"Stand aside!" roared the slaver skipper, raising a pistol, but it was not fired, for as the two blacks whirled their bars about and fought on, Mark gave a cheer, his men followed suit, and, taking the schooner's crew in the rear, they were scattered at the first charge.

What followed was a series of furious, short hand-to-hand conflicts, men being driven in among the blacks, who came on now wild with excitement. They seized their enemies and, in spite of their struggles, hurled them overboard to swim for the shore, till only the skipper was left, and he was being hunted from place of vantage to place of vantage, till he made a dash and ran down into the cabin. But the biggest of the blacks, one of the two armed with capstan bars, rushed down after him, followed by his brave companion, and the next minute there was the sound of a plunge, evidently from the cabin window.

Mark and Tom Fillot rushed to the stern together, and looked over.

"Have they killed him?" said the midshipman, hoarsely.

"No, sir; he's swimming like a seal—the warmint. He'll reach the shore. But hadn't you better get us together, sir? The niggers may have a turn at us now. P'r'aps they don't know we're friends."

"Oh yes they do, Tom; they must have seen how we fought for them." But all the same the lad gave a long piercing whistle, and his men clustered about him, ready for the blacks, who were now coming aft in a body.

"It means another fight, sir," whispered Tom. "Can't anybody say in nigger lingo as we're friends?"

"Yes, friends; all friends," cried a harsh voice, as the great, perfectly nude, black sprang up out of the hatchway, and threw down his heavy wooden bar, an example followed by the other, while, as the moon now shone full upon their convulsed and excited faces, Tom Fillot burst into a roar of laughter, rushed forward, and slapped first one and then the other on the bare shoulder, yelling out,—

"Here's a game, mates; why, it's old Soup and Taters. Why, my black-mugged messmates, we thought you was both on you drowned. What's become of your tog-a-ree?"

The blacks' faces relaxed into a broad smile, as, led by Mark, the men crowded round to shake hands warmly, while the crowd of slaves set up a peculiar cry, and danced about them, waving their arms, ending by going down upon their knees about Mark and laying their foreheads on the deck, while the women in the background set up a strangely wild wail.

"Then you two escaped," cried Mark, as soon as the excitement had subsided a little; and the big black tried to explain, but could only get out the words, "All right, messmate," and then spoke volubly in his own tongue.

"Never mind, sir; they did get off," cried Tom Fillot. "They must have been chucked below along with the rest, and then kep' prisoners."

"And a good job for us, Tom," said Mark.

"Ay, ay, sir, and no mistake, for we couldn't have took the schooner again without them."

"There, silence!" cried Mark. "These men must keep the blacks in order, while you, my lads, get the arms together. We must have a strong watch kept. The scoundrels may try to retake the schooner."

"They'd better, sir," growled Tom, who was in the act of restoring his cutlass to its sheath. "I didn't use this," he muttered, "but if they came again I'm sorry for the chap as hits at me."

The watch was set, and when Mark could extricate himself from the crowd of blacks who pressed about him, he looked round for Soup and Taters, even going so far as to ask for them, rather unwillingly, by these names, but they were missing.

He forgot all about them directly in the business and excitement which followed, for there was much to be done. One of his first tasks was to have the schooner's boat run up to the davits, and Mr Russell carefully lifted out, and borne down into the Yankee skipper's comfortable cabin. Then he found out more and more how multitudinous are the demands made upon an officer. In this case he had to play the part of surgeon as well, for many of the blacks were, like his own men, suffering from contusions, though fortunately no one seemed to be seriously injured; and the brilliant moonlight was a great aid in his endeavour to restore something like order on board.

"I want those two fellows," cried Mark at last, angrily; "they could be of so much use in managing the blacks."

"Here they are, sir," cried one of the men. "They've been below."

"What have they been doing below—getting at the provisions?"

He asked no more, for at that moment the two men came forward, smiling, in their neat white man-o'-war garments, which had been confiscated by the slaver captain when he turned them below into the hold with the rest of the blacks, little thinking that by this act he was contriving the means of restoring them all to liberty.

"Hah! that's better!" cried Mark smiling. "Now then see to these poor creatures. I'm going to serve out something for them to eat and drink."

With the help of a little pantomime he made them readily understand, and they went forward to the blacks, who at once sat down quietly on the deck and waited.

At the words eating and drinking, Tom Fillot had gone below, and by the time his officer was ready to show the way to the stores, biscuit and water were being served out and eagerly attacked by all.

"And now I think it's our turn," said Mark, who had become conscious of a peculiar sensation of faintness.

"I've put something ready for you in the cabin, sir," whispered Tom Fillot.

But Mark was too sensible of his responsibility to go below to eat and rest, and his refreshment consisted of the same food as was partaken of by the rest—to wit, biscuit moistened with water.

For there was the watch to visit, the tide to be examined for the hour of its change, and a score of other little matters to attend to, in addition to noting Mr Russell's condition from to time.

"How soon will it be high water?" asked Mark at last, after wearily watching the constant flow.

"Must be soon, sir," said Tom Fillot, who seemed to have dropped into the position of first lieutenant. "Beg pardon, sir, you mean to sail with the ebb?"

"Certainly. We must not stay here. That scoundrel may return with help."

"You're right, sir. Sooner we're out at sea the better I shall like it."

"Exactly. I want the men to go below and have a good rest. Poor lads! they have been slaves."

"To save slaves, sir; but beg pardon, sir; you won' be offended?"

"Offended? No, Tom Fillot; you've been too good a friend," cried the midshipman, eagerly. "What were you going to say?"

"Only this, sir. What we're most feared of is the Yankee skipper coming back!"

"Of course."

"Then why not strengthen the watch, sir?"

"How? I wish I could."

"Oh, I'll soon show you how, sir. You get Soup and Taters, and make 'em understand what you want, and it will be all right."

"But what do I want, Tom?"

"I'll show you, sir, and I think you can make 'em understand. Tell 'em to pick out half-a-dozen of the strongest young blacks, and we'll give 'em a cutlash and a belt apiece, and set 'em to keep guard by the schooner's side."

"But would it be safe, Tom?" cried Mark eagerly.

"Not very, sir, for the skipper and his men. Soup'll explain it to 'em, and once they know, you see if they don't do all that dooty splendid, and leave us free to navigate the schooner."

"Navigate the schooner, Tom?" said Mark, rather dolefully, as he thought of his shortcomings in that direction.

