I was not the only one who used a glass, for there was nothing to do now but wait for the coming attack; and as I had been watching for some time with the glass on the rail, one eye shut, and the other close to the glass, I suddenly ceased, for my right eye felt dazzled by the glare of the sun, and I found that Mr Frewen was close beside me.

"Well, Dale," he said, "who will get tired first—these scoundrels of attacking us, or we of trying to beat them off?"

"They will," I said decisively, as I closed my glass and tucked it under my arm. "We've got nothing to do but wait; they've got to row miles in this hot sun, and then they have to fight afterwards. They can't help having the worst of it."

"Yes; they have the worst of it," he said, smiling.

"And it strikes me they'd be very glad to—Hurray! here's the wind again."

For the surface of the sea was dappled with dark patches, and long before the boats could reach us, we were sailing gently away, certainly twice as fast as their crews could row.

It is astonishing what effect those gentle breezes had upon our spirits. I found myself whistling and going to the galley to ask the cook what there was for dinner, and I found him singing, and polishing away at his tins, his galley all neat and clean, and the dinner well in progress.

"Well, mutineer," I said; "anything good to-day?"

"Oh, I do call that unkind, Mr Dale, sir, and it isn't true. Didn't I show you as soon as I could that I wasn't one of that sort?"

"Well, yes, you sneaked back when you thought your side was going to be beaten."

He looked at me fiercely, but smiled the next moment.

"Plain Irish stoo to-day, sir, made out of Noo Zealand mutton, for I found the onions. There's plenty of 'em. You don't mean what you said, sir. Just you have a pistol stuck in one of your ears, and be told that you're not to be a cook and a slave any more, but to join the adventurers who are going to live in a beautiful island of their own, where it's always fine weather, and if you don't you're to be shot. Why, of course I joined 'em, same as lots more did. Any fellow would rather live in a beautiful island than have his brains blown out."

"I don't know about that," I said shortly. "I wouldn't on Jarette's terms."

"No, sir, you wouldn't," said the cook; "but Mr Walters would."

As he spoke he lifted the lid off one of his pots, and gave the contents a stir round.

"Smell that, sir? There's nothing on Jarette's island as'll come up to that. But, between ourselves, I don't believe he knows of any island at all such as he talked about to the men, till he'd gammoned them or bullied them over. Hah!" he continued, tasting his cookery; "wants a dash more pepper and a twist of salt, and then that stuff's strong enough to do the skipper and Mr Denning more good than all the doctor's stuff. Young Walters, too; he's very bad, isn't he?"

"Terribly."

"Sarve him right. Wonderful island indeed! This galley's good enough island for me. You didn't mean that, Mr Dale, sir. I got out of the scrape as soon as I could, and so did those other three lads as come aboard with me; and we'll all fight jolly hard to keep from getting into it again. I believe that some of the others would drop the game, and be glad to get back on board, if they weren't afraid of Frenchy, as we call him. That man's mad as a hatter, sir."

"That's a true word, cookie," growled Bob Hampton. "You smell good, mate, but I wish you'd keep your door shut. It makes me feel mut'nous, and as if I wanted to turn pirate and 'tack the galley."

"Wind going to hold good, Bob?" I said, moving off.

"Arn't seen the clerk o' the weather this mornin', sir, so can't say."

"Jarette's mad—Jarette's mad," I repeated to myself as I left the galley, and found Mr Preddle, with his head very much swollen and tied up in a handkerchief, blowing away into the water where his fish still survived.

"I shall get some of them across after all," he said, with a nod.

"I hope so," I replied; and after a look at the far-distant boats—mere specks now—I went on aft to have a chat with Mr Denning, who lay on a mattress in the shade, with his sister reading to him; but there was his loaded gun lying beside him, to prove that it was not yet all peace. I stopped to sit down tailor-fashion on the deck and have a chat with them both, feeling pleased to see how their eyes lit-up, and what smiles greeted me; and somehow it seemed to me then that they felt toward me as if I were their younger brother, and they called me by my Christian name quite as a matter of course.

