The next minute Jem gave a heavy drag at the rope, then a jerk, and next swung to it, going to and fro for a few seconds.

"Hold a ton," whispered Jem; and reaching up as high as he could, he gripped the rope between his legs and over his ankle and foot, and apparently with the greatest ease drew himself up to the bar, threw a leg over and sat astride with his face beaming.

"They sha'n't have us this time, Mas' Don," he said, running the rope rapidly through his hands until he had reached the end, when he gathered it up in rings, till he had enough to throw beyond the sloping roof.

"Here goes!" he whispered; and he tossed it from him into the gathering gloom.

The falling rope made a dull sound, and then there was a sharp gliding noise.

One of the broken fragments of glass had been started from where it had lodged, and slid rapidly down the tiles.

They held their breath as they waited to hear it fall tinkling beyond on the pavement; but they listened in vain, for the simple reason that it had fallen into the gutter.

"All right, Mas' Don! Here goes!" said Jem, and he lowered the rope to its full extent.

"Hadn't I better go first, and try the rope, Jem?"

"What's the good o' your going first? It might break, and then what would your mother say to me? I'll go; and, as I said afore, if it bears me, it'll bear you."

"But, if it breaks, what shall I say to little Sally?"

"Well, I wouldn't go near her if I was you, Mas' Don. She might take on, and then it wouldn't be nice; or she mightn't take on, and that wouldn't be nice. Hist! What's that?"

"Can't hear anything, Jem."

"More can I. Here, shake hands, lad, case I has a tumble."

"Don't, don't risk it, Jem," whispered Don, clinging to his hand.

"What! After making the rope! Oh, come, Mas' Don, where's your pluck? Now then, I'm off; and when I'm down safe, I'll give three jerks at the line, and then hold it steady. Here goes—once to be ready, twice to be steady, three times to be—off!"

Don's heart felt in his mouth as his companion grasped the rope tightly, and let himself glide down the steep tiled slope, till he reached the edge over the gutter; and then, as he disappeared, dissolving—so it seemed—into the gloom, Don's breath was held, and he felt a singular pain at the chest.

He grasped the rope, though, as he sat astride at the lower edge of the opening; and the loosely twisted hemp seemed to palpitate and quiver as if it were one of Jem's muscles reaching to his hands.

Then all at once the rope became slack, as if the tension had been removed, and Don turned faint with horror.

"It's broken!" he panted; and he strained over as far as he could without falling to hear the dull thud of his companion's fall.

Thoughts fly fast, and in a moment of time Don had seen poor Jem lying crushed below, picked up, and had borne the news to his little wife. But before he had gone any further, the rope was drawn tight once more, and as he held it, there came to thrill his nerves three distinct jerks.

"It's all right!" he panted; and grasped the rope with both hands. "Now then," he thought, "it only wants a little courage, and I can slide down and join him, and then we're free."

Yes; but it required a good deal of resolution to make the venture. "Suppose Jem's weight had unwound the rope; suppose it should break; suppose—"

"Oh, what a coward I am!" he muttered; and swinging his leg free, he lay upon his face for a moment, right upon the sloping tiles and then let the rope glide through his hands.

It was very easy work down that slope, only that elbows and hands suffered, and sundry sounds suggested that waistcoat buttons were being torn off. But that was no moment for studying trifles; and what were waistcoat buttons to liberty?

Another moment, and his legs were over the edge, and he was about to attempt the most difficult part of the descent, grasping beforehand, that as soon as he hung clear of the eaves, he should begin to turn slowly round.

"Now for it," he said; and he was about to descend perpendicularly, when the rope was suddenly jerked violently.

There was a loud ejaculation, and Jem's voice rose to where he hung.

"No, no, Mas' Don. Back! Back! Don't come down." Then, as he hung, there came the panting and noise of a terrible struggle far below.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

PRISONERS AGAIN.

Don's grasp tightened on the rope, and as he lay there, half on, half off the slope, listening, with the beads of perspiration gathering on his forehead, he heard from below shouts, the trampling of feet and struggling.

"They've attacked Jem," he thought. "What shall I do? Go to his help?"

Before he could come to a decision the noise ceased and all was perfectly still.

Don hung there thinking.

What should he do—slide down and try to escape, or climb back?

Jem was evidently retaken, and to escape would be cowardly, he thought; and in this spirit he began to draw himself slowly back till, after a great deal of exertion, he had contrived to get his legs beyond the eaves, and there he rested, hesitating once more.

Just then he heard voices below, and holding on by one hand, he rapidly drew up a few yards of the rope, making his leg take the place of another hand.

There was a good deal of talking, and he caught the word "rope," but that was all. So he continued his toilsome ascent till he was able to grasp the edge of the skylight opening, up to which he dragged himself, and sat listening, astride, as he had been before the attempt was made.

All was so still that he was tempted to slide down and escape for no sound suggested that any one was on the watch. But Jem! Poor Jem! It was like leaving him in the lurch.

Still, he thought, if he did get away, he might give the alarm, and find help to save Jem from being taken away.

"And if they came up and found me gone," he muttered, "they would take Jem off aboard ship directly, and it would be labour in vain."

"Oh! Let go!"

The words escaped him involuntarily, for whilst he was pondering, some one had crept into the great loft floor, made a leap, and caught him by the leg, and, in spite of all his efforts to free himself, the man hung on till, unable to kick free, Don was literally dragged in and fell, after clinging for a moment to the cross-beam, heavily upon the floor.

"I've got him!" cried a hoarse voice, which he recognised. "Look sharp with the light."

Don was on his back half stunned and hurt, and his captor, the sinister-looking man, was sitting upon his chest, half suffocating him, and evidently taking no little pleasure in inflicting pain.

Footsteps were hurriedly ascending; then there was the glow of a lanthorn, and directly after the bluff-looking man appeared, followed by a couple of sailors, one of whom bore the light. "Got him?"

"Ay, ay! I've got him, sir."

"That's right! But do you want to break the poor boy's ribs? Get off!"

Don's friend, the sinister-looking man, rose grumblingly from his captive's chest, and the bluff man laughed.

"Pretty well done, my lad," he said. "I might have known you two weren't so quiet for nothing. There, cast off that rope, and bring him down."

The sinister man gripped Don's arm savagely, causing him intense pain, but the lad uttered no cry, and suffered himself to be led down in silence to floor after floor, till they were once more in the basement.

"Might have broken your neck, you foolish boy," said the bluff man, as a rough door was opened. "You can stop here for a bit. Don't try any more games."

He gave Don a friendly push, and the boy stepped forward once more into a dark cellar, where he remained despairing and motionless as the door was banged behind him, and locked; and then, as the steps died away, he heard a groan.

"Any one there?" said a faint voice, followed by the muttered words,—"Poor Mas' Don. What will my Sally do? What will she do?"

"Jem, I'm here," said Don huskily; and there was a rustling sound in the far part of the dark place.

"Oh! You there, Mas' Don? I thought you'd got away."

"How could I get away when they had caught you?" said Don, reproachfully.

"Slid down and run. There was no one there to stop you. Why, I says to myself when they pounced on me, if I gives 'em all their work to do, they'll be so busy that they won't see Mas' Don, and he'll be able to get right away. Why didn't you slither and go?"

"Because I should have been leaving you in the lurch, Jem; and I didn't want to do that."

"Well, I—well, of all—there!—why, Mas' Don, did you feel that way?"

"Of course I did."

"And you wouldn't get away because I couldn't?"

"That's what I thought, Jem."

"Well, of all the things I ever heared! Now I wonder whether I should have done like that if you and me had been twisted round; I mean, if you had gone down first and been caught."

"Of course you would, Jem."

"Well, that's what I don't know, Mas' Don. I'm afraid I should have waited till they'd got off with you, and slipped down and run off."

"I don't think you'd have left me, Jem."

"I dunno, my lad. I should have said to myself, I can bring them as 'ud help get Mas' Don out; and gone."

Don thought of his own feelings, and remained silent.

"I say, Mas' Don, though, it's a bad job being caught; but the rope was made strong enough, warn't it?"

"Yes, but it was labour in vain."

"Well, p'r'aps it was, sir; but I'm proud of that rope all the same. Oh!"

Jem uttered a dismal groan.

"Are you hurt, Jem?"

"Hurt, sir! I just am hurt—horrible. 'Member when I fell down and the tub went over me?"

"And broke your ribs, and we thought you were dead? Yes, I remember."

"Well, I feel just the same as I did then. I went down and a lot of 'em fell on me, and I was kicked and jumped on till I'm just as if all the hoops was off my staves, Mas' Don; but that arn't the worst of it, because it won't hurt me. I'm a reg'lar wunner to mend again. You never knew any one who got cut as could heal up as fast as me. See how strong my ribs grew together, and so did my leg when I got kicked by that horse."

"But are you in much pain now?"

"I should just think I am, Mas' Don; I feel as if I was being cut up with blunt saws as had been made red hot first."

"Jem, my poor fellow!" groaned Don.

"Now don't go on like that, Mas' Don, and make it worse."

"Would they give us a candle, Jem, do you think, if I was to knock?"

"Not they, my lad; and I don't want one. You'd be seeing how queer I looked if you got a light. There, sit down and let's talk."

Don groped along by the damp wall till he reached the place where his companion lay, and then went down on his knees beside him.

"It seems to be all over, Jem," he said.

"Over? Not it, my lad. Seems to me as if it's all just going to begin."

"Then we shall be made sailors."

"S'pose so, Mas' Don. Well, I don't know as I should so much mind if it warn't for my Sally. A man might just as well be pulling ropes as pushing casks and winding cranes."

"But we shall have to fight, Jem."