"Oh, it'll be easy enough, sir. All we've got to do is to sail doo north and hug the shore. We can't go wrong."

Soup and Taters were summoned, and grasped the idea readily enough, with the result that in a very short time they had under their command six of the blacks keeping watch and ward against surprise, leaving the weary crew opportunity for getting up the anchor when the tide turned. Then a sail was hoisted for steering purposes, and the men gave a hearty cheer as they began to drop down the river with their prize.

"Lor', mates!" said Dick Bannock, "who'd ha' thought of our getting of her after all. Shows as it never does to say die. 'Persewere,' says you, 'and never mind the difficoolties.' What yer larfin' for, Tom Fillot? Don't I say what's true?"

"I warn't laughing at you, messmate, but at the niggers keeping watch."

"Ay, they do look rum," said Dick, smiling; "but they do splendid. Seem proud o' their uniform too, eh?"

"Yes," said Joe Dance, who was leaning his back against the bulwark, "but you might give 'em a bit of something else to put on."

"Well, yes, I might—a sword-belt ain't much for a man to wear, and his legs would be very thin to get 'em hid behind a scabbard. But we shall see, my lad, we shall see."



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A STRANGE AWAKENING.

"What's a wonder to me, sir," said Tom Fillot, respectfully, "is as no one seems to have been killed."

"But we don't know that," said Mark, sharply. "Tired as I was when I lay down last night, I couldn't sleep for thinking of those men. Do you think they could reach the shore?"

"Reach the shore, sir! Why not? What was to prevent 'em?"

"Some of them were half-stunned when they were dashed overboard."

"Then the water would make 'em come to, sir, and freshen 'em up. Don't you wherrit yourself about that, sir. I saw 'em all swimming for the bank, and they'd get there before the crocks woke up to try for 'em."

"Crocodiles?"

"Oh yes, sir, I should think there'd be plenty of them in the river: sure to be in a hot country like this."

"I wish I could feel sure they were safe."

Tom Fillot's look at the young officer was a mingling of admiration and contempt.

"It's very nyste of you, sir, to think so much about the enemies as nearly killed our Mr Russell, I didn't think nothing o' them. I was hard at it about our poor chaps as has been knocked about, and the way they bear it all without hollering is, I says, sir, a credit to a Englishman, let alone a Scotchman such as Dick Bannock is. As I says afore, it's wonderful as none of us was killed, being whacked over the head as we was, 'sides being nigh drownded."

"It was wonderful, Tom, and if only poor Mr Russell would come round, I should be as happy as could be. But he doesn't show a sign of recovery."

"No, sir, he don't, but there's the t'other side o' the book in keeping account like—he don't show no sign o' getting worse and dying. You know what's the matter with him, o' course?"

"Matter?" said Mark, looking at the man wonderingly, as the schooner glided along, a mile away from the coast, the evening after their struggle in the river. "Of course I do. He was beaten about the head worse than any of us."

"'Zactly, sir; but did you examine on him?"

"Yes, and retied the bandage about his head."

"That's good, sir; but you didn't find out quite what was the matter."

"I thought I knew enough."

"Yes, sir, but I did examine him when you sent me below to see how he was, and I found out."

"What?" cried Mark, eagerly.

"Well, sir, he's got the same as an old messmate o' mine had in my last ship—the Foogoose."

"The what?"

"Foogoose, sir."

"Oh, the Fougueux."

"That's her, sir. Well, we was up aloft shortening sail on a rough day, and Micky missed the stirrup just as the ship give a regular pitch. 'I'm off, Tommy,' he shouts, and down he went head fust on to the yard below, and then Snoots off on to one of the stays, and from there on to the deck, where every one thought he was killed. But he warn't, only onsensible because his skull was dinted in, and the doctor said it rested on his brain; and that's what's the matter with our lufftenant, for I felt his head."

"And did the man die?" cried Mark.

"No, sir; the doctor tackled him, and lifted up the bit o' broken bone, and made him a better man than ever; and that's what Mr Whitney'll do with Mr Russell, sir, as soon as we get back to the Naughtylass."

"Oh, if we only could get back, Tom!"

"All right, sir; give us time; and the longer the better, I say, sir, for if you goes aboard with us lads looking all chipped and knocked about like we are, Cap'en Maitland'll be arksing you why you ain't took better care of your men."

"Oh, I don't mind that, Tom," cried Mark, triumphantly; "I've got the schooner, and the slaves."

"You have, sir, and it's such a splendid job for a young orficer like you to have done, that Mr Howlett'll be ready to eat his head off like with disappyntment because he warn't in the game. You've done it this time, sir. Why, our skipper ought to put you down for a swab on your shoulder as soon as you've got one big enough to carry it."

"Now, no joking, Tom Fillot, because I'm friendly with you. Recollect I'm your officer."

"Right, sir, I will. I didn't mean no harm. It's only a way my tongue's got o' saying things. I say, sir, just look at them poor half-starved blacks. 'Most makes me feel like a girl, sir, and soft, to see how happy they are."

"Yes, poor creatures. But tell me, Tom. It's a terrible responsibility for me with this vessel and all those people. Are they likely to make a fight for their liberty?"

"Why, they've got it, ain't they, sir?"

"Yes, but they don't understand it. They may think it's only a change of masters, and rise against us."

"Not they, sir. Why, see how they looks at us, sir. They'd lay down and let you walk over 'em, sir. Why, I've seen all them poor women look as if they could eat you, sir. I don't mean with their teeth, but with their eyes. They're safe enough, sir. They've been well-fed on Soup and Taters—I mean them two black messmates of ourn's talked to 'em till they understands about being under the Union Jack, and all that sort o' thing."

"I hope they do, Tom, for it makes me very uneasy."

"Course it do, sir. But now just look here, sir; there's nothing for you to fear, so if you'll take my advice, you'll go and have three or four hours' sleep below."

"What?"

"I mean it, sir. You can't keep on without rest, so go and have it. Joe Dance and me'll keep the schooner steady on her course till you've had your dowse, and then you come up and give us a turn below."

"I can't leave the deck, Tom."

"Yes you can, sir, and you must. What are we going to do if you run yourself aground and break up? Orficers want rest like other folk. Look here, sir; you're dead beat. Out, ain't you? Why, you warn't down below an hour."

