ralph was given a smaller one, containing meat minutely divided into about two ounce slices.

"'Ere we go," remarked the boatswain, heading for the lower gangway door.

At this place an armed sentinel stood day and night. As the four entered, a howl arose not unlike that of caged wild beasts. But it was more for water than for food.

"Eat first; drink afterwards," said Bludson, striking lightly right and left to restrain their eagerness. "That's the law aboard here. Mind, Ralph; one bit of meat apiece—no more."

One sailor bore a lantern, for the only light afforded outside of that was from the grated hatch above. Amid the half obscurity Ralph saw a jumble of swart, brutish faces and wildly gleaming eyes, and heard a babel of guttural sounds suggestive of a savage Bedlam where violence was restrained only by fear.

Up and down the rows of naked forms they passed, dealing to each one a ration of bread and meat, scanty and coarse enough, yet sufficient to sustain life. Then half a pint of water was served out to each.

Here the struggle to keep order was fiercest. The strong would attempt to deprive the weak of their share, and Bludson's whip was kept constantly going.

Once a brawny negro made a strong effort to seize the bucket, regardless of the cowhide, when Long Tom felled him at a blow with his pistol butt, then cocking the weapon, glanced sternly around at the circle of angry faces by which they were surrounded.

The negroes would have torn them in pieces had they dared, for the want of water was already rendering them desperate in that fetid hole.

Ralph returned to the deck pale, nauseated, and sick at heart. The captain noticed this and it angered him, as did nearly everything which the boy now did.

"Hark ye!" he growled. "D'ye think you'd like to spend all your time down there?"

"I would rather be dead," said Ralph half angrily, for his whole being rebelled against the atrocity of which he was being made, perforce, one of the perpetrators.

"Would, eh?" The captain eyed him with leering malevolence. "You'll mind your eye then while you're on this craft, and you'll obey orders, without a word, or—down you go among those demons for punishment. Go to my room and bring up my small glass—the double one. Stay—while you're there make up the berth and tidy things up a bit. Lively now!"

Ralph went below burning with a sense of futile rage. It was useless to rebel, however, for on a ship a boy is the most helpless of creatures.

As he moodily arranged things in the captain's stateroom, wondering for the hundreth time why Gary should appear to wish to persecute him after having been so courteous at Savannah, Ralph's eye fell on an open letter lying on the floor before the half open door of a small iron safe. Evidently Gary, in his haste or excitement over the approach of the warship, had left the safe in this condition. The letter had probably fallen there unnoticed.

Ralph picked it up, intending to lay it on the table, when a certain familiarity in the handwriting struck him as peculiar and he started to read the contents.

"My dear Cousin:—" it began; but after getting thus far the boy threw the sheet down upon the table.

"Why should I be reading the captain's letters?" thought he, and a flush of shame crept momentarily to his forehead. "And yet—it doesn't seem to be the one I gave him."

He remembered that Shard had mentioned an intention to write Gary by mail.

As Ralph hesitated, a desire strengthened within him to read further, despite the monitions of conscience. A vague idea that the strange and contradictory behavior of Gary might be explained was perhaps at the bottom of the lad's mental persistence.

He hesitated until his fingers burned, then made a sudden grasp at the letter.



CHAPTER XXI.

At Close Quarters.

Without giving himself time to think, Ralph now read as follows:

My Dear Cousin:

If he does not get lost on his way you will be apt to see an awkward country boy in Savannah in a day or two, who is quite anxious to go to sea. I have recommended him to apply to you, and you will do me a great favor, not only to take him, but to see that he never comes back. Mind you—no violence. I know your devilish temper. But you can either wear him out with hard work, or leave him in Africa, or get rid of him in some way which may gratify the hatred which I and mine have felt for his whole generation for years, and yet avoid difficulty with the law. We have enough to contend with as it is, in our Cuban venture.

Frankly now, if you wish any more cash advances from me, you must see to this lad, and contrive to make something out of this cargo of live stock. Shipping wild niggers is growing riskier every year, especially as Cuba and Brazil (our only markets left) threaten to free their slaves.

Look sharp, dodge all warships, and attend to that brat of a boy. I have soft soaped him by giving him a letter to you which you will interpret by this.

Your Cousin, Theodore Shard.

Ralph's first hot impulse was to go up and make known to Gary that he now saw through the eccentricities of the latter's behavior, and that Shard's treachery was also known. A second thought convinced him that such a course in the captain's present mood, would most likely, only precipitate some act of violence of which he would be the victim.

Ralph now saw why he had been sent up the river on a perilous errand, and why he and his companions were so readily deserted on the first inkling that a sloop of war was near.

Gary's unchanging severity and dislike were explained, and as the boy contrasted his present treatment with the honeyed manner which had so deceived him in Savannah, he felt that he was justified in using any means to counteract such methods.

As he flung the letter down, a slight noise made him turn. Duff was standing at the door.

Ralph, feeling that here was his best friend aboard, resolved to acquaint the mate with all that had occurred relating to Shard's and Gary's conspiracy against himself. This he did as briefly as possible, clinching his remarks by holding out the letter.

"I won't read it, though it's right enough you should, seeing it concerns your safety," replied Duff. "I'm in disgrace, too, so it might be a good plan for us to stick together—for self preservation, I mean. We don't want to hurt any one, unless they try to hurt us. We're scarce in water, and that cruiser ain't going to let us back to the coast again. You can bank your life on that.

"Captain is in his worst mood, and he ain't likely to get better. He'll begin on the crew next. They say he is a perfect fiend for punishment once he gets mad all through. These poor niggers will keep him half crazy as their want of water grows, and the hot calms strike us in the doldrums. It's my frank opinion, lad, that we'll be having a little floating place of torment of our own here before many days have passed."

The captain's voice hurled down the companionway, interrupted them harshly.

"He wants his glass," said Ralph, seizing the instrument in question. "I must go."

"Well," concluded Duff as he returned to his own stateroom, "lay low and look out for squalls. That's all we can do at present."

When Ralph returned to the deck the wind was stiffening to a gale, and half a dozen men were putting a single reef into the mainsail, while several more were laying out along the bowsprit doing the same office for one of the jibs.

The outermost one, called the flyaway, was being furled, though the sailor stretched out upon the stay beneath the bowsprit was drenched by each downward plunge of the schooner's bow. The Adams still carried a heavy press of canvas, though black specks of men could be seen on the yards shortening the loftier sails. The larger vessel rode the rising seas more easily, and had already come within close range.