"Well, so long as it's fisties I don't know as I much mind, but if they expect me to chop or shoot anybody, they're mistook."

Jem became silent, and for a long time his fellow-prisoner felt not the slightest inclination to speak. His thoughts were busy over their attempted escape, and the risky task of descending by the rope. Then he thought again of home, and wondered what they would think of him, feeling sure that they would believe him to have behaved badly.

His heart ached as he recalled all the past, and how much his present position was due to his own folly and discontent, while, at the end of every scene he evoked, came the thought that no matter how he repented, it was too late—too late!

"How are you now, Jem?" he asked once or twice, as he tried to pierce the utter darkness; but there was no answer, and at last he relieved the weariness of his position by moving close up to the wall, so as to lean his back against it, and in this position, despite all his trouble, his head drooped forward till his chin rested upon his chest, and he fell fast asleep for what seemed to him only a few minutes, when he started into wakefulness on feeling himself roughly shaken.

"Rouse up, my lad, sharp!"

And looking wonderingly about him, he clapped one hand over his eyes to keep off the glare of an open lanthorn.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

ON BOARD.

It was a strange experience, and half asleep and confused, Don could hardly make out whether he was one of the captives of the press-gang, or a prisoner being conveyed to gaol in consequence of Mike Bannock's charge.

All seemed to be darkness, and the busy gang of armed men about him worked in a silent, furtive way, hurrying their prisoners, of whom, as they all stood together in a kind of yard behind some great gates, there seemed to be about a dozen, some injured, some angry and scowling, and full of complaints and threats now that they were about to be conveyed away; but every angry remonstrance was met by one more severe, and sometimes accompanied by a tap from the butt of a pistol, or a blow given with the hilt or flat of a cutlass.

"This here's lively, Mas' Don," said Jem, as he stood beside his companion in misfortune.

"I want to speak to the principal officer," said Don, excitedly. "We must not let them drive us off as if we were sheep."

"Will you take a bit of good advice, my lad?" said a familiar voice at his ear.

"If it is good advice," said Don, sharply.

"Then hold your tongue, and go quietly. I'll speak to the lieutenant when we get aboard."

Don glanced sharply at the bluff-looking boatswain who had spoken, and he seemed to mean well; but in Don's excitement he could not be sure, and one moment he felt disposed to make a bold dash for liberty, as soon as the gates were opened, and then to shout for help; the next to appeal to his fellow-prisoners to make a bold fight for liberty; and while these thoughts were running one over another in his mind, a sharp order was given, the gates were thrown open, and they were all marched down a narrow lane, dimly lit by one miserable oil lamp at the end.

Almost as they reached the end the familiar odour, damp and seaweedy, of the tide reached Don's nostrils; and directly after he found himself being hurried down a flight of wet and slippery stone steps to where a lanthorn showed a large boat, into which he was hurried along with the rest. Then there was the sensation of movement, as the boat rose and fell. Fresh orders. The splash of oars. A faint creaking sound where they rubbed on the tholes, and then the regular measured dip, dip, and splash, splash.

"Tide runs sharp," said a deep voice. "Give way, my lads, or we shall be swept by her; that's it."

Don listened to all this as if it were part of a dream, while he gazed wildly about at the dimly-seen moving lights and the black, shadowy-looking shapes of the various vessels which kept on looming up, till after gradually nearing a light away to his left, the boat was suddenly run up close to a great black mass, which seemed to stand up out of the water that was lapping her sides.

Ten minutes later the boat in which he had come off was hanging to the davits, and he, in company with his fellows, was being hurried down into a long low portion of the 'tween decks, with a couple of lanthorns swinging their yellow light to and fro, and trying to make haloes, while an armed marine stood sentry at the foot of the steps leading up on deck.

Every one appeared too desolate and despondent to say much; in fact, as Don sat upon the deck and looked at those who surrounded him, they all looked like so many wounded men in hospital, or prisoners of war, in place of being Englishmen—whose duty henceforth was to be the defence of their country.

"Seems rum, don't it?" said Jem in a whisper. "Makes a man feel wild to be laid hold on like this."

"It's cruel! It's outrageous!" cried Don, angrily.

"But here we are, and—what's that there noise?" said Jem, as a good deal of shouting and trampling was heard on deck. Then there was a series of thumps and more trampling and loud orders.

"Are they bringing some more poor wretches on board, Jem?"

"Dunno. Don't think so. Say, Mas' Don, I often heared tell of the press-gang, and men being took; but I didn't know it was so bad as this."

"Wait till morning, Jem, and I hope we shall get justice done to us."

"Then they'll have to do it sharp, for it's morning now, though it's so dark down here, and I thought we were moving; can't you feel?"

Jem was quite right; the sloop was under weigh. Morning had broken some time; and at noon that day, the hope of being set at liberty was growing extremely small, for the ship was in full sail, and going due west.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

JEM IS HUNGRY.

The first time the pressed men were mustered Don was well prepared.

"You leave it to me, Jem," he whispered. "I'll wait till our turn comes, and then I shall speak out to the officer and tell him how we've been treated."

"You'd better make haste, then, Mas' Don, for if the thing keeps on moving like this, I sha'n't be able to stand and hear what you have to say."

For a good breeze was blowing from the south coast, sufficient to make the waves curl over, and the sloop behave in rather a lively way; the more so that she had a good deal of canvas spread, and heeled over and dipped her nose sufficiently to admit a great wave from time to time to well splash the forward part of the deck.

Don made no reply, for he felt white, but he attributed it to the mental excitement from which he suffered.

There were thirty pressed men on deck, for the most part old sailors from the mercantile marine, and these men were drafted off into various watches, the trouble to the officers being that of arranging the fate of the landsmen, who looked wretched in the extreme.

"'Pon my word, Jones," said a smart-looking, middle-aged man in uniform, whom Don took to be the first lieutenant, "about as sorry a lot of Bristol sweepings as ever I saw."

"Not bad men, sir," said the petty officer addressed. "Wait till they've shaken down into their places."

"Now's your time, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "Now or never."

Don was on the alert, but just as the officer neared them the vessel gave a sudden pitch, and of the men standing in a row the minute before, not one remained upon his feet. For it seemed as if the deck had suddenly dropped down; and as Don and Jem rolled over into the lee scuppers, they were pretty well doused by the water that came splashing over the bows, and when, amidst a shout of laughter from the sailors, the order was given for them to get up and form in line again, Jem clung tightly to Don, and said, dolefully,—

"It's of no use, Mas' Don; I can't. It's like trying to stand on running barrels; and—oh, dear me!—I do feel so precious bad."

Don made no reply, but caught at the side of the vessel, for everything around seemed to be swimming, and a peculiarly faint sensation had attacked him, such as he had never experienced before.

"There, send 'em all below," said the officer, who seemed half angry, half-amused. "Pretty way this is, of manning His Majesty's ships. There, down with you. Get 'em all below."

Don did not know how he got below. He had some recollection of knocking the skin off his elbows, and being half dragged into a corner of the lower deck, where, for three days, he lay in the most abjectly miserable state, listening to the sighs and groans of his equally unfortunate companions, and the remarks of Jem, who kept up in his waking moments a running commentary on the miseries of going to sea.

"It's wuss than anything I ever felt or saw," he muttered. "I've been ill, and I've been in hospital, but this here's about the most terrible. I say, Mas' Don, how do you feel now?"

"As if I'd give anything to have the ship stopped, for us to be set ashore."

"No, no, you can't feel like that, Mas' Don, because that's exactly how I feel. I am so ill. Well, all I can say is that it serves the captain and the lieutenant and all the rest of 'em jolly well right for press-ganging me."

"What do you mean?" said Don, dolefully.

"Why, that they took all that trouble to bring me aboard to make a sailor of me, and they'll never do it. I'm fit to go into a hospital, and that's about all I'm fit for. Sailor? Why, I can't even stand upright on the precious deck."

"Well, my lads," said a hearty voice just then; "how long are you going to play at being old women? Come, rouse a bit."

"No, thankye, sir," said Jem, in a miserable tone. "Bit? I haven't bit anything since I've been aboard."

"Then rouse up, and bite something now," cried the boatswain. "Come, my lad," he continued, turning to Don, "you've got too much stuff in you to lie about like this. Jump up, and come on deck in the fresh air."

"I feel so weak, sir; I don't think I could stand."

"Oh, yes, you can," said the boatswain. "That's better. If you give way to it, you'll be here for a week."

"Are we nearly there, sir?" said Jem, with a groan.

"Nearly there? You yellow-faced lubber. What do you mean?"

"Where we're going to," groaned Jem.

"Nearly there? No. Why?"

"Because I want to go ashore again. I'm no use here."

"We'll soon make you of some use. There, get up."

"But aren't we soon going ashore?"

"If you behave yourself you may get a run ashore at the Cape or at Singapore; but most likely you won't leave the ship till we get to China."

"China?" said Jem, sitting up sharply. "China?"

"Yes, China. What of that?"

"China!" cried Jem. "Why, I thought we were sailing round to Plymouth or Portsmouth, or some place like that. China?"

"We're going straight away or China, my lad, to be on that station for some time."

"And when are we coming back, sir?"

"In about three years."

"Mas' Don," said Jem, dolefully; "let's get up on deck, sir, and jump overboard, so as to make an end of it."

"You'd better not," said the boatswain, laughing at Jem's miserable face. "You're in the king's service now, and you've got to work. There, rouse up, and act like a man."

"But can't we send a letter home, sir?" asked Don.

"Oh, yes, if you like, at the first port we touch at, or by any ship we speak. But come, my lad, you've been sea-sick for days; don't begin to be home sick. You've been pressed as many a better fellow has been before you. The king wants men, and he must have them. Now, young as you are, show that you can act like a man."