"Yes, I feel done up, Tom, but—"

"You can't do everything yourself, sir, and must get yourself fit to keep going. Now look round, sir. There's Soup and Taters keeping guard; shore's a mile away; light breeze sending us norrard; Joe Dance at the wheel. Could you find a better time for a snooze?"

Mark hesitated. He knew that he could not hold out. It was within an hour of sundown, and the blacks were lying about forward in restful content; the schooner's sails were gently filled, and there was not a cloud in the sky. No better opportunity could be found for a rest, and, after giving strict commands to Tom Fillot to call him at eight bells, he went below, bent over Mr Russell, and shudderingly satisfied himself that Tom Fillot was right.

"It's horrible," he muttered; "but it may not mean death;" and, throwing himself on a locker, he dropped off into a deep sleep almost instantly, and then sprang to his feet directly after, as he imagined, roused up by a tremendous shock, followed by a heavy thud; and he knew what was coming then—to wit, the rush of water, as a wave deluged the schooner from stem to stern, while all was so pitchy dark that he could not for the moment make out where the door of the cabin lay.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

A RESPONSIBLE POSITION.

Confused and still half-steeped in sleep, Mark blundered about for a few moments before he reached the door, and was then thrown back, for the schooner heeled over, and then there was a tremendous bump, which made her shiver.

"Mr Vandean, sir, quick! All hands on deck!" came in familiar tones, as the lad struggled to the door once more, and then up through the hatchway, to find the schooner on her beam ends rushing through the water, which was foaming around them. Then a wave once more struck her, deluging the deck, and making her shiver as she rose again upon an even keel.

"Where are you, Tom Fillot?" shouted the midshipman.

"Here, sir. Wheel," came back; and the next minute he was beside Tom Fillot and Joe Dance, who were trying to steady the vessel as she rode on through the surf.

"Where are we?" shouted Mark, his voice sounding pitifully small amidst the roar of the waves.

"Ashore, 'mong the breakers," cried Tom with a groan. "But I think we're 'most through 'em, sir."

Just then, dimly-seen by its white crest, a huge billow rose up before them, as if to crush the little vessel into matchwood, but she lifted and passed right over it, and then over another and another, for there was a brisk breeze from off the shore; and after a few minutes of terrible peril the beautifully built vessel glided into smooth water, rapidly leaving the roaring surf behind, though the rollers extended far enough out, and the schooner rose and fell as she sailed away north-west at a rapid rate.

Not another word had been spoken, though all the men were on deck clinging to the bulwarks, and in the full expectation that the vessel would go to pieces next time she struck; but, now that the peril was past, Dick Bannock was sent below to report on the water, while the rest rapidly rigged the pump ready for use.

To their great relief, though, the young sailor came on deck to declare the schooner dry as a bone; and now to hide his own self-reproach, Mark turned to the men for an explanation.

"I had no business to go below," he said to himself; land then aloud, "How was this, Fillot? Who was at the wheel?"

"Me, sir," said the cutter's coxswain. "Me it were, and I don't want no one else to be blamed. Tom Fillot was forrard seeing to the watch, and that them blacks was—them blacks was—them blacks was—"

"Well, what?" cried Mark, angrily. "What do you mean, man?"

"Dunno, sir—dunno, I'm sure," said the coxswain, humbly. "It's my head won't go proper, sir. I was standing there by the wheel one minute, sending her along right enough, and the next minute was—was—was—was ashore with the breakers all around."

"Why, you went to sleep!" roared Mark. "You! in charge of the wheel, went to sleep!"

"Nay, sir. I never went to sleep. I was steering, and them blacks was—them blacks was—them blacks was—say, Tom Fillot, what was that along o' them blacks?"

"Oh, they're all right, messmate," growled Tom Fillot. "Fact is, sir, he ain't quite right about his main truck yet, and I oughtn't to ha' let him take his trick at the wheel."

"I ought not, you mean, Tom," said Mark, bitterly. "I had no business to go below."

"Nay, don't say that, sir, 'cause it was your dooty to. Fact is, sir, we was all so knocked about in the upper works that there ain't a man on us good for much; and you see poor old Joe Dance's got it bad next to Mr Russell, sir, only we thought him so much better."

"Yes, I'm better," said the coxswain. "All right again, mate, but I can't get over it about them blacks. What was it as—"

"Here, what are you doing with that there wheel?" cried Tom Fillot, rushing at the man, and thrusting him aside. For Dance had suddenly grown excited, and was turning the spokes first in one direction and then in another in a most reckless way, while as he was thrust off, he staggered for a few steps, and then sat down on the wet deck to hold his head with both hands and rock it to and fro.

"Want to send us ashore among the breakers again?" growled Fillot.

"Nay, my lad, nay. There's something wrong in my head, and it wants fishing or splicing, sir. It won't go. Them blacks has got in it somehow, and I can't get 'em out."

"Go below and lie down, Dance," said Mark, gently. "You'll be better after a good long sleep."

"Sleep, sir? No, I can't sleep. Who's to take my trick at the wheel? Point or two more, sir; and, Tom Fillot lad, what was it about them blacks?"

"Help him down below," said Mark, and two of the men lifted the poor fellow to his feet and then helped him down to the place prepared for the crew close to the skipper's cabin.

"He'll come round again, sir," said Tom from the wheel. "Spoke or two loose in his steering gear, that's all. Lucky I got to him in time, or we should have been ashore hard and fast."

"Was that on a sandbank we struck?" said Mark.

"Yes, sir, twice over; and if the masts had gone it would have been all over with us. But plenty of sail on and a nice breeze helped us to scrape off, though my heart was in my mouth all the time."

"The schooner must be wonderfully well-built, Tom."

"Well-built and ill built, sir. First as to timbers, second as to use, sir. Why, some of our merchant craft would have been shook to pieces like one o' them card houses as we used to build when we was little ones."

That morning, as they were sailing on over the calm waters, rising and falling slowly to the gentle Atlantic swell, it seemed hard to believe that they had been so near wreck only a few hours before. But Mark had only to turn his eyes eastward to where the great billows broke upon the shore, making a chaos of foaming, tumbling waters, to be convinced of the danger they had escaped.

The blacks soon forgot the scare, and lay basking about on deck perfectly happy, and ready to smile at the crew; and, saving a few cuts and bruises, which did not show, apparently very little the worse for their encounters. The swellings, too, on board the prize crew, to use Tom Fillot's way of expressing it, had diminished rapidly. A little too rapidly, Tom said.