"If the wind would only keep on!" Miss Denning said.

"Or if Mr Preddle would only use those bellows of his on the sails," said her brother, smiling.

"Why, you're ever so much better," I said quickly, "or you wouldn't joke like that."

"Yes," he said with a sigh, "I feel better. Mr Frewen's doing me good, or else it's this lovely soft, warm air."

"Oh, we shall have him running ashore in New Zealand like a stag, Miss Denning," I cried, getting up.

"Don't go yet," she said.

"I must," I cried. "I want to stop, but Mr Brymer uses me now as his tongue and fists. I have to give all his orders to the men."

I went to where the mate was seated, received his orders, had them executed, and then met Mr Frewen coming out of Walters' cabin.

"Oh, there you are, Dale," he cried. "Go in and talk to that poor wretch for a few minutes. You must try and cheer him up, or he'll die, as sure as I'm here."

"Oh, I say, don't tell me that," I cried. "I don't like him, and I think he behaved horridly, but I don't want him to die."

I hurried into my messmate's cabin, and found him lying there so ghastly and strange-looking that I shivered, and began to move on tip-toe.

"Come and sit down a minute, Dale," he said in a weak voice; and I at once seated myself close to his bunk.

"Want some water?"

"No," he said sadly; "I want nothing now, only for you to promise me something."

"What is it?"

"I can't write, but I want you to promise me when you get home to go to my father and mother, and of course they'll know everything from the papers; but I want you, my messmate, to tell them I was not quite such a wretch as I seem to have been."

"Oh, never mind about that now," I said. "Get well, and go and tell them yourself."

"No," he said calmly; "I shall not get well. I could see it in Mr Frewen's eyes. I'm very glad now. If I got well, of course I should have to be tried and punished, and be a convict. I should deserve it, but the judge and lawyers would be very hard, and I don't want them to try me."

"Oh, come, Walters, old chap," I cried in a choking voice, "don't take it like that." And I caught his hand in mine, and felt him press it feebly, as his face lit-up with a pleasant smile, which made him look quite changed.

"Yes," he said, quite cheerfully, but almost in a whisper, "I must take it like that now. Old Jarette aimed too well."

He lay looking straight out of the bright cabin-window; while I tried to speak, but found no words would come. I knew that the wind had dropped again, for the ship had grown steady once more; but I forgot all about the approaching boats, and could only sit holding Walters' hand, and watching his altered face.

"Yes," he said at last, "Jarette aimed too straight, Dale, old fellow, it has all been a mistake. I was a weak, conceited fool, and thought every one was against me, when it was all my fault. I know it now. Any fellow can make himself liked if he only tries—no, without trying, if he'll only go straight and act like a man. But somehow I couldn't. I got jealous of you, and wild because people made so much of you. And I said you hated me, and did all you could to make things worse, but it wasn't true, Dale, old fellow. It was all my fault."

"Yes, yes; but that's all over, old chap," I said huskily. "You'll get well, and do your bit of punishment, and make a fresh start."

He looked at me with a smile on his poor wan face, and I never realised before how good-looking he was. And then I shuddered, for he said quietly—

"Yes, I shall make a fresh start—somewhere else."

"Walters!" I whispered.

"Yes, somewhere else," he repeated. "It was all wrong; and just when I was at my worst, that wretch, who had been watching me and reading it all, came to me, and, as if he were some evil spirit, kept on day after day, laughing and jeering at me, till he regularly worked round me like the snake he is, and flattered, and planned, and talked of the future, till in my weak, vain folly I drank it all in. For I was weak, and he was strong; and at last, though I didn't know it then, I was his slave, Dale, and ready to do every bit of villainy he wished. But there, I need not tell you any more. I only want you, knowing all you do, to go to my poor old father and mother and tell them everything—how it all happened. It will be better than for them only to know it from the papers. They will understand then how it was I went wrong so quickly, right to the bitter end."