Don gave him an agonised look, but the bluff boatswain did not see it.

"Here, you fellows," he cried to the rest of the sick men; "we've given you time enough now. You must get up and shake all this off. You'll all be on deck in a quarter of an hour, so look sharp."

"This here's a nice game, Mas' Don. Do you know how I feel?"

"No, Jem; but I know how I feel."

"How's that, sir?"

"That if I had been asked to serve the king I might have joined a ship; but I've been dragged here in a cruel way, and the very first time I can get ashore, I mean to stay."

"Well, I felt something like that, Mas' Don; but they'd call it desertion."

"Let them call it what they like, Jem. They treated us like dogs, and I will not stand it. I shall leave the ship first chance. You can do as you like, but that's what I mean to do."

"Oh, I shall do as you do, Mas' Don. I was never meant for a sailor, and I shall get away as soon as I can."

"Shall you?" said a voice that seemed familiar; and they both turned in the direction from which it came, to see a dark figure rise from beside the bulk head, where it had lain unnoticed by the invalids, though if they had noted its presence, they would have taken it for one of their fellow-sufferers.

"What's it got to do with you?" said Jem, shortly, as he scowled at the man, who now came forward sufficiently near the dim light for them to recognise the grim, sinister-looking sailor, who had played so unpleasant a part at the rendez-vous where they were taken after being seized.

"What's it got to do with me? Everything. So you're goin' to desert, both of you, are you? Do you know what that means?"

"No; nor don't want," growled Jem.

"Then I'll tell you. Flogging, for sartain, and p'r'aps stringing up at the yard-arm, as an example to others."

"Ho!" said Jem; "do it? Well, you look the sort o' man as is best suited for that; and just you look here. Nex' time I ketches you spying and listening to what I say, I shall give you a worse dressing down than I give you last time, so be off."

"Mutinous, threatening, and talking about deserting," said the sinister-looking sailor, with a harsh laugh, which sounded as if he had a young watchman's rattle somewhere in his chest. "Nice thing to report. I think this will do."

He went off rubbing his hands softly, and mounted the ladder, Jem watching him till his legs had disappeared, when he turned sharply to Don.

"Him and me's going to have a regular set-to some day, Mas' Don. He makes me feel warm, and somehow that bit of a row has done me no end o' good. Here, come on deck, and let's see if he's telling tales. Come on, lad. P'r'aps I've got a word or two to say as well."

Don had not realised it before, but as he followed Jem, he suddenly woke to the fact that he did not feel so weak and giddy, while, by the time he was on deck, it as suddenly occurred to him that he could eat some breakfast.

"I thought as much," said Jem. "Lookye there, Mas' Don. Did you ever see such a miserable sneak?"

For there, not half-a-dozen yards away, was the sinister-looking sailor talking to the bluff boatswain.

"Oh, yes, of course," said the latter, as he caught sight of the recruits. "So does every man who is pressed, and if he does not say it, he thinks it. There, be off."

The ill-looking sailor gave Jem an ugly look and went aft, while the boatswain turned to Don.

"That's right," he said. "Make a bit of an effort, and you're all the better for it. You'll get your sea legs directly."

"I wish he'd tell us where to get a sea leg o' mutton, Mas' Don," whispered Jem. "I am hungry."

"What's that?" said the boatswain.

"Only said I was hungry," growled Jem.

"Better and better. And, now, look here, you two may as well set to work without grumbling. And take my advice; don't let such men as that hear either of you talk about desertion again. It doesn't matter this time, but, by-and-by, it may mean punishment."



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A CONVERSATION.

The gale was left behind, and the weather proved glorious as they sped on towards the tropics, both going through all the drudgery to be learned by Government men, in company with the naval drill.

There was so much to see and learn that Don found it impossible to be moody; and, for the most part, his homesickness and regrets were felt merely when he went to his hammock at nights; while the time spent unhappily there was very short, for fatigue soon sent him to sleep.

The boatswain was always bluff, manly, and kind, and following out his advice, both Jem and Don picked up the routine of their life so rapidly as to gain many an encouraging word from their officers—words which, in spite of the hidden determination to escape at the first opportunity, set them striving harder and harder to master that which they had to do.

"Yes," Jem used to say, "they may be civil, but soft words butters no parsnips, Mas' Don; and being told you'll some day be rated AB don't bring a man back to his wife, nor a boy—I mean another man—back to his mother."

"You might have said boy, Jem; I'm only a boy."

"So'm I, Mas' Don—sailor boy. You seem getting your head pretty well now, Mas' Don, when we're up aloft."

"That's what I was thinking of you, Jem."

"Well, yes, sir, tidy—tidy like, and I s'pose it arn't much worse than coming down that there rope when we tried to get away; but I often feel when I'm lying out on the yard, with my feet in the stirrup, that there's a precious little bit between being up there and lying down on the deck, never to get up again."

"You shouldn't think of it, Jem. I try not to."

"So do I, but you can't help it sometimes. How long have we been at sea now?"

"Six months, Jem."

"Is it now? Don't seem so long. I used to think I should get away before we'd been aboard a week, and it's six months, and we arn't gone. You do mean to go if you get a chance?"

"Yes, Jem," said Don, frowning. "I said I would, and I will."

"Arn't it being a bit obstinate like, Mas' Don?"

"Obstinate? What, to do what I said I'd do?"

"Well, p'r'aps not, sir; but it do sound obstinate all the same."

"You like being a sailor then, Jem?"

"Like it? Being ordered about, and drilled, and sent aloft in rough weather, and all the time my Sally thousands o' miles away? Well, I do wonder at you, Mas' Don, talking like that."

"It was your own fault, Jem. I can't help feeling as I did. It was such a cruel, cowardly way of kidnapping us, and dragging us away, and never a letter yet to tell us what they think at home, after those I sent. No, Jem, as I've said before, I'd have served the king as a volunteer, but I will not serve a day longer than I can help after being pressed."

"T'others seem to have settled down."

"So do we seem to, Jem; but perhaps they're like us, and only waiting for a chance to go."

"Don't talk out loud, Mas' Don. I want to go home: but somehow I sha'n't quite like going when the time does come."

"Why not?"

"Well, some of the lads make very good messmates, and the officers arn't bad when they're in a good temper; and I've took to that there hammock, Mas' Don. You can't think of how I shall miss that there hammock."

"You'll soon get over that, Jem."

"Yes, sir, dessay I shall; and it will be a treat to sit down at a decent table with a white cloth on, and eat bread and butter like a Christian."

"Instead of tough salt junk, Jem, and bad, hard biscuits."

"And what a waste o' time it do seem learning all this sailoring work, to be no use after all. Holy-stoning might come in. I could holy-stone our floor at home, and save my Sally the trouble, and—" Jem gave a gulp, then sniffed very loudly. "Wish you wouldn't talk about home."

Don smiled sadly, and they were separated directly after.

The time went swiftly on in their busy life, and though his absence from home could only be counted in months, Don had shot up and altered wonderfully. They had touched at the Cape, at Ceylon, and then made a short stay at Singapore before going on to their station farther east, and cruising to and fro.

During that period Don's experience had been varied, but the opportunity he was always looking for did not seem to come.

Then a year had passed away, and they were back at Singapore, where letters reached both, and made them go about the deck looking depressed for the rest of the week.

Then came one morning when there was no little excitement on board, the news having oozed out that the sloop was bound for New Zealand, a place in those days little known, save as a wonderful country of tree-fern, pine, and volcano, where the natives were a fierce fighting race, and did not scruple to eat those whom they took captive in war.

"Noo Zealand, eh?" said Jem.

"Port Jackson and Botany Bay, I hear, Jem, and then on to New Zealand. We shall see something of the world."

"Ay, so we shall, Mas' Don. Bot'ny Bay! That's where they sends the chaps they transports, arn't it?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then we shall be like transported ones when we get there. You're right, after all, Mas' Don. First chance there is, let me and you give up sailoring, and go ashore."

"I mean to, Jem; and somehow, come what may, we will."



CHAPTER TWENTY.

A NATURALISED NEW ZEALANDER.

Three months had passed since the conversation in the last chapter, when after an adverse voyage from Port Jackson, His Majesty's sloop-of-war under shortened sail made her way slowly towards what was in those days a land of mystery.

A stiff breeze was blowing, and the watch were on deck, ready for reducing sail or any emergency. More were ready in the tops, and all on board watching the glorious scene unfolding before them.

"I say, Mas' Don, look ye there," whispered Jem, as they sat together in the foretop. "If this don't beat Bristol, I'm a Dutchman."

"Beat Bristol!" said Don contemptuously; "why, it's as different as can be."

"Well, I dunno so much about that," said Jem. "There's that mountain yonder smoking puts one in mind of a factory chimney. And look yonder too!—there's another one smoking ever so far off. I say, are those burning mountains?"

"I suppose so, unless it's steam. But what a lovely place!"

There were orders for shortening sail given just then, and they had no more opportunity for talking during the next quarter of an hour, when, much closer in, they lay in the top once more, gazing eagerly at the glorious prospect of sea and sky, and verdant land and mountain. The vessel slowly rounded what appeared to be a headland, and in a short time the wind seemed to have dropped, and the sea to have grown calm. It was like entering a lovely lake; and as they went slowly on and on, it was to find that they were forging ahead in a perfect archipelago, with fresh beauties opening up each minute.

The land was deliciously green, and cut up into valley, hill, and mountain. One island they were passing sent forth into the clear sunny air a cloud of silvery steam, which floated slowly away, like a white ensign spread to welcome the newcomers from a civilised land. At their distance from the shore it was impossible to make out the individual trees, but there seemed to be clumps of noble pines some distance in, and the valleys were made ornamental with some kind of feathery growth.