"You see if we've got no marks to show the officers and men, they won't believe we've been in so much trouble, sir. My heye! wouldn't the skipper have given it to you, Mr Vandean, if you'd took us back without this craft."

Mark had plenty of anxieties to cope with. So long as the weather kept fine, he had no great difficulty about the navigation. There was the low-lying shore, two or three miles on their starboard bow, and as far as was possible this distance was kept to. Provision on board was ample; the water-casks had been well filled, and even if the store of this prime necessity had failed there would have been no great difficulty in running up one or other of the rivers for a fresh supply.

As to the blacks, the hours glided on, and there was very little to disturb Mark's confidence. The two sailors—Soup and Taters—paraded the deck forward with a great show of authority, to which their unclothed fellow-countrymen submitted with a very excellent grace; and it was evident that there was nothing to fear from them.

"They're rum sort of beggars, sir," Tom said.

"Why, Tom?"

"Well, sir, I ain't good at explaining what I mean, but it seems to me like this:—Give them enough to eat and drink, and plenty of sunshine to lie about in, that's about all they want."

"Yes, Tom, they're soon satisfied."

"That's so, sir, and they don't seem to have no memories. You'd think they'd all be fretting to get away ashore, and back home; but look at 'em: they don't, and it seems to me that they're not troubling themselves much about to-morrow or next day neither."

The young sailor appeared to be quite right, for hour by hour as the horrors of the slaver's hold grew more remote, the little crowd of blacks forward appeared to be more cheerful.

Mark's great trouble was the state of Mr Russell, who still lay calmly enough either below in the Yankee skipper's cot, or under an awning the sailors had rigged up on the deck. He ate and drank mechanically, but made not the slightest sign when spoken to, and for his sake Mark kept every stitch of sail on that the schooner could bear, so as to reach medical assistance as soon as possible.

Dance was decidedly better, but subject to fits of absence; and on these occasions Tom Fillot said he was mad as a hatter.

But in spite of the anxieties and the terrible feeling of responsibility, Mark found something very delightful in being the captain for the time being of the smart schooner which sailed swiftly along at the slightest breath of wind. There was the hot, hazy shore on his right, and the glistening sea on his left, an ample crew which he could recruit if he liked from the blacks, and all ready to obey his slightest order with the greatest alacrity. He felt at times as if he would be glad to sight the Nautilus, and so be relieved of all his cares; but, on the other hand, he could not help feeling that he would be sorry to give up and return to the midshipman's berth.

"I wish, though, that Bob Howlett was here," he said to himself, as he longed for a companion of his own age and position.

"I don't know, though," he said, directly after. "If Bob were here, he would not like to knuckle under and play second fiddle. Well, I shouldn't either. Perhaps it's best is it is, I'm captain, and can do as I like, only it isn't always nice to do as one likes, and I often feel as if it would be much nicer to have some one to order me."

But there was no one to order him, and with the whole responsibility upon his shoulders, he for the first time in his life began to realise what it meant to be the captain of a ship, answerable for everything thereon.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A HORRIBLE THOUGHT.

Two days glided by, during which Tom Fillot proved himself to be invaluable. The merry joker of the ship's company showed that he possessed plenty of sound common sense, and that he was an excellent seaman. Thrown, too, as he was, along with his young officer, he never presumed thereon, but, evidently feeling how great a burden there was on the lad's shoulders, he did all he could to lighten the load, by setting a capital example to his messmates of quick obedience, and was always suggesting little bits of seamanship, and making them seem to emanate from Mark himself. The consequence was that matters went in the most orderly way on board, and they steadily kept on north, north-west, or sometimes due west, according to the trend of the land.

"Easy enough thing, sir, navigation," Tom said, merrily, "if you've got nice calm weather, no rocks or shoals, and a fair line of coast to steer by."

"Yes, it's easy enough now, Tom," replied Mark.

"'Tis, sir; only I should like it better if it was right up in the north, where the sun don't set. One can't help feeling a bit scared sometimes when it's very dark. I was nearly coming las' night and asking leave to let go the anchor."

"If I get well out of this, Tom," said Mark, "I mean to study up my navigation. It's horrible to be so helpless. I'm ashamed, too, being in charge here, and obliged to trust to seeing the shore for a guide."

"Oh, that'll all come, sir, but it strikes me that as soon as the captain finds we don't get into port, he'll be sailing down after us."

"The sooner the better, Tom," said Mark. "But now then, tell me: how are we off for water?"

"Plenty yet, sir, and there's enough prog—beg pardon, sir, wictuals—to last us for some days; and—look, sir, look. Here's a chance."

"What? Where?" cried Mark, startled by the man's excitement.

"Another slaver coming round the point there. You must take that one too, sir, and then you can go into port with flying colours. Double flying colours, sir!"

Mark looked eagerly at the long, low vessel just creeping into sight in the distance, and his follower's words inspired him with an intense desire to act and make a second seizure. It was very tempting, but— Yes, there was a but, a big but, and a suppose in the way. His men were still anything but strong; and though the blacks were willing enough, it would not be wise to trust to them for help in an attack upon a vessel with possibly a strong crew.

His musings were interrupted by the sailor.

"Shall I alter our course, sir?" he said.

"No, Tom. Better not," replied Mark. "I was thinking."

"What about, sir—our being able to catch her?"

"No; about the dog and the shadow."

"What about him, sir? Was he in the sun?"

"You know the old fable about the dog with the piece of meat in his mouth, seeing his reflection in the stream and thinking it was another dog with a piece of meat."

"I did once, sir, but I've forgot," said Tom.

"Well, in his greediness he snapped at his shadow to get the other piece of meat, and dropped his own. Suppose I try to catch that other vessel and the crew prove too strong for me, and I lose this one?"

"Mr Vandean, sir! You a British orficer, and talk like that? It ain't greediness, sir, but you a-trying to do your dooty as the orficer as has succeeded Mr Russell, I know what you feel, sir—all the 'sponsibility."

"Yes, Tom; and that we are not strong enough to try experiments."

"Strong enough, sir? Why, there's that in our chaps now as'll make 'em go through anything. You say slaver to 'em, and it'll be like saying 'rats' to a dog. They'll be vicious to attack; and old Soup and Taters'll be as good as four strong men. You see if they ain't."

"It's very tempting, Tom, but—"

"Don't say but, sir. You make up your mind to take that vessel; give your orders; and we'll do it."