Gary seized the glass and leveled it at the cruiser, then at the southwestern horizon, where a dull gray film of vapor was settled upon the sea.

He handed the glass to Rucker and swore impatiently.

"If we have half an hour more of this wind we're gone up," he growled. "Our only chance is a fog."

A puff of smoke belched from the port bow of the warship.

"They understand what that fog might do for us as well as we do," remarked Rucker, as a shell exploded some distance to leeward. "They'll get the range in a few minutes, and when one of those twelve pound bombs explodes in our tops——"

"They see that solid shot won't do," interrupted Gary fiercely. "It is quick work they are after."

Down in the hold the labored pitching of the schooner was adding seasickness to the sufferings of the poor wretches there. Doleful cries resounded, among which one at all conversant with their language would have heard calls for water predominate.

At night, when darkness reigned, the misery of such a scene would be augmented.

Several shells were fired by the cruiser, each one coming nearer to the mark, until at last an explosion just forward of the foretopmast shivered a double throat block, and down came the foresail, the leech trailing in the sea as it fell.

Another piece of the shell tore off a sailor's arm, and still another disabled one of the boats.

Orders from the captain came thick and fast; men flew hither and thither to repair the damage; while the wounded man lay writhing and neglected for some time. The Adams all at once slowly yawed, being within easy range, as the Wanderer lay helpless with her nose in the wind's eye.

"Look out!" shouted Rucker. "She's making ready to give us a broadside."

"Lively there, men!" roared Gary, nearly frantic. "Do you want to spend a year or so in a Yankee jail?"

A redoubled roar from the cruiser followed, and a small tempest of iron hurtled around them.

One shot passed through the after hold, terrifying anew the negroes, who yelled fearfully. A rent or two in the sails was all the damage beside, that was inflicted.

Ralph, who was assisting to reeve a new block at the foretop, saw that the fog was almost at hand. But before it came a change of wind; preceding which, as the southeaster died, there were a few moments of calm.

The lull reached the Wanderer first, and the cruiser, swinging to her course, forged so far ahead that, before the schooner could again hoist her foresail, the Adams rounded to, less than half a mile away and presented a frowning row of shotted guns to the slaver's stern. It was a fair raking position.

Rucker threw down his speaking trumpet in despair, though Gary's eyes were fixed keenly upon the advancing fog. A signal for the slaver to lie to was followed by a peremptory shot athwart the schooner's bow.

At the same time a boat was lowered away, filled with armed men, and started towards the Wanderer.

"Heave to, men!" ordered the captain. "But be ready to hoist the fo's'l when I give the word. Down with your helm—down, man!" This to the man at the wheel. "We mustn't give those fellows any cause to suspect us—now."

While the boat approached, it was at times lost in the hollows of the seas, but always rose again nearer than before. Meanwhile the Wanderer lay to, with her mainsail flattened and her topsails aback.

Apparently she was merely awaiting the arrival of the cruiser's boat to surrender herself. Many on board thought so now, and, in certain quarters, bitter were the grumblings over their "hard luck." All this time Gary, standing at the compass, alternately watched the cruiser and the approach of the fog, while the schooner, deprived of headway, rolled in seeming helplessness in the trough of the sea.

"Lad," said Ben to Ralph as the two slid down the ratlines when their task aloft was done, "I almost wish we were back among those bloody niggers ashore. 'Twould be better than standin' trial for bein' caught on a blackguard of a slaver—bad luck to her."

"We must make the best of it," began Ralph, when Gary's voice interrupted him.

"Hoist away there, men!" cried the captain, brandishing his arms furiously. "Up with that fo's'l! Up with it, I say! Ease away on those tops'ls. Lively now! Haul away on that jib. Flatten 'em, boys!"

The men worked like demons, for on the instant they apprehended the daring nature of Gary's maneuver. Rucker, seizing the trumpet, echoed the captain's orders in stentorian tones.

It was not until the schooner fell off broadside that these actions were noticeable to those on the warship. But she could not now fire without endangering her own boat, which was scarcely fifty yards from the slaver.

So nicely had Gary calculated, that the breeze bearing the fog struck the Wanderer's sails just as she was trimmed to fall off. The cruiser, stricken by the brief calm which had previously palsied the schooner's movements, lay helpless in a double sense, being unable to either move or fire.

"Make ready to go about," said the captain to the first mate, who bellowed the order through his trumpet.

They were nearly abreast of the cruiser's boat, which, seeing at once what was up, fired an ineffectual volley of small arms as the Wanderer gracefully swept by, hardly a pistol shot off.

"About ship!" said Gary quietly.

"Hard a lee!" sang out the mate, and as the schooner rushed up into the wind, Gary, walking to the stern, kissed his hand satirically to the officers in the boat.

"I've a notion to sink you," he muttered. "One solid shot would do the business; but perhaps 'twill be best for us to get away, doing as little damage as possible. It might be safer in case of subsequent trouble with the authorities."

Close hauled upon her other tack, the schooner was heading diagonally towards the fog which was just at hand, like a dense, advancing wall.

As they drew away from the boat the cruiser began to fire one gun after another. Each discharge sent apprehensive thrills through the slaver's crew. Finally a whole broadside of the warship's upper battery came shrieking over the water.



CHAPTER XXII.

Trouble of Another Kind.

"That was a close call," exclaimed Rucker, as a shot cut away one of the jib stays, carrying down the flying jib.

Even as he spoke the film of the fog enveloped them, and though the sloop of war continued to fire, her shots did no further damage, for the Wanderer almost immediately lost sight of her pursuer.

Gary then had the course altered to disconcert the aim of the corvette, which soon after ceased firing.

The breeze that bore the fog with it, was a light one, and as the mist was liable to rise at any time the captain made the most of his opportunity by carrying all the sail he could spread. He dared not return to the coast, bad as he needed water; for the alarm once given, other cruisers would be on the watch there. So he determined to make for the Cape Verdes, and risk the chance of being able to water in those islands. Should no prying war ships happen along he anticipated little difficulty.

The day wore away slowly. It was about an hour by sun in the afternoon before the fog began to lift. A sailor was at each mast head watching for the Adams, as the course of the corvette was entirely unknown.

"Sail ho!" sang out one of these lookouts as the mist, rolling eastward, began to show a clear horizon towards the north.