"Well, all I've got to say, Mas' Don, is this here—Singpore arn't to be grumbled at, and China's all very well, only hot; but if you and me's going to say good-bye to sailoring, let's do it here."

"That's exactly what I was thinking, Jem," replied Don.

"Say, Mas' Don, p'r'aps it arn't for me, being a servant and you a young master, to make remarks."

"Don't talk nonsense, Jem; we are both common sailors."

"Well then, sir, as one sailor to another sailor, I says I wish you wouldn't get into bad habits."

"I wish so too, Jem."

"There you are again!" said Jem testily.

"What do you mean?"

"Why, so sure as I thinks something sensible and good, you always ketches me up and says you had thought it before."

"Nonsense, Jem! Well, have it your way. I quite agree with you."

"No, I won't, sir; you're master. Have it your way. I quite agree with you. Let's go ashore here."

"If you can get the chance, Jem.—How lovely it looks!"

"Lovely's nothing to it, sir. Mike used to brag about what he'd seen in foreign countries, but he never see anything to come up to this."

"I don't think any one could see a more beautiful place, Jem."

"But I don't like the look o' that, sir."

"Of what?"

"That there yonder. That smoke."

"What, on that little island? No, Jem; it's steam."

"Well, don't you know what that means?"

"No."

"Then I've got something at last as you arn't got first!" cried Jem excitedly, as he sheltered his eyes from the glare of the sun. "Yes; that's it's, sure. Cooking!"

"Cooking? What's cooking?"

"That place where the steam is, Mas' Don. I say, you know what they do here? That's the place where they do it."

"Do what?"

"Cook people. That's the spot, safe."

"Nonsense!" said Don laughing.

"Ah! You may call it nonsense, Mas' Don; but if them sort o' things is done here, I think we'd better stop on board."

Just at that moment the captain, who was busy with his spyglass examining the place and looking for a snug anchorage, suddenly gave an order, which was passed on, and with the rapidity customary on board a man-of-war, the stout boarding nettings, ready for use on an emergency, were triced up to the lower rigging, so that before long the vessel, from its bulwarks high up toward the lower yards, presented the appearance of a cage.

While this was going on, others of the men stood to their arms, guns were cast loose and loaded, and every precaution taken against a surprise.

The reason for all this was that quite a fleet of long canoes, propelled by paddles, suddenly began to glide out from behind one of the islands, each canoe seeming to contain from eighty to a hundred men.

The effect was beautiful, for the long, dark vessels, with their grotesque, quaintly carved prows and sterns, seemed to be like some strange living creatures working along paths of silver, so regularly went the paddles, turning the sea into lines of dazzling light.

The men were armed with spears and tomahawks, and as they came nearer, some could be seen wearing black feathers tipped with white stuck in their hair, while their dark, nearly naked bodies glistened in the sun like bronze.

"Are they coming to attack us, Jem?" said Don, who began to feel a strange thrill of excitement.

"Dessay they'd like to, Mas' Don; but it strikes me they'd think twice about it. Why, we could sail right over those long thin boats of theirs, and send 'em all to the bottom."

Just then there was an order from the deck, and more sail was taken in, till the ship hardly moved, as the canoes came dashing up, the men of the foremost singing a mournful kind of chorus as they paddled on.

"Ship ahoy!" suddenly came from the first canoe. "What ship's that?"

"His Majesty's sloop-of-war Golden Danae," shouted back the first lieutenant from the chains. "Tell your other boats to keep back, or we shall fire."

"No, no, no: don't do that, sir! They don't mean fighting," came back from the boat; and a big savage, whose face was blue with tattooing, stood up in the canoe, and then turned and spoke to one of his companions, who rose and shouted to the occupants of the other canoes to cease paddling.

"Speaks good English, sir," said the lieutenant to the captain.

"Yes. Ask them what they want, and if it's peace."

The lieutenant shouted this communication to the savage in the canoe.

"Want, sir?" came back; "to trade with you for guns and powder, and to come aboard."

"How is it you speak good English?"

"Why, what should an Englishman speak?"

"Then you are not a savage?"

"Now do I look like one?" cried the man indignantly.

"Of course; I forgot—I'm an Englishman on a visit to the country, and I've adopted their customs, sir—that's all."

"Oh, I see," said the lieutenant, laughing; "ornaments and all."

"May they come aboard, sir?"

"Oh, yes; if they leave their arms."

The man communicated this to the occupants of the boat, and there was a good deal of excited conversation for a time.

"That fellow's a runaway convict for certain, sir," said the lieutenant. "Shall we get him aboard, and keep him?"

"No. Let him be. Perhaps he will prove very useful."

"The chiefs say it isn't fair to ask them to come without their arms," said the tattooed Englishman. "How are they to know that you will not be treacherous?"

"Tell them this is a king's ship, and if they behave themselves they have nothing to fear," said the captain. "Stop! Six of them can come aboard armed if they like. You can lead them and interpret."

"I'll tell them, sir; but I won't come aboard, thank you. I'm a bit of a savage now, and the crew might make remarks, and we should quarrel."

He turned to the savages, and the captain and lieutenant exchanged glances, while directly after the canoe was run alongside, and half-a-dozen of the people sprang up the side, and were admitted through the boarding netting to begin striding about the deck in the most fearless way.

They were fine, herculean-looking fellows, broad-shouldered and handsome, and every man had his face tattooed in a curious scroll-like pattern, which ended on the sides of his nose.

Their arms were spears and tomahawks, and two carried by a stout thong to the wrist a curiously carved object, which looked like a model of a paddle in pale green stone, carefully polished, but which on closer inspection seemed to be a weapon for using at close quarters.

As they paraded the deck, with their quick eyes grasping everything, they made no scruple about placing their faces close to those of the sailors, and then drawing themselves up with a conscious look of satisfaction and self-esteem, as they compared their physique with that of their visitors.

One of them, a great fellow of about six feet three, and stout and muscular in proportion, stopped suddenly in front of Jem, at whom he seemed to frown, and turned to Don, upon whose chest he laid the back of his hand.

"Pakeha," he said in a deep voice; "Ngati pakeha."

"Tell him he's another, Mas' Don," said Jem.

The savage turned fiercely upon Jem, gripping Don's arm the while.

"Pakeha," he said; "Ngati pakeha. Maori pakeha. My pakeha!"

Then to Don—"You my pakeha. Give me powder—gun."

"Don't you wish you may get it, old chap?" said Jem. "Wants you to give him powder and gun."

The savage nodded approval.

"Yes," he said; "powder-gun—you give."

A call from one of his companions summoned the savage away, and he joined them to partake of some rum and water, which the captain had had prepared on their behalf.

"Won't you come up and have some rum?" said the lieutenant to the tattooed Englishman in the boat.

"No, thank you; but you may send me down the bottle if you like, sir. Look here! Shall I show you where you can anchor?"

The lieutenant glanced at his superior officer, and in answer to his nod turned to the man again.

"Can you show us a safe anchorage?"

"I can show you half-a-dozen, all safe," said the man. "When you like, I'll lead the way."

"A boat shall follow you, and take soundings."

The first cutter was manned with a well-armed crew, and the lieutenant stepped in—Don and Jem being two of the number.

The tattooed Englishman shouted something to the men busy on the ship, and they unwillingly left the deck, slipped down into their canoe, and this led off, followed by the first cutter.

"Give way, my lads!" said the lieutenant; "and mind this: there must be no straying off in any shape whatever—that is, if we land. These fellows seem friendly, but we are only a few among hundreds, and I suppose you know what your fate would be if they got the upper hand."

"Make tattooed chiefs of us seemingly, sir," said Jem.

"Or hot joints," said the officer laconically. "Ready there with that lead."

The men rowed steadily on after the first canoe, and the man with the lead kept on making casts, but getting no bottom except at an excessive depth, as they went on, the scene growing more beautiful as each point was passed. The other canoes followed, and a curious thrill ran through Don, as he felt how helpless they would be if the savages proved treacherous, for the boat and her crew could have been overpowered at once; and the lieutenant was evidently uneasy, as he saw that they were taken right round to the back of a small island, gradually losing sight of the ship.

But he had his duty to do, and keeping a strict watch, after passing the word to his men to have their arms ready, he made them row on, with the lead going all the time.

It was a curious experience, and Don's heart beat as he thought of the possibility of escaping from the boat, and taking to the shore, wondering the while what would be the consequences. The man in the leading canoe was evidently well treated, and quite one in authority; and if they landed and joined these people, why should not he and Jem become so too?

These were a few of the passing thoughts suggested by the novelty and beauty of the place, which seemed ten times more attractive to those who had been for months cooped up on shipboard; but the toil in which he was engaged kept Don from taking more than a casual glance ashore.

Bosun Jones sat at the tiller side by side with the lieutenant, and scraps of their conversation reached Don's ears.

"Well, sir," said the former, "as you say, we're out of the reach of the sloop's guns; but if anything happens to us, we may be sure that the captain will take pretty good revenge."

"And a deal of good that will do us, Jones," said the lieutenant. "I believe that scoundrel is leading us into a trap."

"If he is, sir, I hope for one chance at him," said the boatswain; "I don't think I should miss my man."

The leading canoe went on for quite a quarter of a mile after they had passed out of sight of the ship, the cutter following and taking soundings all the way, till they seemed to be quite shut in by high land, and the water was as smooth as a lake.

There, about five hundred yards from the shore, the canoe stopped, and almost at the same moment the water shallowed, so that the man in the bows got soundings in ten fathoms; directly after, nine; then eight; and eight again, at which depth the water seemed to remain.