Mark shook his head.

"Oh, Mr Vandean, sir, look at her. She's another schooner about the same cut as this, and though she can see us, she isn't showing us her heels, for she don't know there's a man-o'-war's crew aboard, headed by the smartest young midshipman in the ryle navy."

"That'll do, Tom Fillot. No gammon, please."

"It ain't gammon, sir," cried Tom, sturdily, "but the solid truth. Think I'd come and ask you to do this if I didn't feel what a plucky young orficer you are? Why, the lads'll follow you anywheres. They like Mr Howlett, too, but do you think they'd follow him like they do you? Not they, sir."

"It's very tempting," said Mark, hesitating.

"Tempting, sir? Why, Captain Maitland and Mr Staples'd both go wild with delight if they got such a chance as has come right to you."

"And she isn't running away, Tom?"

"No, sir, but just quietly going on her course, and if you do the same it will bring you both close together, and like enough she'll try to speak you."

"Yes, Tom, it is very tempting, and if I could feel sure of taking her, I'd try."

"Don't you think anything about it, sir. You make up your mind to take her, and send me aboard, or go yourself, and she's yourn."

"If she's a slaver, Tom."

"Well, sir, what else can she be?"

"Trading vessel."

"Likely, sir!" cried Tom, with a laugh. "Trading schooner with masts and booms like that! She's made to sail, sir, and her cargo's contraband."

"I can't help feeling tempted, Tom."

"That's right, sir."

"I'll go below and see if Mr Russell can understand me this morning. I should like his advice at a time like this."

"Course you would, sir; and if he could give it, he'd say go in and win."

Mark went below, to find his officer lying perfectly still, with his eyes closed, and breathing easily, but there was no response to his words, and, hesitating still, and excited, he went back on deck, to find the schooner still gliding on her course, and the stranger well out now from the point.

"What did Mr Russell say, sir?" asked Tom.

Mark shook his head, and raising his glass, carefully inspected the distant vessel.

"Yes," he said at last; "she looks too smart fer a trader."

"She do, sir."

"And I don't like to run any risks, Tom Fillot."

"Oh Mr Vandean, sir!"

"But we're out here to deal a deathblow at the slavery traffic."

"To be sure we are, sir," cried Tom Fillot, excitedly.

"And it would be cowardly to give up such a chance."

"Cowardly—begging your pardon, sir—ain't half bad enough word for it, Mr Vandean? sir."

"One moment I feel that I ought not to risk it, and the next I feel that I ought, Tom," said Mark, slowly. "Safe and sure is the motto to go upon, but—Oh, I can't, as I am officer in command, stand still here and see that vessel go away, perhaps loaded with slaves, Tom Fillot. Wrong or right, I must do it."

"Three cheers for you, sir!" cried Tom, excitedly; "and there ain't no wrong in it, for if you made a mess of it you would still be doing right. Then now, sir, shall I have a little more canvas shook out, and alter her course, sir?"

"No," cried Mark, firmly.

"You won't try and take her, sir?" said the sailor, despondently.

"Indeed, but I will, Tom Fillot," cried Mark; "but if we begin to chase her, she'll be off, and sail perhaps as quickly as we do. We must trap her, Tom, by pretending to take no notice, and then be ready to go aboard."

"Why, of course, sir. My, what a dunder-headed beetle of a fellow I am. Cunning's the word."

"Yes," said Mark, decisively now. "Now, my lads, quick. Off with those duck frocks, all of you, and make yourselves untidy-looking. Tom Fillot, get that American flag ready to hoist if she signals us, and send the blacks below, all but our two and their gang. Let them lie down on the deck."

The blacks looked surprised at being sent down into the stifling hold, but Soup seemed to have some inkling of what was intended, and he spoke eagerly to his companion before talking very earnestly, and with a good deal of gesticulation, to the men whom he had selected for his followers. These appeared to understand what was on the way, looking earnestly at the distant vessel, and then taking the positions assigned to them when all was ready, and Tom Fillot burst into a hearty laugh.

"They'll walk into the trap beautiful, sir, see if they don't," he said. "Lor', sir, if you only could make yourself look like the Yankee skipper, we should be lovely."

Mark said nothing, but quietly went on with his preparations. He made the man at the wheel look as much as possible like an ordinary sailor, and transformed another in the same way. Then, counter-ordering his instructions about the men's duck frocks, he partly lowered down the boat with an armed crew, including Tom Fillot, with instructions to keep out of sight, and ready for him to drop and board the stranger later on.

Then, going below, he made a few alterations in his own dress, so as to conceal the fact that he was in uniform; threw his belt, dirk, jacket, and cap into the stern-sheets of the boat, and clapped a Panama hat, which he found in the cabin, upon his head. Then he walked about the deck in shirt and trousers, and with the Yankee skipper's big spy-glass under his arm.

The last thing he did was to plant two of the men forward, where they readily played their parts of standing looking over the bulwarks, and watching the coming vessel.

For she had altered her course and came steadily toward them, after hoisting her colours—the Stars and Stripes—the same flag being sent aloft by Dick Bannock at a word from Mark.

"Now, my lads," he said, "whatever you do in the boat, keep out of sight. If they catch a glimpse of you they'll be off, and we may never get alongside."

"Ay, ay, sir," came eagerly from the boat in which the two black sailors had also been stowed, each looking eager and excited about the work to come.

The wind was light, and a couple of hours passed, with Mark's steersman gradually edging the schooner nearer to the stranger, which, having the advantage of the wind, glided down to them, evidently meaning to speak them, and ask for news.

"It couldn't be better, sir," said Tom Fillot; "only if you would get one of the skipper's big cigars and smoke it as you walk about, they're sure to be using a spy-glass now and then."

"But I can't smoke, Tom."

"Then light it, sir, and only blow at it so as to make the smoke show now and again. Have a lighted lanthorn under the bulwarks, and shove the end in now and then. It'll make it all look so quiet and safe aboard that they'll walk right into the trap."

Mark did as he was requested, but with a good deal of discomfort; and then waited with a throbbing heart, and a strong desire to cough and sneeze from time to time as he marched about the deck, stopping to use his glass, and making out a tall, thin man similarly armed with a glass, and wearing a Panama hat as well.

But there was no sign of a black on board. Some half-dozen ordinary-looking sailors lounged about the deck, and save that it was such a smartly-built heavily-rigged craft, there was not a trace of her being anything but an ordinary trader.