In a minute both captain and mate were aloft. There was the Adams about four miles away, and somewhat astern to the lee quarter. Almost at the same time the Wanderer was observed from the cruiser, as the latter began to pile up her canvas with a rapidity that evinced a sudden cause therefor. As the mate returned to the deck Gary called:

"Ease away, Mr. Rucker. We've got just the wind that suits us, and I think we have the advantage this time."

With the light breeze that continued, and with the sheets free, the Wanderer was at her best. By the time the sun went down it could be seen that the war ship was losing ground.

When night closed in she was fully five miles astern. With a heavier wind the advantage would have been on her side, but as it was, when morning dawned the Adams was not in sight.

After that came several days of light, baffling winds, alternating with calms. The sun, as they drew nearer the equator, became more and more unbearable.

In the close hold the heat and stench were frightful. The constant cries for water rendered the crew nervous and the captain irritable. He now punished the men severely for the slightest infraction of duty.

"If we don't reach the Verdes," said Duff to Ralph one day, as the lad was sweeping the cabin, "there will be an outbreak of some kind. Come to the gangway and listen."

The second mate, who still remained below—his place being taken by Bludson after a fashion—now led Ralph to the grated door where stood the loaded howitzer. The sentry was not there; another sign of the crew's demoralization. He had slipped into one of the store rooms, now left unlocked, to tap a water butt unseen, for all hands were on short water rations.

When Duff and the boy halted, they could hear a sort of rasping sound from underneath like the boring or cutting of wood.

"What is that?" asked Ralph.

"Mischief," said the mate sententiously. "Those wretches in the hold are up to some trickery. These stupid sentries are too dull or careless to investigate. They are crazy for water in there, and it is my opinion they have got hold of something and are trying to cut a way out—God knows where!—perhaps through the bottom of the vessel."

"Suppose you tell the captain."

"He is that obstinate he'd simply curse me, and probably give no heed. But some one else might speak with better effect."

"Do you think I had better?"

Ralph spoke doubtfully, realizing that he also was no favorite with Gary.

"You might bring it about in some way. I certainly owe Captain Gary no favors, yet I should hate to stand by and see those fiends cut their way out, and say nothing. They would murder every soul on board."

Later on, Ralph found a chance to tell the captain what Duff had told him. Gary's scowl deepened.

"Duff told you this, did he?" demanded the skipper suspiciously. "Out with the truth."

Ralph acknowledged that the second mate was his informant.

"Stuff! Haven't we a sentry there constantly?"

"But the sentry isn't always at his post, so Mr. Duff says. He was away today when we heard the noises."

"And you heard them, too! The mate tattling to the cabin boy, and both peaching on the poor sentry, who is, I dare say, more trusty than either one of you two. Go forward, and stay there until you are bidden back. Rank mutiny, by thunder!"

Gary stamped his foot, more with the air of one demented than that of a sane and sober commander. Indeed the situation was sufficiently grave without this new complication.

Several of the negroes had already died, and more were down helpless beneath the feet of their thirst-tortured but more able-bodied fellow sufferers. The howls and lamentations that continually ascended through the grating were trying to the nerves, aside from considerations of profit and loss. The combined effect on Gary was to render him more unreasonable and tyrannical than ever.

Oh, for more wind! They were hardly up into the trades yet, and at that season, even the trades were uncertain.

But it was certain that unless enough favorable wind did come, and come soon, they would hardly reach the Cape Verdes in time. Already crew, negroes and all, were down to one pint of water to the man every twenty-four hours. In that hot and stifling weather their tortures grew almost unbearable.

One night Rucker, happening to want a night glass, left the deck for a moment to go below for it, and passing close to the sleepy sentry, he heard the same sounds which had aroused Duff's suspicions. After Ralph's rebuff the second mate had made no further attempt to have the thing investigated.

"What's that?" said he sharply to the sailor, who sat leaning against the bulkhead, but the man made no answer.

Rucker shook him sharply, and at the same time scented the odor of liquor about the fellow.

"Wake up. What have you been drinking? What noise is that?"

But receiving only unintelligible replies, and having to return immediately to his watch on deck, he reported the circumstances to the captain, who broke into a storm of invective. Rucker discreetly withdrew.

Shortly thereafter Duff heard from his stateroom an uproar in the gangway. Looking out, he saw the captain standing over the prostrate form of the sentry, whom he had knocked down with the man's own gun. One of the storeroom doors was open.

"I see now!" foamed Gary, nearly beside himself. "You fellows on watch have been tapping this rum barrel night and day, I reckon, and mischief going on right under your feet. But I'll even you up. Where is the bo's'n?"

Receiving no answer to this last shouted demand, Gary sprang up the stairway, leaving the insensible sentry stretched upon the floor.

Duff, still watching from his stateroom through the open cabin door, saw a gaunt, dusky face thrust itself from the storeroom and peer wildly round. Other faces joined it, and in an instant a dozen naked black forms were crowding the gangway.

They saw Duff. Several made for him, brandishing short chains from their fetters, which they had managed somehow to loosen and sever. Others beat the sentry's brains out, and overthrew the howitzer.

The noise thus made, and Duff's loud calls to alarm the ship, caused Rucker and one or two seamen to run hastily down the companionway. Being unarmed they were forced into the cabin or back up the gangway, by a horde of frantic savages, who were being continually reinforced from the hold by way of the two holes, which they had somehow cut through the bulkhead into the storeroom, where among other things, was the barrel of rum.

The drinking must have been going on secretly for a day or two. In fact others of the crew were now discovered to be tipsy, and that the officers had not found it out before was doubtless owing to the growing laxness of discipline, despite the captain's severity.

Gary, accompanied by Bludson and others, now appeared, armed with pistols and cutlasses; but the door leading into the hold was already broken down. Scores of half crazy negroes swarmed into the gangway, bearing back the whites by sheer weight of numbers, notwithstanding the weapons of the crew. Revolver and cutlass played an active part, but the slaves seemed absolutely indifferent to life.

When one was shot down, half a dozen took his place. Even the few women fought like tigresses. The truth was they were crazed for want of water.

In the cabin, Rucker and one seaman had been literally torn limb from limb. The remaining man escaped into the captain's room.

Duff, who was without weapons, clambered through the stern window of his room, and gained the deck by way of the vessel's stern post and a rope thrown him by Ralph, who had been summoned to the wheel when the alarm was given. The lad was chafing at his inactivity.

"There's hardly any breeze," said Duff. "Lash the wheel, my lad, and bear a hand. If those niggers gain the deck we're gone up sure."