"No," I cried; "you shall go and confess it all yourself."

He laughed gently.

"Oh no. I'm glad Jarette aimed so straight, Dale. It was the kindest thing he could do. It's all over now. Can't you see it's best?"

"No," I said more firmly. "It would be best for you to get well, and prove in the future as a man, that you have repented your weakness as a boy."

"Yes, perhaps," he said, after a long pause; "but it is not to be so. I'm not going to be tried here, Dale, where no one can tell everything, and understand how weak I was, and how, from the first day, I bitterly repented giving that man such power over me. I'm going to be judged there, Dale, where everything is known."

He closed his eyes as he spoke, and I was going to steal away, but his grasp tightened on my hand.

"Don't leave me, Dale," he whispered. "You'll promise all this, won't you?"

"If it is necessary," I said; "but you—"

He opened his eyes, and looked at me, smiling gently, and I ceased speaking, for I knew that my words were not true as I sat beside him all through that hot day waiting.

Mr Frewen came in from time to time, but he said little, and Walters appeared to be dozing for the most part.

"Better stay," Mr Frewen whispered; and then in answer to my questioning look, he shook his head, and I knew that it was all over.

It was close upon sundown, and the interior of the cabin was filled with an orange glow when Mr Frewen came in again.

Walters seemed to be fast asleep, quite free from pain, and breathing easily.

"You must be terribly faint, my lad. You have had nothing," the doctor whispered.

"Yes, I have," I replied. "Bob Hampton brought me a biscuit and some soup, and Miss Denning brought me some tea just now."

"Heaven bless her!" he muttered. Then in a quick whisper—"We shall have to call you up presently, my lad."

"Why?"

"The enemy are closing in. They'll make a desperate fight of it this time, and every help we can muster is necessary. Eh! Want me?" he said, as there was a tap on the door.

He went out, and I was thinking whether I could withdraw my hand without waking Walters, so as to get out on deck and help, when he opened his eyes and looked round quickly as if he wondered where he was.

Then he saw me and smiled.

"Don't forget, Dale," he whispered. "Now I want Miss Denning."

He loosened my hand, and I went out to find her waiting close by the door.

"Walters wants to see you, Miss Denning," I said, and she bowed her head and crept silently into the ruddily-lit cabin, and knelt down by where Walters lay.

"Yes," he said, holding out his hands. "Thank you. But you tell them— how sorry—they will listen—to you.—Now—'Our Father'—"

Helena Denning's voice took up the words and went on in a low appealing murmur, and as I looked wildly in Walters' face, I saw his lips moving till she uttered the words—"and forgive us our trespasses—"

Then his lips became motionless, his gaze fixed on the golden glory in the heavens, and I started wildly to my feet, for at that moment there was a tremendous roar. The heavily-charged cannon had been fired, and I knew that the enemy were close at hand.

I gave one glance at Miss Denning, who knelt there now, crouching low, with her face buried in her hands, and then ran on deck ready to help repel the attack.

For there were the two boats close into the port-gangway, and the men in them frantically gesticulating and waving their hands.

"Don't—don't fire," one of the men yelled. "We give in."

"Yes, yes; give in," came in a wild chorus.

"The beggars surrender, sir," cried Bob Hampton, who was on his knees re-charging the cannon. "But get that there poker ready again, Neb. We'll hit 'em next time if they don't."

"Ahoy!" cried Mr Brymer, through a speaking-trumpet. "One boat come forward; but if there is any treachery, we'll show no mercy to any one there."

"Treachery?" shouted a man pitifully, as the first boat was slowly rowed in. "We're all spent, sir. There arn't a drop o' water. Give us all a drink first, and then shoot us if you like."

"Where's Jarette?"

"Here, in the bottom, sir, tied neck and heels. He went stark mad last night, and bit and fought till we had to tie him down under the thwarts."