"Come, that's honest leading!" said the lieutenant, brightening; "as snug a berth as a ship could be in. Why, Jones, what a position for a port!"

"This do, sir?" shouted the tattooed Englishman. "You'll be quite in shelter here, and the water keeps the same right up to the shore."

A few more soundings were taken, and then the boat returned to the ship, which made her way in and anchored before night, with the canoes hanging about, and some of the chiefs eagerly besieging the gangway to be allowed on deck. But special precautions were taken; sentries were doubled; and, as if feeling that the fate of all on board depended upon his stringent regulations, the captain only allowed about half-a-dozen of the savage-looking people to come on board at a time.

By a little management Don had contrived that Jem should have the hammock next to his; and that night, with the soft air playing in through the open port-hole, they listened to the faint sounds on shore, where the savages were evidently feasting, and discussed in a whisper the possibility of getting away.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

AN INVITATION.

It seemed to Don that the object of the captain in coming to New Zealand was to select and survey portions of the coast for a new settlement; and for the next few days well-armed boat parties were out in all directions sounding, and in two cases making short journeys inland.

"I say," said Jem one morning, as he and Don stood gazing over the side of the ship at the verdant shores.

"Well, Jem, what do you say?"

"Has that ugly-looking chap Ramsden been telling tales about us?"

"I don't know; why?"

"Because here's a fortnight we've been at anchor, and since the first day neither of us has been out in a boat."

"Hasn't been our turn, Jem."

"Well, p'r'aps not, sir; but it do seem strange. Just as if they thought we should slip away."

"And I suppose we've given up all such thoughts as that now."

"Oh, have we?" said Jem sarcastically; and then there was silence for a time, till Jem, who had been watching the steam rise from the little island about a quarter of a mile away, exclaimed, "Wonder what's being cooked over yonder, Mas' Don. I know; no, I don't. Thought it was washing day, but it can't be, for they don't hardly wear any clothes."

"It's volcanic steam, Jem. Comes out of the earth."

"Get along with you, Mas' Don. Don't get spinning yarns."

"I'm telling you the truth, Jem."

"Are you, sir? Well, p'r'aps it's what you think is the truth, I say, arn't it lovely out here? How I should like to have a cottage just on that there point, and my Sally to keep it tidy. Hullo! What's up?"

The boatswain's shrill pipe was heard just then, and a boat's crew was summoned to take an exploring party ashore.

To Don's great delight, he and Jem formed part of the boat's crew; and at last he felt that he was to see something of the beautiful place, which grew more attractive every time he scanned the coast.

This time the captain was going to land; and, as the men were provided with axes, it seemed that they were about to make their way into the woods.

The natives had been most friendly, bringing off and receiving presents; but, all the same, no precautions were omitted to provide for the safety of the ship and crew.

It was a glorious morning, with hardly a breath of wind stirring, and the savages were lolling about on the shore. Their canoes were run up on the sands, and there was an aspect of calm and repose everywhere that seemed delightful.

But the boat's crew had little time given them for thinking. The captain and a midshipman of about Don's age took their places in the stern sheets, Bosun Jones seized the tiller, the word was given, the oars splashed the water simultaneously, and the boat sped over the calm surface of the transparent sea, sending the shoals of fish darting away.

The boat's head was set in quite a fresh direction, and she was run ashore a little way from the mouth of a rushing river, whose waters came foaming down through blocks of pumice and black masses of volcanic stone.

As the boat's head touched the shore, the men leaped over right and left, and dragged her a short distance up the black glistening heavy sand, so that the captain could land dry-shod.

Then preparations were made, arms charged, and Bosun Jones gave Don a friendly nod before turning to the captain.

"Will you have this lad, sir, to carry a spare gun for you?"

"Yes," said the captain; "a good plan;" and Don's eyes sparkled. "No," said the captain the next moment; "he is only a boy, and the walking will be too hard for him. Let him and another stay with the boat."

Don's brow clouded over with disappointment, but it cleared a little directly after as he found that Jem was to be his companion; and as the party marched off toward where the forest came down nearly to the sea, they, in obedience to their orders, thrust the boat off again, climbed in, and cast out her grapnel a few fathoms from the shore.

"I am disappointed," said Don, after they had sat in the boat some time, watching their companions till they had disappeared.

"Oh, I dunno, Mas' Don; we've got some beef and biscuit, and somewhere to sit down, and nothing to do. They, poor fellows, will come back hot and tired out."

"Yes; but's it's so dull here."

"Well, I dunno 'bout that," said Jem, looking lazily round at the glorious prospect of glistening sea, island and shore, backed up by mountains; "I call it just lovely."

"Oh, it's lovely enough, Jem; but I want to go ashore."

"Now if you call my cottage dull inside the yard gates at Bristol, I'm with you, Mas' Don; but after all there's no place like home."

There was a dead silence, during which Don sat gazing at a group of the savages half-a-mile away, as they landed from a long canoe, and ran it up the beach in front of one of the native whares or dwellings.

"Why, Jem!" Don exclaimed suddenly, "why not now?"

"Eh?" said Jem, starting from watching a large bird dive down with a splash in the silvery water, and then rise again with a fish in its beak; "see that, Mas' Don?"

"Yes, yes," exclaimed Don impatiently; "why not now?"

"Why not now, Mas' Don?" said Jem, scratching his head; "is that what you call a connundydrum?"

"Don't be stupid, man. I say, why not now?"

"Yes, I heared you say so twice; but what does it mean?"

"We're quite alone; we have a boat and arms, with food and water. Why not escape now?"

"Escape, Mas' Don? What, run away now at once—desert?"

"It is not running away, Jem; it is not deserting. They have robbed us of our liberty, and we should only be taking it back."

"Ah, they'd preach quite a different sarmon to that," said Jem, shaking his head.

"Why, you are never going to turn tail?"

"Not I, Mas' Don, when the time comes; but it don't seem to have come yet."

"Why, the opportunity is splendid, man."

"No, Mas' Don, I don't think so. If we take the boat, 'fore we've gone far they'll ketch sight of us aboard, and send another one to fetch us back, or else make a cock-shy of us with the long gun."

"Then let's leave the boat."

"And go ashore, and meet our messmates and the captain."

"Go in another direction."

"Out of the frying-pan into the fire," said Jem, grinning. "Say, Mas' Don, how do they cook their food?"

"Don't talk nonsense, Jem; that's only a traveller's tale. I believe the people here will behave kindly to us."

"Till we got fat," said Jem, chuckling; "and then they'd have a tuck out. No, thank ye, Mas' Don; my Sally wouldn't like it. You see, I'm nice and plump and round now, and they'd soon use me. You're a great long growing boy, thin as a lath, and it'd take years to make you fit to kill, so as it don't matter for you."

"There is a chance open to us now for escape," said Don bitterly; "to get right away, and journey to some port, where we could get a passage to England as sailors, and you treat it with ridicule."

"Not I, Mas' Don, lad."

"You do, Jem. Such a chance may never occur again; and I shall never be happy till I have told my mother what is the real truth about our going away."

"But you did write it to her, Mas' Don."

"Write! What is writing to speaking? I thought you meant to stand by me."

"So I do, Mas' Don, when a good chance comes. It hasn't come yet."

"Ahoy!"

A hail came out of the dense growth some fifty yards away.

"There," said Jem, "you see we couldn't get off; some one coming back."

"Ahoy!" came again; "boat ahoy!"

"Ahoy! Ahoy!" shouted back Jem, and the two boat-keepers watched the moving ferns in front of them, expecting to see the straw hat of a messmate directly; but instead there appeared the black white-tipped feathers, and then the hideously tattooed bluish face of a savage, followed directly after by another, and two stalwart men came out on to the sands, and began to walk slowly down toward the boat.

"Cock your pistol, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, "quiet-like; don't let 'em see. They've got their spears and choppers. Precious ready too with their ahoys."

"Why, it's that tattooed Englishman, Jem, and that savage who called me his pakeha."

"And like his impudence!" said Jem. "You're right though, so it is."

"Morning, mate," said the Englishman, who, save that he was a little lighter in colour than his hideous-looking companion, could hardly be distinguished from him.

"Morning, my hearty," said Jem. "What is it? Want a passage home?"

"Do I want what?" growled the man. "Not I; too well off here."

"Wouldn't be safe to go back, p'r'aps," said Jem meaningly.

The man darted a fierce look at him, which told that the shaft had hit its mark.

"Never you mind about that," he said surlily.

"But you are a lifer, and have run away, haven't you?" continued Jem, in a bantering tone.

The man's aspect was for the moment so fierce that Don involuntarily stole his hand towards the pistol at his side. But his countenance softened directly after.

"That's neither here nor there, mate," said the man. "There's been chaps sent out abroad who were innocent, and others who have been punished more than they deserved; and you aren't the sort of fellow to go talking like that, and making trouble for a fellow who never did you any harm."

"Not I," said Jem; "it's no business of mine."

"And he isn't the fellow to make trouble," put in Don.

"That he isn't," said the man, smiling. "'Sides I'm a Maori chief now, and I've got a couple of hundred stout fellows who would fight for me. Eh, Ngati?" he said, addressing some words in the savage tongue.

"Pah, ha, ha!" roared the great fellow beside him, brandishing his spear; and seizing the greenstone paddle-like weapon, which hung from his neck, in his left hand, as he struck an attitude, turned up his eyes till the whites only were visible, distorted his face hideously, and thrust out his great tongue till it was far below his chin.

"Brayvo! Brayvo! Brayvo!" cried Jem, hammering the side of the boat; "brayvo, waxworks! I say, mate, will he always go off like that when you pull the string?"

"Yes," said the Englishman, laughing; "and two hundred more like him."