It was but the task of a moment to obey, seize a cutlass from the rack and follow the mate to the companion-way, where Gary and what was left of the men with him were being forced up the steps.

The captain was covered with blood from a scalp wound, but he was equal to several ordinary men. Skillfully parrying the blows directed at his life, he had laid more than one burly savage low.

But the number and fury of the yelling crowd were irresistible. Seizing the weapons of their dead and wounded assailants, they fought with the blind energy of desperation.

"Batten down the main hatch," called Gary, seeing Duff and Ralph. "Bludson is gone, but we can hold them until you return."

The order was swiftly executed. Then the second mate and Ralph, assisted by one sailor, brought forward the heavy storm covering of the after companion-way and placed it in readiness. A charge down was then made and the negroes driven back a little.

"Now, men," cried Gary, springing up to the deck, at the rear of his men, "down with it! Jump on it, and batten her—batten her!"

With both hatches thus secured, they were in undisputed possession of the deck, though the whole interior of the ship, except the forecastle, was at the mercy of the negroes. The triumphant howls of the latter were deafening.

Suddenly a shriek was heard. The savages had entered the captain's stateroom and fallen upon the sailor who had taken refuge there.

On deck Gary counted his help. He found that besides Bludson and Rucker five sailors were missing. His available force, including himself, Duff and Ralph, amounted only to ten.

Two of these were desperately wounded, one having his throat actually torn by the teeth of the cannibals below.

The arms were mostly on deck, but the ammunition, provisions, and most of their scanty supply of water was below.

They were in a terrible situation. What deed of desperation the negroes might do it was impossible to tell. There were matches; they might fire the ship. There was the rum; they might still gain the upper hand of all, when nerved and further crazed by liquor.

Two lanterns shed a melancholy light fore and aft. The wind had died away and the heavens were sprinkled with stars.

Gary placed two men fully armed, at each hatch, then called the rest to the quarter-deck for a consultation. He was calm, cool, yet heartless and vindictive as ever.

Without caring for the men already sacrificed, he seemed only anxious to save his vessel and as many of his mutinous victims as he might now be able to carry into port. For Duff and Ralph he, even now, scarcely veiled his dislike as he sat upon the hatch, binding his wounded head with a handkerchief.

But before much was said, a sailor ran back crying:

"This way! This way! The fiends are after us again."



CHAPTER XXIII.

Adrift.

Seizing their weapons, the wearied men ran forward to the forecastle, where the negroes had nearly cut another hole through the bulkhead separating the crew's quarters from the hold.

One of the main hatch guards was holding them at bay, and had managed to seize the implement with which they had gained their liberty, from the savage who happened to be using it last. It was part of an old hand saw, that had, by some neglect, been left unnoticed on the floor of the hold.

Several shots drove back the blacks, then the hole, which was a small one, was nailed up and another guard stationed.

Gary's next move was to order the two sound boats lowered and attached by ropes to the side. He was impressed by this last effort of the blacks that the worst might happen, and that they had better be prepared. Once the horde of savages gained the decks, the vessel would afford no refuge to their hated oppressors.

The night was somewhat advanced. In the horizon a few darker spaces denoted the presence of clouds, though all above was clear.

The Wanderer's sails hung limp, unless now and then a feeble expansion caused by some desultory puff be excepted. Gary divided the remainder of the men into two watches, one of whom he caused to lie down on deck for a little rest, with their arms at their sides.

Below, amid the darkness, a single light shone from the cabin. Some one of the blacks, evidently acquainted with the use of matches (through traders or missionaries, doubtless), had found a way of lighting the cabin lamp. Pandemonium reigned there. Inflamed by rum, furious efforts were made from time to time to burst through the hatches.

Along towards morning, however, a certain degree of quiet began to prevail. Perhaps the negroes were growing weary.

A light breeze had arisen that sent the schooner ahead. Gary had determined to make for the nearest port, provided they could hold out to reach it. He saw no chance to do aught to subdue and confine the blacks with his reduced force. If they saved the vessel and their own lives, they would do more than some of them expected.

One of the boats was chafing against the weather side of the ship. Gary directed Ralph to drop both boats astern and fasten one behind the other.

The boy obeyed, climbing down into the first boat in order to attach the second to its stern. He made, as he thought, a half hitch of the painter, then, drawing the second boat close to the first, he stepped into it, and began bailing out the water that had filtered in through the seams shrunken by exposure to the sun on the schooner's deck.

As he worked away, thoughts of his mountain home intruded strangely, perhaps incongruously, upon his mind. Looking eastward a narrow rim of moon was protruding over the ocean's rim.

Something reminded him of the way it used to rise above "Old Peaky Top," just back of the cabin on Hiawassee. He straightened himself to obtain a better view. A sharp report rang out behind him from the vessel, and he felt a numbness under his shoulder.

"Reckon they must be trying to get out again," he muttered, glancing at the ship's stern.

He was then sensible of a dizziness and a roaring in his ears. A black savage face was glaring upon him from the window of the captain's stateroom, from whence protruded the barrel of a rifle. After that his sight grew dim; something wet trickled down on one of his hands, and outward things became a blank. His last sensation was a comfortable kind of sleepiness.

When Ralph came to himself he was lying in the bottom of the boat with his head jammed uncomfortably under one of the thwarts. As he scrambled up, his first thought was of what the captain would say to his falling asleep in that way. But instead of rising, he stumbled and fell. Then he realized that it was morning and that he was unaccountably weak. Pulling himself up again with more care, he stared around for an instant, then sank back against the thwart.

The Wanderer was nowhere to be seen. After another moment he pulled himself up on the seat, in order to assure himself that he was not dreaming. What his eyes had told him was a fact.

He was alone in that little boat, with not a sail or other sign of man's presence anywhere within view. The surprise held him mute and breathless at first, then he began to wonder how he came to be left in such a plight.

His left arm felt stiff and sore. Looking down, he saw the blood had dried on his left hand, while under that shoulder something smarted with every movement.

It came to him then. The report, the numbness, the fleeting glimpse of that savage face, and the gun barrel, were now accounted for.

"While I was mooning away about grandfather and home, that fellow shot me. Lucky he didn't strike closer. But how did I get loose?"

Examination showed him the painter trailing idly in the water alongside. He must have made that half hitch carelessly. During his swoon it had worked loose.

His friends on board had doubtless had their attention too much taken up by the blacks, to give heed to him. The whiffs of air had slowly swept the schooner out of sight and he had lain senseless until daylight.