Matters went exactly as Mark desired, the stranger schooner gliding nearer and nearer, while the midshipman's heart beat faster, and he trembled lest a glimpse should be caught of the armed boat hanging from the davits, with her keel just dipping into the water from time to time.

But by clever steering it was kept out of sight, and when the right moment came a turn or two of the wheel sent the schooner a little way ahead, and then another turn, and she swept round a little, her sails shivered, and she lost way, while the stranger hailed them as she came closer, and was thrown up head to wind.

By this time the two schooners were not above fifty yards apart, and a hail came in decidedly American tones,—

"I'll send a boat aboard."

There was a little movement, and Mark lay waiting for his time, for this action on the part of the stranger was thoroughly playing into his hands.

The American's boat was lowered down on the side farthest from them, with the skipper sitting aft with four men to row; and as her head appeared round the stern, Mark dropped over into his own boat. The falls were cast off as she dropped into the water, and bidding the men give way, she shot off round the schooner's bows, the Panama hat gave place to the naval cap, the jacket was hurried on, and away they went for the stranger, whose crew on board stared in astonishment over the bulwarks at the man-of-war's men, while a horrible thought struck the young officer.

He was going to seize the stranger vessel, but he had left his own almost unprotected, and the Yankee skipper was being rowed to her.

"I'm playing dog and the shadow, after all, Tom," he whispered, excitedly.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Suppose the Yankee seizes our prize while we try to take his schooner."

"Murder!" exclaimed Tom Fillot, leaping up in the stern-sheets. "I never thought of that."



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

TRADING WITH THE AMERICAN.

For a few brief moments Mark was ready to turn back and make sure of his prize, but every stroke was carrying him nearer to the stranger, and in less time than it takes to describe it, he found out that he had alarmed himself with his own bugbear.

For the Yankee skipper, apparently taken quite aback at the sight of the armed boat's crew, began by ordering his men to stop, and then turned and had himself rowed back as swiftly as possible, with the result that the boats reached the two sides of the second schooner nearly together. And as Mark scrambled up and over the stern, in spite of the menacing looks of three men at the side, who, however, fell back before Tom Fillot and those who followed, the Yankee master stepped over the bulwarks too, and advanced to meet Mark.

"How are yew?" he said, coolly. "Didn't know yew was coming aboard. Can yew trade me a barrel or two o' good whites flour? I'm running rayther short."

"Perhaps I can," said Mark, sharply, as he cast an eye over the deck. "What ship's this?"

"Ef yew'd looked at her starnboard yew'd hev seen, mister. She's the Mariar B Peasgood, o' Charleston, South Carlinar, trading in notions. What's yourn?"

"Prize to her Britannic Majesty's ship Nautilus."

"Prize schooner, eh?" said the American, coolly, gazing over Mark's shoulder at the graceful little vessel. "Wal, I am surprised. I said as she looked a clipper as could sail a few."

"Your papers, please."

"Eh? Oh, suttunly. Air yew an officer?"

"Yes," replied Mark, shortly. "Your papers, please."

"Wall, I thowt we was pretty smart, and made skippers of our boys in mighty good time, but you beat us. I give in. Ephrim, fetch up them thar papers outer my cabin."

A sour-looking fellow with a villainous grin slouched to the little cabin-hatch; and by this time the whole of the boat's crew, including the two blacks, and saving the coxswain, who held on to the chains, were aboard, Tom Fillot scanning the deck eagerly for some sign of the nefarious traffic, but none was visible.

"Guessed yew was pirates for a moment, mister," said the skipper. "Yew quite scarred me, and I kim back in a hurry, thinking yew meant robbery on the high seas. Hev a cigar?"

He held out a handful, which he had taken from his pocket, and all in the coolest, most matter-of-fact way.

"Thanks, no," said Mark. "I don't smoke."

"He—he!" laughed the American; "yew needn't be shamed on it. Yewr cap'en don't like it, p'r'aps; but I see yew pulling away at a cigar threw my glass."

Mark turned crimson.

"Needn't tell a cracker about it, squaire. Here we are," he continued, taking the papers from Ephraim—evidently his mate. "Hev a look at 'em, squaire; but I reckon if one of our officers was to board one of your traders, and ask for 'em, yewr folk'd make no end of a fizzle about it."

Mark felt uncomfortable as he took and glanced through the papers, which were all in the most correct style. There was not a point upon which he could seize; and without some grounds he had no right to search the vessel, whose hold looked to be closely battened down, while there was not a sound to suggest that there were slaves on board.

"We've made a mistake," he thought, as the writing on the papers seemed to dance before his eyes; "and yet I could have sworn she was a slaver."

"Find 'em all right and squaire?" said the American, with his little grey eyes twinkling; and he held out his hand for the papers.

"Yes," said Mark, returning them reluctantly, and then glancing at Tom Elliot, whose countenance was a puzzle.

"That's right, squaire; that's right. Theer, I shan't cut up rusty, though I might, of course. It was yewr dewty, I s'pose."

"Yes, of course," said Mark.

"That's right, squaire. Allus dew yewr dewty. I ain't riled. But yew'll trade that barl or tew o' whites flour with me, I reckon, and anything I've got you shall hev. What dew yew say to some Chicago pork? Rale good."

"I—a—thank—you, no," said Mark, looking wildly round in the hope of finding some excuse for ordering his men to search the vessel; "but you shall have the flour if I can find it."

"That's what I call real civil, mister," said the American, advancing, and backing Mark toward the side, for the lad gave way, feeling that he had no excuse for staying. "Smart schooner that o' yewrn. Guess yew could sail round my old tub. Won't take a cigar?"

"No, no: thanks," cried Mark, turning to Tom Fillot. "We can do nothing more," he whispered.

"No, sir," said Tom, saluting. "He's too many for us. And yet I could swear to it."

Disappointed, confused, and angry at his position, Mark felt that he must give up, and that a far more experienced officer would have done the same. Turning to his men, he gave orders for them to go down into the boat, and then, telling the skipper to come on board the schooner, he gave another glance forward at the hatches, straining his ears to catch the slightest sound, meaning, if he heard either groan or cry, to seize the vessel at once and search. Without such a sign or sound he dared not. It would have been overstepping his authority.

"Ready, mister? Guess I'll come in my own boat," said the American; and he backed Mark farther to the side.

"Look at old Soup, sir," whispered Tom, excitedly. "Yes; and Taters has got it too."