"Then it must be a werry pretty sight indeed; eh, Mas' Don?"

"Ah, it's all very well to laugh," said the Englishman good-humouredly; "but when they mean mischief, it's heads off and a feast."

"Eh?" cried Jem.

"They'll kill a man, and cook him and eat him after."

"Gammon!"

"Gammon, eh?" cried the Englishman; and he turned to his savage companion with a word or two.

The savage relapsed into his former quiescent state, uttered a loud grunt, and smacked his lips.

"And so you do do that sort of thing?" said Jem, grinning. "You look in pretty good condition, mate."

"No!" said the Englishman fiercely. "I've joined them, and married, and I'm a pakeha Maori and a great chief, and I've often fought for them; but I've never forgotten what I am."

"No offence meant, old chap," said Jem; and then from behind his hand he whispered to Don,—

"Look out, my lad; they mean the boat."

"No, we don't," said the Englishman, contemptuously; "if we did we could have it. Why, I've only to give the word, and a hundred fellows would be out in a canoe before you knew where you were. No, my lad, it's peace; and I'm glad of a chance, though I'm happy enough here, to have a talk to some one from the old home. Never was in the west country, I suppose? I'm an Exeter man."

"I've been in Exeter often," said Don eagerly; "we're from Bristol."

The Englishman waded rapidly into the sea, his Maori companion dashing in on the other side of the boat, and Jem and Don seized their pistols.

"Didn't I tell you it was peace?" said the Englishman, angrily. "I only wanted to shake hands."

"Ho!" said Jem, suspiciously, as their visitor coolly seated himself on the gunwale of the boat, his follower taking the opposite side, so as to preserve the balance.

"Enough to make you think we meant wrong," said the Englishman; "but we don't. Got any tobacco, mate?"

"Yes," said Jem, producing his bag. "'Tarn't very good. Say, Mas' Don, if he came to see us in Bristol, we could give him a bit o' real old Charlestown, spun or leaf."

"Could you, though?" said the man, filling his pipe.

"Yes; my uncle is a large sugar and tobacco merchant," said Don.

"Then how came you to be a sailor boy? I know, you young dog; you ran away. Well, I did once."

"No, no," said Don, hastily; "we did not ran away; we were pressed."

"Pressed?" said the Englishman, pausing in the act of striking a light on one of the thwarts of the boat.

"You needn't believe unless you like," said Jem, sourly, "but we were; dragged off just as if we were—well, never mind what. Feel here."

He bent forward, took the man's hand, and placed it upon the back of his head.

"That's a pretty good scar, isn't it? Reg'lar ridge."

"Yes; that was an ugly crack, mate."

"Well, that's what I got, and a lot beside. Young Mas' Don here, too, was awfully knocked about."

"And you stood it?"

"Stood it?" said Don, laughing. "How could we help it?"

"Made you be sailors, eh, whether you would or no?"

"That's it," said Jem.

"Well, you can do as you like," said the man; "but I know what I should do if they'd served me so."

"Cutoff?" said Jem.

"That's it, mate. I wouldn't ha' minded being a sailor, but not be made one whether I liked or no."

"You weren't a sailor, were you?" said Don.

"I? No; never mind what I was."

"Then we had better cut off, Mas' Don," said Jem, grinning till his eyes were shut; "and you and me 'll be painted like he is in fast colours, and you shall be a chief, and I'll be your head man."

"To be sure," said the Englishman; "and you shall have a wife."

"Eh?" cried Jem fiercely; "that I just won't. And, Mas' Don, if we ever do get back, don't you never say a word to my Sally about this here."

"No, Jem, not I."

"But you'll leave the ship, mate?"

"Well, I dunno," said Jem, thoughtfully. "Will that there pattern all over your face and chest wash off?"

"Wash off? No."

"Not with pearl-ash or soda?"

"No, not unless you skinned me," said the man, laughing.

"Well, that part arn't tempting, is it, Mas' Don?"

Don shook his head.

"And then about that other part, old chap—cannibalism? I say, that's gammon, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, you know—the cooking a fellow and eating him. How dull you are!"

"Dull? You be here a few years among these people, talking their lingo, and not seeing an Englishman above once in two years, and see if you wouldn't be dull."

"But is that true?"

"About being cannibals? Yes it's true enough," said the man seriously; "and very horrid it is; but it's only when there's war."

He had succeeded in striking a light now, and was smoking placidly enough on the boat's edge, but dreamily thoughtful, as if he were recalling matters that were past.

"Has he ever—been at war?" said Don, altering the fashion of his inquiry when it was half uttered.

"Often."

"And—? You know," said Jem, who felt no delicacy about the matter.

The Englishman nodded his head slowly, and sent forth a tremendous puff of smoke, while his companion moved toward Don, and smiled at him, tapping him on the shoulder with his hand, and seeming to nod approval.

"Pakeha!" he said, excitedly; "my pakeha; Maori pakeha."

"What does he mean by that?" said Don, after he had suffered these attentions patiently for a few minutes.

"Means he wants you to be his pakeha."

"Yes: my pakeha; Maori pakeha!" cried the chief eagerly.

"But what is a pakeha?"

"Why, you're a pakeha, I'm a pakeha. They call foreigners pakehas; and he wants to claim you as his."

"What, his slave?" cried Don.

"No, no; he means his foreign brother. If you become his pakeha, he will be bound to fight for you. Eh, Ngati?"

The savage gave vent to a fierce shout, and went through his former performance, but with more flourish, as if he were slaying numbers of enemies, and his facial distortion was hideous.

"Well, when I was a little un, and went to school," said Jem, "I used to get spanks if I put out my tongue. Seems as if it's a fine thing to do out here."

"Yes; it's a way they have when they're going to fight," said the Englishman thoughtfully. "S'pose it would mean trouble if I were to set you on to do it; but it wouldn't be at all bad for me if you were both of you to leave the ship and come ashore."

"To be cooked?" said Jem.

"Bah! Stuff! They'd treat you well. Youngster here's all right; Ngati would make him his pakeha."

"My pakeha," cried the chief, patting Don again. "Much powder; much gun."

"Pupil of mine," said the Englishman, smiling; "I taught him our lingo."

"What does he mean?" said Don; "that he'd give me a big gun and plenty of powder?"

The Englishman laughed.

"No, no; he wants you to bring plenty of guns and powder ashore with you when you come."

"When I come!" said Don, thoughtfully.

"I sha'n't persuade you, my lad; but you might do worse. You'd be all right with us; and there are Englishmen here and there beginning to settle."

"And how often is there a post goes out for England?"

"Post? For England? Letters?"

"Yes."

"I don't know; I've been here a long time now, and I never had a letter and I never sent one away."

"Then how should I be able to send to my Sally."

"Dunno," said the man. "There, you think it over. Ngati here will be ready to take care of you, youngster; and matey here shall soon have a chief to take care of him."

"I don't know so much about that," said Jem. "I should be ready enough to come ashore, but you've got some precious unpleasant ways out here as wouldn't suit me."

"You'd soon get used to them," said the Englishman, drily; "and after leading a rough life, and being bullied by everybody, it isn't half bad to be a chief, and have a big canoe of your own, and make people do as you like."

"But then you're a great powerful man," said Don. "They'd obey you, but they wouldn't obey me."

"Oh, yes, they would, if you went the right way to work. It isn't only being big. They're big, much bigger all round than Englishmen, and stronger and more active. They're not afraid of your body, but of your mind; that's what they can't understand. If I was to write down something on a bit of wood or a leaf—we don't often see paper here—and give it to you to read, and you did the same to me, that gets over them: it's a wonder they can't understand. And lots of other things we know are puzzles to them, and so they think us big. You consider it over a bit, my lad; and if you decide to run for it, I'll see as you don't come to no harm."

"And him too?"

"Oh, yes; he shall be all right too; I'll see to that."

"Shouldn't be too tempting for 'em, eh? Should I?" said Jem.

"Not for our tribes here," said the Englishman, laughing; "but I may as well be plain with you. If we went to war with some of the others, and they got hold of you—"

"Say, Mas' Don," said Jem interrupting the speaker, "I don't like being a sort of white nigger aboard ship, and being kept a prisoner, and told it's to serve the king; but a man can go into the galley to speak to the cook without feeling that he's wondering which jynte of you he shall use first. No thankye; it's a werry lovely country, but I want to get home to my Sally some day; and if we cut and run here, I'm afraid I never should."

"You turn it over in your own minds, both of you, my lads. There, my pipe's out, and I think we'll go. Stop here long?"

"Do you mean the ship, or here with the boat?"

"Here with the boat," said the Englishman, holding out his hand.

"Till our party comes back," said Jem.

"I may see you again," said the Englishman; and shaking hands, he said a few words to his companion, and then began to wade ashore.

The savage smiled and shook hands in turn, after which he patted Don on the shoulder again.

"My pakeha," he said, sharply; "Maori pakeha—my."

He followed his leader; and Don and Jem watched them till they disappeared amongst the abundant growth.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

DON'S DECISION.

"It's tempting, Jem," said Don.

"Yes, Mas' Don; and it's untempting, too. I had a book once about manners and customs of foreign parts, but it didn't say things so plain as you've found 'em here."

"Yes, I'm afraid it won't do, Jem. Even if we got away from the ship, it might be to a life that would be worse."

"That's it, sir, as I said afore, 'out of the frying-pan into the fire.' Wonder how long they'll be 'fore they come back."

"Not till sundown. I say, shall we try it or sha'n't we?"

Jem scratched his head, and seemed to be hesitating.

"I don't know what to say, Jem. If they treated us well on board, I should be disposed to say let's put up with our life till we get back home."