"I am surely in a bad fix," he reflected. "Wounded—in an open boat—without an oar, or a bite to eat or drink."

He had read enough of the perils of the sea to comprehend the terrible possibilities of his situation, and at first his blood chilled and his courage sank. Resolute as he was by nature, there was a deadly difference between the loneliness of his present condition and the solitude of his native mountains.

In the woods he was at home; he knew where to go to find people there—but here! In his weakened condition tears started to his eyes. But he soon dashed them away, and, rising, set about dressing his wound.

He removed his jacket and shirt, and bathed the wound with ocean water, as he knew that salt was good to allay possible inflammation. The bullet had grazed his side just under the shoulder, making a painful though not a dangerous injury.

"Lucky it didn't lodge," he thought, as he tore up his handkerchief and bound up the place by passing the bandage over his opposite shoulder.

A good deal of blood had flowed both down his arm and side. This accounted for his present weakness.

After resuming his clothes, he sat down to consider the situation.

There was a light breeze from the northeast, with a straggling fleece of clouds, expanding like a fan towards the zenith. Ralph knew that the appearance indicated more wind, but he determined not to borrow trouble from the future.

A slow, majestic heaving of the ocean, on which the yawl gently rose and fell was counter crossed by the shorter ripples stirred up by the light wind then blowing. The dead swell evinced the neighborhood of some previous gale.

"I might as well search the lockers," he said to himself. "There might be something eatable in them."

There was nothing to eat aboard; but in the locker at the stern he discovered a small keg filled with water, overlooked probably when the boat was unloaded, for it was the same craft in which the trip up the African river had been made.

"That's a good find," he ejaculated. "Crickey! what is this?"

He drew forth from under the bow a strip of canvas and an old rusty hatchet. The possession of these articles raised his spirits for a time, so that he set to work to rig up a sort of jury mast and sail. There were three thwarts. From one of these he managed to split two pieces some six feet long without impairing its strength as a brace to stiffen the boat. He lashed the three together with a few bits of spun yarn from his pocket, making a mast nearly ten feet long.

Next he split from the other thwarts a piece or two for a boom, then he turned his attention to the sail.

Part of the canvas he tore into strips, and by the help of these he manufactured a sort of lug sail of sufficient size to keep the boat steady in a seaway, and in running with a fair wind to make two or three miles an hour.

To step and wedge the mast with the aid of the hatchet and more splinters from the thwarts, did not take long. The only thing that bothered him was the main sheet, or—to explain—the rope which should hold the sail taut and trim.

His eye happened to rest on the knot of the painter where it was fastened to a ring bolt at the bow. He drew the wet line aboard, untied the knot and soon had his main sheet fastened to the boom.

There was a cleat near the tiller and Ralph, hauling in, brought the yawl a little up in the wind and soon had the craft under headway.

"By jolly!" he exclaimed, "but this isn't so very bad, after all. If I only knew where to head now, I might strike the Cape Verdes. I suppose I might hit Africa if I went east long enough; that is, supposing I didn't capsize or founder, or starve, or something. Heigho! How weak I feel. Believe I'll take breakfast."

So he took up the keg and drank heartily, for his wound had made him slightly feverish.

"I must touch it lighter than this," he said as he put down the keg. "Lord only knows when or where I will get it filled again."

As the sun came up, a flaming red ball, the wind slowly increased.

Ralph, though by no means experienced in boat sailing, had learned how to steer. The sail was too small and weakly fastened to render it liable to endanger the safety of the craft and for a time the interest aroused by the novelty of sailing by himself kept his spirits up.

But in an hour or so he felt weary. The sea had slowly risen so that an occasional dash of water flew over the bow whenever he headed in the least to windward.

"What is the use of tiring myself out?" he thought at last. "It don't make any difference where I go, or whether I go at all."

So he unstepped his mast, stowed it in the boat's bottom, and lay down on the sail. The sun dazzled him and he drew his hat over his eyes.

Probably his wound and weakness made him drowsy, for he fell asleep. When he again awoke the sun was nearly overhead. The hot glare was stifling. His very clothing seemed to burn his flesh. He staggered to his feet and looked around the horizon wearily.

Suddenly his eyes brightened and his whole figure became animated and eager.



CHAPTER XXIV.

Ralph's Sufferings.

Low down in the northwestern horizon was a faint speck of white. Everywhere else the blue of the sky and ocean was unrelieved. The "mares' tails" of clouds had disappeared and the sea was a gently heaving plain of glass.

"A sail!" exclaimed the boy. "It must be a sail."

He hurriedly set up his mast again and hastened back to the tiller. But there was no wind; the canvas hung limp, while the sun was broiling the paint on the little forward deck.

"I don't suppose they can see me," thought he dejectedly. "It must be only their topsails that I see, and so small a boat as this would be invisible. Perhaps if they had a glass at the mast head, they might find me. Oh, if I only had a wind!"

Reflection, however, convinced him that a breeze would be as apt to carry the strange vessel off as to bring it nearer, so he was fain to sit still and idly watch the tiny dot of white, which meant so much, yet might do so little.

The isolation of his position pressed upon him harder than ever. He felt, for a time, that if that elusive bit of white should disappear he would certainly break down. The heat and glare in the air added to his misery, and he took another drink from the keg, despite his previous abstemious resolve.

"I just can't help drinking," he said to himself in justification of his act. "I reckon it's the wound makes me burn so."

For a long while matters remained much the same, except that his hunger increased and his general state of discomfort grew to a point that rendered his exposure to the sun's rays unbearable. He would have taken his sail and made some sort of awning but for the faint hope that it might be seen.

He crawled under the bow, where the deck sheltered the upper half of his person, and found some relief. From time to time he crept out and, standing on the thwarts, watched the unchanging speck of white, with longings which at times were almost akin to despair.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, after a longer stay beneath the deck than usual, he heard a slight thump against the side of the boat. Scrambling up, he saw that a light breeze had arisen, sending little ripples over the sea.

The wind was fair towards the distant sail, and Ralph again stepped his mast and trimmed his sheet, while his heart beat fast. If he could only get near enough to the stranger to be recognized!

But his progress was slow and many times the distant spot would disappear momentarily, sending painful thrills through his veins. Then, when it was visible once more, the sense of relief was almost as hard to bear, so greatly were his nerves wrought up.

After a time it seemed to him that the sail was growing larger. At first he doubted, then became assured of that fact.