"Here, hi!" shouted the American. "Whare air yew going?"

For Soup had taken a step or two forward, after looking wildly and in a puzzled way at Mark, as if wondering that he did not act, and then throwing back his head, he stood with his eyes rolling and his broad nostrils inflated, snuffling like a horse over some doubtful hay.

The next moment his fellow was following his example, and uttering something in a low, deep whisper in his own tongue.

"Guess them two niggers o' yewrn hev got the megrims, squaire. Get 'em both aboard, lay 'em down, and hev 'em dowsed with buckets o' water."

"Stop!" cried Mark, excitedly, as he thrust back the American. "Here, my lads, what is it?"

The two blacks did not understand his words, but they did his gesture, and Soup made a bound forward to the main hatchway, uttered a low, deep roar, and stooped, pointing down.

"It ain't megrims; it's hyderyphoby," cried the American, quickly. "He's dangerous. Get him aboard;" and as he spoke he drew a pistol from his breast, cocked it, and took aim at the black.

But with one motion Tom Fillot whipped out his cutlass, giving it so broad a sweep that the flat of the weapon struck the American's wrist, and the pistol flew out of his hand.

At that moment, in answer to a loud cry from Soup, there came a wild, excited, smothered clamour from below the hatch; and with a cry of rage, the American stooped to pick up his pistol, while his men rushed to seize hatchet and capstan bar.

Mark's dirk was out now, and he presented it at the American skipper.

"Surrender, sir!" he cried; "the game's up. Draw, my lads, and cut them down if they resist. Fillot, have off that hatch."

At a sign, the two blacks tore it open: and with the horrible vapour that arose came a wild, piteous clamour from the imprisoned slaves below.

"Guess yew're right, curse you!" said the American, in an angry snarl. "Drop it, boys; they're too many for us this time. We're done, and it's of no use to be ugly."

"Hurray!" shouted Mark's little party, as they drove the crew below in the forecastle; and after a guard was set, Tom Fillot came back to his officer, who stood talking to the American, while that worthy lit himself a cigar.

"This is some dollars out o' my pocket, mister," he said. "Guess I wish that thar nigger had been drowned afore you brought him here. What air yew going to dew now?"

That was a question Mark was not prepared to answer, with two prizes on his hands.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

"A LAST RESOURCE."

But Mark Vandean soon began to show the American slaving skipper what he meant to "dew now," and that in times of emergency he did not mean to talk much. For turning to Tom Fillot, he gave his orders respecting the slaver's crew.

"Keep them below in the forecastle," he said; "and place the second black over them as guard."

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried Tom, and he proceeded to plant Taters on guard over the hatch, armed with a drawn cutlass, to the black's intense satisfaction.

"Here, I say, mister," cried the skipper, "yew ain't going to put a nigger as sentry over a crew o' white men, air yew?"

"I have done it," said Mark, sharply.

"What! going to keep them free American citizens prisoners below like a pack o' niggers?"

"Why not?" said Mark. "Do you think I'm going to let you and your men hatch up a scheme to retake this schooner?"

The man laughed.

"Guess yew're a sharp one, squaire. Wall, what are you going to do with me?"

"Take you aboard my ship, sir."

"And hang me at the yardarm, squaire?" said the skipper, with a grin.

"Not if you behave yourself," said Mark; "but I warn you not to try any tricks, sir, or matters may turn out unpleasantly. Here, Soup!"

He made a sign, and the great broad-shouldered black ran up to him eagerly.

"Here, my lad," said Mark, signing to the man what to do; "draw your cutlass and take this gentleman on board the other schooner. You'll keep guard over him till I come."

Soup whipped out his cutlass, caught the American skipper by the arm, and there was a tremendous yell.

"Say, mister, yew didn't tell him to kill me."

"No, no, Soup, you don't understand," cried Mark, arresting the man, for he had evidently taken it that he was to play the part of executioner upon the white skipper; while to judge from his aspect, he was prepared to perform his part with great gusto. Then making the men understand, he was about to despatch them over the side in one of the boats, when the American turned obstinate.

"Look here, squaire," he said, "I give in, but yew're an officer and I'm an officer. Play fair with a man. That nigger'll kill me sure as a gun if I go along with him. Seems to me I shan't be safe 'less I'm along o' you, so I guess I'll stop here."

Mark was about to insist, but a glance at Soup was sufficient to alter his mind.

"Very well, stop for the present, sir, till I go back aboard."

"Yew're going back, then?" said the American, with a flash of the eye.

"I am, sir," said Mark, sharply, "but I'm going to leave a strong prize crew here on board, and I wouldn't advise you or your men to make any attempt at recapture. Matters might turn out, as you call it, 'ugly.'"

"All right, squaire, but I don't see where your strong prize crew is coming from," said the man, drily.

"Indeed!" said Mark. "I shall be able to show you. I can pick out half-a-dozen blacks from the other schooner who will help the man forward to keep pretty good watch over your crew, and who will not be over particular if there are any tricks."

"Oh! slaves!" said the man, with a sneer.

"There are no slaves here, sir, now. Under the British flag all men are free."

"Oh, if yew're going to talk Buncombe, squaire, I've done."

"And so have I, sir," said Mark, "for there is plenty of work wanting me."

Leaving the American in charge of the big black, Mark set to at once to make his arrangements, after the poor creatures had been let out of the hold, where they had been nearly suffocated, and now huddled together on deck, trembling and wondering what was to be their fate.

"I don't like parting with you, Tom Fillot," said Mark, "but I must. You will take charge here with Billings, Dance, Potatoes, and three of the blacks Soup drilled as his guard. It's a poor crew for you."

"Best we can do, sir," said Tom Fillot, cheerily.

"I'll have half the Americans on board with me."

"Beg pardon, sir, don't."

"But they are too many for you to have with your weak force."

"Well, sir, quite enough, but you keep the skipper on one schooner, and the men on the other. They're best apart, sir."

"But you cannot manage."

"Lookye here, sir, I'm going to have a talk to old Taters, and I shall give him a capstan bar to use, instead of the cutlash. I don't understand his lingo, but him and me can get on, and I can make him see what I want; and after that it won't be safe for any man o' the Yankee crew to put his head above the combings of that hatch. You trust me, sir, to manage. Dick Bannock'll be quite as good as me if you appynt him mate. Get back aboard, and make sail, and we'll follow steady like in your wake."