"Water—water!—for heaven's sake, water!" came in a piteous chorus, as the second boat rowed slowly in.

"Is it real or a trick?" said Mr Brymer, in a whisper.

"Real enough," said Mr Frewen. "The men are suffering horribly, and— oh! look! There's no subterfuge there,—that man—Jarette. He is dead!"



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

It was plain enough: the man had died there where his companions had tied him fast, and that night the two boats lay astern carefully watched after all the arms had been handed on board.

Not that there was anything to fear. For at daybreak, after two bodies had been committed to the deep, the spokesman of the mutinous crew told a pitiful tale, of how they would gladly have given up but for their leader, who by force and violence kept them to their task till, in utter despair, they had turned upon him and bound him, as they would some dangerous wild beast that they dared not kill.

That day, half the poor worn-out wretches were again confined in the forecastle, while the others were, under careful surveillance, allowed to return to their work.

For the calms were over, and a hard fight began with the weather, which grew so bad at last that Mr Brymer, who, as the days passed on, seemed to recover the more rapidly for having plenty to do, was glad to have all the men back to their duty.

This, in the hope of some mitigation of their punishment, they did well, working away, so that long before we reached Auckland we seemed to have a model crew.

That latter part of our voyage had its good effect on every one. Captain Berriman recovered sufficiently to have re-taken the command, but he left it in Mr Brymer's hands till the day we sailed into harbour, when he once more took his place, and laughingly complimented Mr Denning upon the change which had taken place in him as well, though, poor fellow, he was so weak that he was glad to lean upon his sister's arm.

There was nothing to show how adventurous our voyage had been, but the roughly boarded-over deck, beneath which lay the sadly damaged cargo.

But, as Bob Hampton said,—"It were an accident, and of course it was well insured. But I want to know, my lad, what they're a-goin' to do with our crew. My word, they are a-shivering in their shirts, eh, Barney?"

"They just are. It'd be a charity to wring 'em out to dry."

"Arter taking on 'em off, and givin' on 'em four dozen a-piece on the bare back, and say no more about it," growled Neb Dumlow, "for I forgive—far as I'm consarned."

But there could be no "say no more about it" in such a case as this. The men were tried and punished, but got off very easily in consideration of their sufferings and subsequent good behaviour. Hampton, Barney, and Neb Dumlow were the only men who sailed with us again.

I kept my word to Walters, and a painful task it was. I have often thought of his conduct since, and talked with Mr and Mrs Frewen when I have been to see them at their residence in Auckland, where I have been four times since. But, as Mrs Frewen always says. "He was sorely tempted, and he fell."

"And,—De mortuis—you know the rest of the quotation, Dale," said Mr Frewen, "and if you cannot say nothing but good of the dead, my lad, don't say anything at all."

Those were delightful visits, when I was on shore in New Zealand, divided between Mr Denning's up-country farm, where he has grown strong as one of his own horses, and the Frewens' charming house just outside Auckland, where he is the most famous doctor for miles. Mr Frewen and Mr Denning are like brothers, of course, and they are always tempting me to leave the sea and settle in that grand new England; but no—I resist, and keep to my profession, and I suppose I always shall, for, as Bob Hampton says, "a man might do worse than go to sea."

"Not as I hold much with having ladies on board, my lad," the old fellow once said. "They're okkard an' in the way, unless they're the same kind as Miss Denning—I mean Mrs Frewen, bless her heart!—for it was like havin' of a hangel with us. But I say, Mr Dale, sir," he added with a chuckle; "her brother didn't like the doctor, bein' a bit jealous like; but I says to Neb Dumlow and Barney when they first come aboard,—'You see if them two don't make up a match.'"

"You did, lad," said Barney.

"That's so," said Neb.

For they did; but all through that voyage such an idea never entered my mind. I was a boy then, on my first long voyage. A perilous one too. And would I go through it again? No, not for untold gold. I don't know though. Yes! I would—if once more I were a boy.

THE END.