He rose and shouted in sheer exultation. For a time the white spot increased in size until he felt that he would certainly be seen a moment or two later. But that longed-for moment did not come.

At last he perceived that the stranger was sailing at right angles to his own course, which would naturally expose to his view a larger expanse of sail. Would he be able to forge far enough ahead to be recognized?

The period of suspense was almost an agony; nor was the after conviction that the ship was slowly but surely leaving him, as she passed on her course, much more painful by comparison. But as long as she was in sight Ralph sailed on.

He could not voluntarily give up even the last glimpse of what appeared to be the only link connecting him with his fellow creatures. But as the dot of white was finally lost to view, he sank to the boat's bottom in despair, letting the sail flap listlessly and the tiller swing unguided.

"It is no use," he faltered, as his eyes momentarily filled under a sinking feeling of utter loneliness. "I might as well give up."

But pain is at times a great reviver. As hope dwindled, the irritation of his wound and the gnawing of his stomach forced their discomfort upon his attention. He drank again, and later on, again, with a persistent disregard of future consequences which only the overwhelming disconsolation of his situation could have inspired.

The wind stiffened and at last he was obliged to take down his sail, out of sheer lack of energy to continue his battle with fate. He lay down under the bow for a long time.

The pitching of the yawl increased. Finally a larger sea than usual sent nearly a barrel of water over the deck, that streamed down upon his legs. Fear roused him to action once more.

He began bailing frantically with his hat, and soon had the boat dry again. As he remained aft, no more seas were shipped, though the wind was increasing, and by certain signs he felt that rougher weather might be imminent. Clouds were rising, and though he did not like their appearance, it was some relief when they shaded him from the now declining heat of the sun.

As night approached, the wild waste of waters looked terribly stern and forbidding. Occasionally a distant breaking of some white capped wave would send his heart into his mouth, only to sink again despairingly.

Just at sunset the great luminary peered gloriously forth. Torturing as was its power at midday, now it seemed to Ralph as if a friend were bidding him farewell. When the last of its golden surface had vanished, he felt as if that friend had departed, never to return, at least to him.

For hours he sat after that, while a gloom as of death settled over the ocean, broken only by the plash of waves and the constant creaking of the yawl as it rolled and pitched in the trough of the sea.

Once a shower of rain, accompanied by a slight flurry of wind, set him to trembling, as he remembered the fury of the squalls in those latitudes. He felt that his frail shallop would never live through one.

Though in the tropics, he became chilly as the night advanced, while the pain of hunger was but partially eased by the drafts of water of which he still partook from time to time. He finally lay down in the stern and wrapped himself in the sail.

The pitching and rolling soon sent him to sleep, in a merciful relief to the gnawing sense of misery that now never left his mind while awake.

A ship's yawl, being both broad and deep, is one of the safest of small boats in a seaway. Therefore Ralph passed the hours in temporary security while unconscious. Unless a gale should rise, there was little danger of his craft's swamping, nor, except from hunger, was his physical situation any worse than during the day.

The most appalling thing connected with such a position was the feelings which it must necessarily arouse, and until day Ralph was exempted from these.

When he rubbed his eyes at dawn he lay there dreading to rise. The loneliness of the sea renewed its terrors at once, and he feared to look upon a scene of which he was the sole living element.

"I'm getting to be a regular baby," he said aloud. "I wonder what grandfather would say could he see me now. I am at least away from that old feud, if I never was before."

This allusion led him into a reverie upon the strangeness of the fate that had led him half across the world in order to free himself from a senseless quarrel, and to be pursued by it to an extent that had left him free from its influence only when he was facing death in his present forlorn condition.

He had been sent to Shard, whom he should have avoided as a relative of the Vaughn faction. Shard had sent him to Gary, while Gary, five thousand miles away, was wreaking upon the boy all the hatred inspired by the haters of his family far back in the Southern mountains.

At last he raised his head and peered out upon the watery waste. As his gaze swept from one side to the other an exclamation of amazement dropped from his lips and he sprang to his feet.

Scarcely a quarter of a mile away was the Wanderer, with her sails all spread and flapping idly from side to side as she rolled gently upon the dead swell of the sea. The wind had died away and the slaver lay between the yawl and the eastern dawn, a dim yet recognizable bulk. Her dark, graceful proportions were not to be mistaken.

"This beats the nation!" was Ralph's next ejaculation. "This is what one might call pure luck. Now if I only had a pair of oars."

Not having any, he tried his sail, but found the attempt useless, and he was compelled to sit there thrilling with impatience to be aboard once more. Finally, as he was about to rise and shout, he noticed something white being waved from one of the stern windows.

While he was puzzling his brain over the meaning of this, a line of black heads appeared above the bulwarks, and sundry black, naked forms ran up the rigging. At the same time a chorus of barbaric yells rang out, that chilled the boy's blood, even at that distance.

"I wonder if the blacks have got possession of the ship at last," and with the thought his heart sank as he realized the certain death to all in case such a thing had taken place. "If this be so, they have undoubtedly killed every white aboard."

Ralph's situation now became doubly trying. To venture to board the schooner might prove his destruction. To remain in the yawl was to court a lingering and terrible death.

Already the pangs of hunger were almost unendurable. He drank from the keg, then measured the contents with a splinter. It was half empty. Twenty-four more hours of this and then——

"Come what will," he resolved, "I shall try to board the vessel. One may as well die one way as another."

After some reflection he took apart his mast and used the six foot strips as oars, finding that he made a little progress, though the task was fatiguing and the movement exasperatingly slow.

Meanwhile the noise on the Wanderer grew hideous. The idle, untrimmed manner in which the sails swung, was a fearful indication that the untrained negroes were masters. When within two hundred yards he took a careful survey. The whole deck and the lower rigging were alive with blacks shouting, gesticulating, acting more like lunatics than sane beings.

Something at the stern window again attracted his notice. It was a handkerchief being waved. He answered the signal by waving his hat. Then to Ralph's surprise and delight a white face was cautiously protruded.

"I'll help that man off or die for it," was his next thought as he bent once more to the task of rowing.

Had not the ocean been calm he would have made no headway. As it was, when he drew up some thirty yards from the schooner's stern, he was for the moment completely exhausted.

Turning round, he recognized with joy the pale blood-stained face at the window.

"In heaven's name!" cried the boy. "What has happened? Are any more of you alive?"



CHAPTER XXV.

The Second Mate's Story.