"But then they don't treat us well, Mas' Don. I don't grumble to you, but it's a reg'lar dog's life I lead; bully and cuss and swear at you, and then not even well fed."

"But we are to be paid for it, Jem," said Don, bitterly.

"Paid, Mas' Don!" replied Jem, contemptuously. "What paying will make up for what we go through?"

"And I suppose we should have prize-money if we fought and took a French ship."

"But then we're sent right out here, Mas' Don, where there's no French ships to fight; and if there were, the prize-money is shared among them as aren't killed."

"Of course."

"Well, how do we know as we shouldn't be killed? No, Mas' Don, they don't behave well to us, and I want to get home again, and so do you."

"Yes, Jem."

"P'r'aps it's cowardly, and they'll call it desertion."

"Yes, Jem."

"But we sha'n't be there to hear 'em call it so."

"No, Jem."

"Therefore it don't matter, Mas' Don; I've thought this all over hundreds o' times when you've been asleep."

"And I've thought it over, Jem, hundreds of times when you've been asleep."

"There you go again, sir, taking the ideas out of a man's brain. You shouldn't, Mas' Don. I always play fair with you."

"Yes, of course you do."

"Well, then, you ought to play fair with me. Now look here, Mas' Don," continued Jem, seating himself on the gunwale of the boat, so as to let his bare feet hang in the water.

"'Ware sharks, Jem," said Don quickly.

Jem was balanced on the edge, and at those words he threw himself backward with his heels in the air, and after he had struggled up with some difficulty, he stood rubbing his head.

"Where 'bouts—where 'bouts, sir?"

"I did not see a shark, Jem, but the place swarms with them, and I thought it was a risk."

"Well, I do call that a trick," grumbled Jem. "Hit my nut such a whack, I did, and just in the worst place."

"Better than having a leg torn off, Jem. Well, what were you going to say?"

"Bottom of the boat's nearly knocked it all out of my head," said Jem, rubbing the tender spot. "What I meant to say was that I was stolen."

"Well, I suppose we may call it so."

"Stolen from my wife, as I belongs to."

"Yes, Jem."

"And you belongs to your mother and your Uncle Josiah, so you was stolen, too."

"Yes, Jem, if you put it in that way, I suppose we were."

"Well, then," said Jem triumphantly, "they may call it cowardly, or desertion, or what they like; but what I say is this, a man can't be doing wrong in taking stolen goods back to them as they belong to."

"No, Jem, I s'pose not."

"Very well then, Mas' Don; the question is this—Will you or won't you?"

"I will, Jem."

"First chance?"

"Yes, I am decided."

"That's a bargain then, my lad. So shake hands on it. Why! How rough and hard and tarry your hands have grown!"

"Look out, Jem!"

Don caught hold of the grapnel rope ready to haul up and get away from the shore, but Jem seized his hand.

"It's all right, Mas' Don. Only them two running back with a basket, and I'm in that sort o' way of thinking that they've only got to coax me a bit, and swear as there shall be no tattooing and meat-pie nonsense, and I'd go ashore with them now."

"No, Jem, that would not do till we know a little more of them, and I can't help hesitating now it comes to the point."

"That's just what I felt, Mas' Don," said Jem, with a perplexed look on his face.

"Come, Jem, who's stealing some one else's ideas now?"

"Like fruit?" said the tattooed Englishman, coming down to the water's edge.

"That depends," said Jem, dubiously. "What is it?"

"Karaka," said their new friend, offering a basket of an olive-like fruit.

"Good to eat?"

"Yes; try it."

"S'pose you eat some first," said Jem suspiciously.

The Englishman laughed, and took some of the fruit, and began to chew it.

"Afraid these would drug you so that I could steal the boat?"

"I didn't know," said Jem sulkily. "Wouldn't be the first who has stolen a boat, I suppose."

Don took some of the berries, and began to eat, and this emboldened Jem, who tasted one in a very suspicious and doubting way.

"Hullo!" he said, with his countenance brightening; "know what these here taste like, Mas' Don?"

"Very mellow apple?"

"No; like the medlars that grew in my grandmother's garden."

"That's right!" said the Englishman; and his New Zealand companion began to select the best and ripest of the fruit from the basket and handed them to Don, watching him eat with what was meant for a pleasant smile; but as his face resembled one that had been carved in a piece of mahogany, and afterwards ornamented with streaks and scrolls, the effect was more repellent than attractive.

"My pakeha," said the great fellow with a childlike show of satisfaction; and he looked from one to the other and laughed.

"Here, he's took to you regular, youngster; only look out, for he'll want utu for it some time. Eh, Ngati? Utu?"

"Utu, utu" said the chief, smiling.

"What's utu?" said Jem, in a surly tone.

"Payment."

"Oh, then we'll give him a bit of 'bacco."

He offered the New Zealander his tobacco-bag, which was quietly annexed with a smile.

"There, we'll leave you the fruit. They're good eating, my lads, and if at any time before you go, you feel disposed to settle down with us, there's plenty of room, and it won't be very long before you'll grow into chiefs."

He nodded, and then said a few words to his companion, who smiled at the two strangers in turn, after which they went off together into the forest, and were gone.

"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem. "Don't know whether it arn't safer aboard ship after all."

"Why do you say that?" cried Don.

"Because whenever that black chap looks at me, he gives me the shivers."

"Why?"

"Seems to me that he's too fond of you, Mas' Don, and as if he was thinking how good you'd be."

"Nonsense!" cried Don, who was enjoying the fruit. "Have some more of these. I wonder whether there are any more good kinds of fruit grow ashore."

"Sure to be."

"Do you think if we left the ship, Jem, and found our way right along the coast to some place where we could live till the ship had gone, and then wait till another ship came, we could get enough to eat?"

"Dessay we could."

"Because if we did, we should be quite independent, and could do as we liked."

"To be sure, that's the way it seems to me; but just now, Mas' Don, I can only think of one thing."

"What's that, Jem?"

"How to get a bit of sleep, for the sun has made me as drowsy as a beedle."

"Well, then, sit down and sleep."

Jem wanted no persuasion, and in five minutes he was breathing very heavily, while Don sat watching the beauties of nature, the clouds of steam floating above the volcanic island, the wondrous sheen of the sea in the sun, the great lace-like tree-ferns which drooped over the mossy growth at the forest edge, and the beautiful butterflies which floated about like gaily-painted flowers in the golden light.

Every now and then there was the sweet note of some bird ringing clearly in the air; then a loud and piercing screech heralded the coming of a parrot or cockatoo, which seemed tame enough to care little for the stranger who was watching its actions.

Then all would be still again—a dreamy, sleepy stillness that was wonderfully attractive to Don as he sat with his eyes half-closed. In the distance he could see some of the Maoris coming and going in a listless, careless way, as if their life was a very pleasant indolence without a care.

It was very beautiful and wonderfully attractive. On board the ship there were hard work, hard living, peremptory orders, and what seemed to the proud boy a state of slavery, while on shore offered itself a life of ease where there would be no battling with storm, and risk of war or shipwreck.

Why should he not take advantage of this or some other opportunity, and steal ashore?

It would be desertion, and setting aside the punishment held out to the one who forsook his ship after being forced into His Majesty's navy, there was a feeling troubling Don that it would be dishonourable to go.

On the other side there was home, the strong desire to be free, and a love of adventure prompting him to escape.

"No," he said decidedly at last; "it would be cowardly and base to desert. They treat me badly, but not hardly enough to make me run away. I'll stop and bear it like a man."

Somehow Don felt lighter in heart after coming to this determination; and after looking round and wondering how long the explorers would be before they returned, and also wishing he could have been of the party, he leaned his elbows on the side of the boat and gazed down into the clear water, and through it at the beautiful lace-like pattern made by the sun, casting the netted shadow of the ripples on the soft pebbly sand.

Now and then a shoal of fish glided in and dashed away. Then one brilliantly decked in gold and silver and blue came floating by, and Don watched it eagerly, wishing the while that he had a line.

He was leaning over the side in this way, gazing down at the water, now about four feet deep where the boat had swung, when he became aware of something pale and shadowy some little distance off. Looking at it in a sloping direction made the ocean water seem so dense that he could not make out what it was for some little time. At first it seemed to be a dimly-seen patch of seaweed; then it appeared to be too regular and rounded, and it struck him that it must be a large transparent jelly-fish floating in with the tide, till he made out that it was continued backward from him, and that it was larger than he had imagined; and as he looked the object gradually grew plainer and more distinct. It was still shadowy and grey, and had a peculiar, strange attraction, which made him lean more over the side till a curious nightmare-like sensation came over him, and as he realised that the object was alive, and that he was looking down at two strange dull eyes, he felt that he could not shrink back, although the creeping chilly feeling which came over him seemed like a warning of danger.

Then it all appeared more like a dream, in which he was striving hard to get away, and all the time obliged to crouch there gazing at that creature whose eyes were fixed upon him, and which imperceptibly grew plainer to his sight.

The intensity of the position grew more and more painful during what appeared to be a long time. He tried to call to Jem, who was asleep not six feet away, but his mouth felt dry. He endeavoured to reach out and kick him, but he could not stir, and still the creature advanced till, all at once, there was a tremendous disturbance in the water; something seemed to rise and strike him a violent blow in the chest, and the next moment he was seated in the bottom of the boat, which was rocking violently, and staring stupidly at Jem, who sat up staring back.

"What yer do that for?" cried Jem angrily. "I'd only just closed my eyes."

"I did not do anything," faltered Don, shivering.

"Yes, you did!" cried Jem. "Asked me to sit up and watch, and I'd ha' done it. Needn't ha' played tricks."