The face at the window was that of Jacob Duff, the second mate. He shook his head in a melancholy way and beckoned with his hand.

"Come a little closer. The blacks are drunk and have exhausted their ammunition. The magazine is in the lower hold, double locked and they haven't found it yet."

Ralph slowly pulled under the stern where he would be protected from missiles. Over his head was a screaming crowd of savages who, however, confined themselves to unintelligible threats.

The other boat was gone. Duff, leaning out, motioned with his hand.

"There is no time for explanations now," said he. "Let us get away from here while those demons are too drunk to know how to hinder us. Heavens, but what a time we've had!"

While speaking he handed out a pair of oars, a bag of ship's biscuit, and a breaker of water.

Meantime the negroes evidently discovered that the boy was communicating with some one on board. The cries and uproar redoubled. The noise of a crowd surging down the companionway and into the main cabin could be heard. Then came a tremendous crash against the door of the stateroom.

"Hurry up!" exclaimed Duff coolly, handing out the things all in a heap and scrambling to get through the small aperture himself. "I braced the door, but they are battering it down. Quick, Ralph, pull me through by the arms."



The boy was none too swift. Tugging with might and main, he dragged the mate through and both fell heavily to the bottom of the yawl, nearly capsizing the craft, just as the stateroom door gave way.

A stream of frantic blacks swarmed into the little apartment, one of whom, thrusting his hideous face out at the window, was unceremoniously pushed through by his comrades. He fell across the gunwale of the boat and was shoved overboard by Duff, while Ralph, seizing an oar, placed an end against the schooner's stern-post and threw all his waning strength upon it, sending the yawl out from under the shelter of the ship.

When the negroes saw two whites instead of one they appeared beside themselves with rage. A few missiles were thrown; among other articles a Winchester, which the boy strove in vain to reach as it rebounded from the boat's bow into the sea. Duff was struck with a marlin-spike, but he still clung to the oar he was trying to use. Another black plunged through the window into the water, while several threw themselves from the deck and began swimming towards the boat.

Ralph noticed that Duff could not stand. He took both oars, and, notwithstanding his weak condition, soon placed the boat beyond the reach of pursuit.

The blacks, realizing this, turned and were swimming back to the schooner, when one of them rose half his length from the water, sending forth a piercing cry of agony. Then he was suddenly jerked beneath the waves, as if by some powerful though unseen agency.

"What did that?" exclaimed Ralph, horror stricken.

"Sharks," returned Duff sententiously, pointing to several dark pointed fins that now appeared, all making for the schooner. "The rascals are never far away from a ship in these latitudes."

"This is horrible!" exclaimed the lad, pulling on one oar to turn the boat round.

"What are you doing?" demanded Duff.

"I am going to try and save some of those niggers. I know they are bad; but we made them so. I can't stand it, I tell you, to see them eaten up in that way. Look!"

There came another shriek, and a second trail of blood rose to the surface of the sea as another victim was dragged beneath.

"I know," replied Duff. "But—self preservation first. Lock there, will you!"

Regardless of their screaming comrades who were trying to reach the ship, the blacks on board were striving to turn the big Long Tom amidships so as to bring it to bear upon the yawl.

"That cannon is loaded—with slugs and scrap iron. Captain had it done in order to sweep the decks, if necessary. But they gave us no chance and the load is in it yet. Give me an oar. Pull now—for your life! Lucky it is they don't know much about sighting a gun."

Suiting his action to his words the mate literally forced the lad to obey. Other cries sounded, and Ralph caught a glimpse of two or three scrambling on board again by the aid of a rope that happened to hang over the side.

His strength was nearly gone, and only an intense resolution kept him to his task at the oar. Duff, behind Ralph, also pulled away, though the strain caused him to groan now and then.

"Are you hurt?" asked the boy as they drew rapidly away from the now dreaded ship.

"Leg broke. Shot below the knee. Hist! They are going to try it now."

A large negro was hastening from the cook's galley with a flaming brand. The instant of suspense that followed was awful. A bright flash followed, and as the accompanying roar met their ears a harsh spattering and hissing beyond relieved their anxiety immensely.

Not a thing touched the boat or its occupants.

"Overshot—by thunder!" cried Duff with an exulting whoop, that ended in a groan of pain. "We are all right now; the beggars can never reload. They don't know how, and be hanged to 'em!"

After that, while resting, Ralph briefly related his own adventures, though touching lightly upon his suffering for food and the pain of his wound.

"You've had a time of it, sure," replied Duff. "Yet it was lucky for you and me both that you parted company with us as you did. Ah! 'twas a very trying day yesterday and a fearful time last night. Eat a bite, lad. I can't till I've tried to do something for my leg."

So Ralph fell to on the bag of biscuit and the keg of water, while Duff bathed and bound up his leg as best he could. The bone had been fractured just above the ankle by a bullet.

Fortunately it was an easy though painful matter to straighten the limb, as nothing had been unjointed. A spare shirt and some of the canvas sufficed to keep the bone in place after a fashion. As Duff said grimly:

"It will do until we're picked up; and if we ain't picked up, it will do anyhow."

Ralph, after eating, dressed his own wound, and the two made themselves as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. The mate's account of what happened after Ralph's drifting away was in substance as follows.

Things remained tolerably quiet for several hours after the defeat of the attempt on the part of the blacks to gain the deck by way of the forecastle. It was concluded that the negroes were sleeping off the effect of the rum they must have taken. As most of the water was below, they probably quenched their thirst without stint.

Meanwhile, on deck things looked more blue than ever. The whites were without provisions, nearly everything in that line being in the store rooms below. A large breaker of water was on tap in the waist, which, with some ship's biscuits, formed their only diet that morning.

No sail was sighted all that day. Ralph's absence was detected only when it was found that one of the boats was gone. Gary swore some at the loss of the last, but seemed relieved rather than otherwise over the fate of the boy.

"He's gone and a good riddance," said he. "We're short of help, but we can stand the loss of the cub better than that of the boat."

During the day the blacks below threw overboard the bodies of the slain, having no fire wherewith to indulge their cannibalistic tastes. One of the wounded seamen died and was consigned to the deep by his desperate comrades.

The hours wore on until the strain of anxiety lest the blacks should fire the ship, or renew their assaults, grew unendurable. Some proposed a desperate charge down the gangway with cutlasses and loaded rifles. Could they once force the blacks into the main hold, the howitzer might again be trained on them. One fatal discharge, said these bolder ones, would cow the negroes into submission.

But Gary, who was no coward, would not allow any such rashness. What could seven men do against a hundred? The negroes now had a few weapons; they had all the ammunition but what was in the magazines of the Winchesters.

"We must wait, keep cool, and watch for a sail," said the captain. "In rescue and in keeping these beggars below decks lies our hope."

"What will we do when our grub gives out?" asked some one.

"Die like men when the time comes, I hope," replied Gary, with grim determination.

He was as game as he was heartless and cruel. But later on one of the men found a demijohn of liquor in the cook's pantry. Neb, thoroughly cowed by his uncivilized brethren below, had deserted his post and was in hiding somewhere. The liquor was secretly hidden away, and the men began drinking.

By the time Gary found out what was up, every one but himself and Duff was recklessly intoxicated. He made a search for the stuff, but was recalled by another effort of the blacks to force open one of the hatches.

The attempt was foiled, but night had fallen before Gary found where the liquor was hidden. He promptly broke the demijohn, and was knocked down thereupon by one of the drunken sailors. This led to a general melee on the quarter deck, where the row began.

The forecastle was entirely deserted by the men, who were maddened by the destruction of their liquor. Duff used his efforts to part them, but growing uneasy over the unguarded state of the ship, he started to go forward.

He had hardly reached the main deck when he saw a black form leaping out of the forecastle. The blacks, taking advantage of the fight overhead, and the absence of a guard, had battered down the bulkhead between the main hold and the sailors' sleeping quarters with the very howitzer which had been mounted below for their subjection.

Duff raised the alarm, but it was too late. Scores of negroes poured upon the decks, now dimly lighted by ship's lanterns, and fell upon their oppressors with a fury intensified by rum and a sense of cruelties that had been inflicted upon them when bound and helpless.

They had armed themselves with knives, pieces of furniture converted into clubs—anything that could be had. Those who had Winchesters opened a wild though almost useless fire on the whites, then clubbed their guns.

One ball did indeed strike the second mate, and another put out the two lanterns, leaving the after part of the ship in darkness. But the terrible conflict was over soon.

The last Duff saw of Gary he was backed against the main mast defending himself. One arm hung useless, as he faced a circle of savage, merciless faces. Then one of the negroes felled the captain from behind, and a shower of blows was rained upon his prostrate figure.

Duff, who had done his part during the fighting, managed to make his way to the quarter deck by striking down a negro or two who opposed him. It was then that he was shot.

Realizing that all was over, and determined to sell his life as dearly as possible, he limped to the stern, and awaited his fate. As if by an inspiration, he thought of his stateroom which, as far as he knew, might have remained locked after he had abandoned it upon the first breaking forth of the blacks.

For the moment he was unobserved in the darkness that now reigned aft. The negroes had just brought forth Neb's body, and were manifesting their disapproval of his association with the whites by beating and kicking the inanimate clay.

Duff, despite the pain of his fractured limb, lowered himself by a rope to the still open window, and managed to pull himself through into his stateroom, and drag his body to his berth. Here the agony of his wound overcame him, and he fell into a deep swoon.



CHAPTER XXVI.

Hard Times.

When the second mate revived there were sounds of high rejoicing overhead. He saw that the fastenings of his door had not been disturbed.

After dressing his wound as best he could, he set about securing the best possible means of prolonging and perhaps saving his life. If the drink-crazed blacks could be kept out of his stateroom, it might be that he would not be molested until some passing vessel, noting the unseaman-like appearance and maneuvers of the Wanderer would come to his rescue.

The blacks evidently did not know of his whereabouts, but considered that all of their whilom masters had been put to death. But the chance for ultimate safety was slight, he felt.

When the schooner might be fired or dismantled in a gale, through ignorance, he knew not, but he realized that the negroes were liable to commit almost any blunder. Again, the passing ships might not stop.

He also must have something to eat and drink, his wound rendering him especially thirsty.

Limping to the door he listened long and intently. As far as he could tell, the entire crowd of blacks were on deck, carousing over their victory and enjoying the fresh air of which they so long had been deprived.

He unlocked and peered through the door. Then he quickly slipped into the cabin and reconnoitered. All seemed to be quiet.

Without wasting time he went into the store rooms, secured a bag of biscuit and filled a breaker with water from one of the butts. Carrying these into his room he returned and took a pair of spare oars wherewith to brace his door.

The confusion and waste wrought by the blacks were extreme. Bread, meat, and vegetables lay upon the floor. Boxes and barrels were broken open and their contents recklessly thrown about. The rum barrel had been conveyed to the deck.

Overhead Duff could hear barbaric dancing, whooping and singing. A noise at the head of the companion-way caused him to retreat hastily to his own room, where he softly locked the door and used both oars as braces. For the present he was probably safe, as his presence had not yet been discovered.

All that day the negroes gave themselves over to eating and drinking. The sails swung idly in the passing breezes, and as the weather was not boisterous the schooner fared very well.

Duff slept, thought, and nursed his wound. At times he would look from his little window for a sail, and when night came he curled down in his bunk so snugly, that it seemed at times as if things were going on as usual before the mutiny. When he looked out in the morning at daylight the first object he saw was the yawl.

At first he thought it might be the second boat which had been loosened somehow during the fierce battle on deck. But when Ralph rose and looked around, the mate recognized the lad and waved his handkerchief.

He was not a little astonished at the boy's re-appearance, having heard the shot which wounded Ralph, and having given both lad and yawl up for lost.

"Well now," remarked Ralph, on the conclusion of the story, "what are we to do?"

"When the sun gets well up, we will take an observation and make a reckoning. Then we'll lay our course for the nearest land. Perhaps we may be picked up—perhaps we won't be. Whatever happens we will make the grub and water go as far as possible, keep a stiff lip, and trust to Providence."

While speaking Duff drew forth from the bundle of bedding he had thrown out, a leather bag. From this he produced a compass and a sextant.

"Now, lad," said he, "let us enlarge this here sail a bit, and get ready to do some traveling when the breeze comes."

For an hour or two both man and boy worked until they had the yawl in as good trim as possible. Then the mate took an observation by the sun, cast a reckoning, and informed Ralph that as far as his knowledge of geography would serve, they were some two hundred miles from the Cape Verdes.

"We have a fair wind, Ralph, so square away west by nor'west, and leave this bloody slaver to her fate. I'm sorry for those niggers, for bad as they treated us, we got 'em in the fix they're in. If we speak a vessel we can go back."