"I—I—"

"There, don't say you didn't, Mas' Don. Boat's rocking now, and you'd better swab up that water. Nice row there'd be if the skipper come back and found the boat all wet."

Jem picked up the swab and began to remove the water himself, and in doing so he noticed Don's face.

"Why, hullo, Mas' Don! What's the matter? You look as white as—Why, what now?"

Jem was about to lean over the side and wring the swab, when Don sprang astern and dragged him back.

"Look! Look!" he cried, pointing.

Jem followed the direction of the pointing finger, and shrank away with a shudder.

"What? A shark!" he exclaimed.

"Yes; it rose at me out of the water, and struck me in the chest, and I fell back, and so did he."

"Ugh!" ejaculated Jem, as he seized the boathook, and rested it on the gunwale.

"Don't touch, it," whispered Don; "it may spring out of the water at you."

"It had better not," said Jem. "Hah!"

He drove the boathook down with all his might, striking the great fish just as it was slowly rising toward the surface, close to the boat; and so well aimed was the stroke, that there was a tremendous swirl in the water, the side near Jem resounded with a heavy blow from the fish's tail, and the boathook seemed to be snatched out of the striker's hand to go slowly sailing away oceanward.

"Look at that!" cried Jem. "Why, I must have driven it right into him. How are we to get it back?"

"Watch it," said Don, excitedly. "It will come out and float directly."

Don's prophecy did not come to pass, for as they watched, they saw about a foot of the boathook shaft stand sloping out of the water, and go here and there in a curious manner.

"Let's row after it," suggested Don.

"Wouldn't be no good, Mas' Don; and we've got nothing to fight him with but pistols. Let him be, and the thing will soon wriggle out."

Jem proved as far wrong as his companion, for, after a time, as they watched and saw the end of the shaft bob here and there; it suddenly disappeared about fifty yards away.

"Why, Mas' Don," said Jem, laughing, "it's like fishing; and after biting ever so long, the float's gone right under water. Now's your time. Strike!"

"And we've no line," said Don, who was beginning to get rid of his nervous sensation.

"No, we haven't a line," said Jem. "Keep your eye on the place where he went down; we mustn't lose that hitcher. Say, it won't do to try and swim ashore. That's a shark, that is, and a big one, too. Did he hurt you?"

"Not much. It was like a tremendous blow with somebody's fist. Look!"

"Told you so!" cried Jem. "Here he comes with a rush to give us back the boathook."

"Or to attack the boat," said Don, as the end of the shaft suddenly appeared away to their right; and then came rapidly nearer in a direct line for where they were.

"Not he," said Jem sturdily. "Too stupid."

All the same, there was soon a peculiar rising in the water coming direct for them, as the boathook seemed to plough through the sea, which rapidly grew shallower. Onward it came, nearer and nearer, till Jem gave a warning shout, and placed one foot on the side ready to plunge overboard.

"Don't do that, Jem; it's certain death!" cried Don.

"Don't you stop, Mas' Don; that's certain death, too. Let's swim ashore. Now, my lad, now, now. Don't stop a fellow; don't!"

Jem shouted these words excitedly, as Don clung to him and held him back, gazing wildly all the time at the disturbed water, as the great fish swiftly approached, till, just as it was within a few yards, the shallowness of the water seemed to startle it, making it give quite a bound showing half its length, and then diving down with a kind of wallow, after which the occupants of the boat saw the wooden pole go trailing along the surface, till once more it was snatched, as it were, out of sight.

"Don't seem as if he's going to shake it out," said Jem.

"You must have driven the spike in right over the hook, and it acts like a barb. What a blow you must have given!"

"Well, I hit as hard as I could," said Jem. "He was coming at me. Can you see it now?"

"No."

"Keep a sharp look-out; it's sure to come up sometime."

The sharp look-out was kept; but they did not see the boathook again, though they watched patiently till nearly sundown, when a hail came from the woods; and as the boat-keepers got up the grapnel and ran the light vessel in shore, the captain and his men appeared slowly to their left, and came down as if utterly wearied out.

"Look at 'em, Mas' Don; they've been having a fight."

Jaded, their clothes torn in all directions, coated with mud, and with their faces smeared and scored, the blood stains on their cheeks and hands gave the returning party all the appearance of those who had been engaged in a fight for life.

But it had only been an encounter with the terrible thorns and spines of the wild land they had explored, and the wounds, much as they had bled, were but skin deep.

The boat-keepers leaped out, and ran the stern in as close as they could, and the captain was in the act of stepping in, placing a hand on Don's shoulder to steady himself, worn out as he was with his long tramp, when it seemed to Don that he felt the cold, slimy touch of a shark gliding up against his bare legs, and with a start of horror he sprang sidewise, with the result that the captain, who was bearing down upon the lad's shoulder, fell sidewise into the sea.

"You clumsy idiot!" cried the captain; and forgetting himself in his annoyance, worn out as he was, and irritable from his great exertions, he caught at Don's extended hand, and then as he rose struck the boy a heavy blow with his doubled fist right in the chest.

Don staggered heavily, fell into the water, and then struggled up drenched as the captain was before him. Then, forgetting in his hot rage everything about their relative positions and the difference in age, the boy made for the tall, frowning officer before him, and would have struck him in his blind wrath but for Bosun Jones, who had seen everything, and now hastily interposed.

"No, no, my boy," he said. "Keep back, you are too wet to do any good. Allow me, sir."

Don shrank back, realising the heinousness of the social sin he was about to commit, and a dead silence fell on the group, the men staring wonderingly as the captain accepted Bosun Jones' help, stepped into the boat, and stood wringing himself.

"Why, the young dog was going to strike me!" cried the captain.

"Surely not, sir," said the boatswain hastily. "Only going to help you, sir."

"Help me! I believe he was going to hit out. Here, sir, what made you start away like that?"

"He thought it was a shark, sir," cried Jem. "One's been about the boat all the aft'noon."

"Hold your tongue, sir!" cried the captain sternly. "Here, you boy, what made you flinch!"

"Thought I felt the shark touch me, sir," said Don, sullenly.

"Oh, then I am to be thrown into the water because you are a cowardly young idiot," cried the captain. "I'll talk to you to-morrow. In with you, my lads, and give way."

"There's no boathook!" cried the coxswain; and on the keepers being called to account, their story was received with such manifest doubt, that Don writhed and sat sullenly in his place in the boat, as it was rowed back to the sloop.

"Rather an absurd story that, Jones—about the boathook," said the captain as he stepped on board. "Mind it is reported to-morrow morning. I believe the young scoundrel was going to strike me."

"But you struck him first," said the boatswain to himself, as he saw the captain descend. "Hot-headed young rascal. Ah! Here, Lavington, what about that boathook? Let's have the simple truth. One of the Maoris stole it, and you were afraid to speak?"

"I was not afraid to speak the truth, sir," said Don; "and I told it."

"But that's such a wild story. Your messmate could not have driven it into a shark over the hook."

"I don't know whether it was driven in over the hook, sir," replied Don; "but it stuck in the fish's back and would not come out."

The boatswain looked at him thoughtfully, while Don waited to hear his words.

"Look here, Lavington," he said, "I liked you, my lad, from the first, and I should be sorry for you to be in serious trouble. I have been your friend, have I not?"

"I can't see much friendship in dragging one away from home," said Don, coldly.

"I had my duty to do, young man, and a sailor is not allowed to ask questions as to what's right or wrong."

"But I was treated like a criminal," said Don.

"You were treated far better than pressed men are as a rule especially those who try to break away. But I can't argue that with you. You and your companion are king's men now, or king's boys, and have to do your duty. Let's come back to to-day's work. The captain's offended, and I want to save you from trouble if I can."

"It's very kind of you, sir," said Don.

"Now tell me this. Do you know what you were going to do when the captain knocked you backwards?"

Don was silent.

"Well, I'll tell you," said the boatswain. "You were going to strike him again. That's the truth, is it not?"

Don remained silent.

"It is the truth. Well, have you any idea of what a bit of madness that would have been here?"

Don shook his head.

"Why, my good lad, you could not commit a greater crime. It means death."

"Does it, sir?"

"Does it, sir! Why, goodness me, my lad, you must be half mad."

"People are sometimes, sir, when they are hit."

"Yes, that's true enough; but you must master your temper. Save all that sort of thing up till you fight the French, and then you will be allowed to grow quite mad if you like. Now once more, about that boathook. You did not lose it?"

"Yes, sir; we did lose it."

"Ah, I thought so."

"Because the great fish carried it off."

"Humph! Well, go and get yourself dry. If you are lucky, you will hear no more about this, only have the cost of the boathook deducted out of your pay, and perhaps the captain will have forgotten all about your conduct by to-morrow."

"What did he say to you?" said Jem, as Don went below.

Don told him.

"Pay for the boathook?" said Jem. "Well, I'll do that, my lad. But what did he say—the skipper would forget it by to-morrow?"

"Yes, Jem."

"I hope he will."

"But I can't forget that he hit me," said Don sternly.

"Now, now, Mas' Don, you mustn't speak like that."

"And you must not speak like that, Jem,—Master Don. You'll have some of the men hear you."

"Well, I'll mind; but you mustn't think any more about that, my lad. He's captain, and can do as he likes. You were going to hit him, weren't you?"

"Yes, Jem, I'm afraid I was. I always feel like that if I'm hurt."

"But you mustn't now you're a sailor. Say, my lad, things looks rather ugly, somehow. Think the captain will punish you?"

"We shall see, Jem."

"But hadn't we better—I say, my lad," he whispered, "we could swim ashore."

"And the shark?"

"Ugh! I forgot him. Well, take a boat, and get right away, for I've been thinking, Mas' Don, it's a very horrid thing to have hit your officer."