"But the blacks we have set free?"

"Taters and me'll manage them, sir, and 'fore many hours are up, we'll have two or three on 'em good at pulling a rope. You won't make much sail, sir, of course, now?"

"As little as I can, Tom; just as much as we can manage. Then now I'll get back, and the sooner we can set eyes on the Nautilus the better."

"So say I, sir. But you keep a good heart, sir, and above all things don't you trust Mr Yankee Skipper, sir."

Mark gave the sailor a meaning look.

"That's right, sir, and above all things mind he don't get hold o' no pistols."

Mark laughed, and after a few instructions he ordered the American into the boat; his men followed, and he was about to step down too, when there was a yell forward, and the sound of a heavy blow or chop.

Mark faced round in time to see that Taters had struck at one of the American sailors, but missed him, his cutlass coming in contact with the edge of the hatch, and the next moment there was a desperate struggle going on. The second schooner's crew were forcing their way up on deck, and as Mark called up the men from the boat to help quell the attempt, the American skipper took advantage of his being for the moment unwatched, and climbed on deck once more to make a rush to help his men.

But quick as he was, Tom Fillot was quicker; and turning sharply round, he struck out with his double fist, catching the American right in the centre of his forehead, with the result mathematical that two moving bodies meeting fly off at a tangent.

The American skipper's head flew off at a tangent, and then he rolled heavily on the deck, while in less than five minutes, with the help of Soup and Taters, who fought fiercely, the American crew were beaten back, and driven or tumbled down into the forecastle one after the other.

"Hi! yew, don't shut down that there hatch," cried one of the men; "yew'll smother us."

"And a good job too," panted Tom Fillot, as he banged down the square covering. "Here, you Taters, sit down on this, will you?"

The black understood his sign, and squatted upon it, sitting upon his heels with a grin of satisfaction.

While this struggle was going on, the freed slaves huddled together helplessly, seeming more bent on getting out of the way of the combatants than on joining in, though some of the men, warriors perhaps in their own country before they had been crushed down by conquest, imprisonment, and starvation, did once or twice evince a disposition to seek some weapon and strike a blow. But they soon subsided into an apathetic state, and watched.

"Hurt much, Tom Fillot?" said Mark, as soon as excitement would let him speak.

"Well, sir, tidy—tidy. I was just thinking about some of our chaps aboard the Naughtylass, growling and grumbling at her for being an unlucky ship, and no fighting to be had. They wouldn't find fault if they was out here, sir, eh?"

"No, Tom; we're getting our share of it. I wouldn't mind if Mr Howlett was here to have his taste."

"My! how you can crow over him, sir, when we get back, eh?"

"Let's get back first, Tom."

"Oh, we'll do that, sir, never you fear. That ain't what I'm scared about."

"Then what is?"

"Well, sir, I want to get back without killing anybody if I can, but when they come these games with us and hit hard as they do, it's 'most more than flesh and blood can bear to have a cutlash and not use it. I know I shall make someone bleed with a cut finger 'fore I've done."

There was so much meaning in the sailor's words, and at the same time so droll a look in his eyes, that Mark could not forbear a smile.

"If it's only a cut finger, Tom, I shan't mind," he said.

"That's right, sir. Well, I think you might start back now, and we'll get sail on. Sooner we've got these two into port the better I shall like it. I think I can manage, sir."

"But I've altered my plans," said Mark, thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir? What do you mean to do now?"

"I'll tell you. It seems to me madness, after this lesson in the American's intentions, to divide my little crew. I want them altogether, and we're weak enough then."

"Don't say you mean to give up the prize, sir," cried Tom Fillot, appealingly.

"Not while I can lift a hand, Tom. We'll try another plan. I'll get the skipper on board the other schooner. Then we'll have the crew down in our forecastle."

"And leave me to navigate this one, sir? No, that won't do, sir. What isn't safe for me, isn't safe for you."

"No, I felt that. My plan's a different one. We'll have a hawser from our schooner to this one, after you've made all snug aloft, and tow her while the weather keeps fair."

"Well, sir, I don't see why not," said Tom, thoughtfully.

"We can leave the blacks on board; and then we shall have plenty of force to meet the Yankees if they try to master us again."

"That's right, sir; and as long as the weather holds good, we may do, though I think we shall have our hands full. But look here, sir; why not—"

"Why not what?"

"There's lots o' irons below, such as they used for the poor niggers. Why shouldn't we couple a lot of the prisoners together, and make 'em safe?"

"Put them in irons, Tom? No, I don't like to do that—only as a last resource."

"Very well, sir," said Tom, rubbing his head where he had received a heavy blow, "only if you wouldn't mind telling on me, sir, I should like to know what you calls a last resource."

"I will, Tom, when I know," said Mark, smiling. "Hail our schooner, and tell them to come aboard in the other boat."

Tom turned away and obeyed the order, passing the American skipper, who was leaning on the bulwark looking sick, and as the sailor came up he turned to him with an ugly leer.

"Guess I'm going to pay yew for that, young man," he said. "I don't let a chap hit me twice for nothing."

"Like to do it now?" said Tom, sharply.

"No; I'm not quite ready, mister. Yew'll know when I am."

"Thankye," said Tom Fillot. "Then now look here; just you let me give you a hint, too. I'm acting as mate to my young officer here, and he takes a good deal o' notice o' what I say. If you don't keep a civil tongue in your head, I'll tell him as you're real dangerous, and that the best thing he can do is to have some o' them irons clapped on your arms and legs, and then shove you below along with your men."

"What!" cried the skipper, fiercely; "put me in irons! Me, an Amurrican citizen. I should like to see him do it!"

"You soon shall," said Tom, "if you don't mind. Now then, get down into that boat."

"Who are yew ordering about, sir?"

"You," cried Tom. "Now then, once more, get down into that boat."

The skipper turned to walk away, but Tom's temper was getting hot, and without a moment's hesitation he seized the man by the collar and waistband, thrust him to the side, and jerked him out of the gangway.

"Ketch hold!" he shouted, and the man in charge of the boat caught hold and dragged the skipper down into the boat just as the other was rowed alongside.

The skipper started up to revenge himself, and then sat down again to brood over the affront, while, as rapidly as they could be transferred, two more men were thrust into the same boat with him, and the rest into the other boat, the fellows looking fierce, and ready for a fresh attempt to recapture their schooner. But the arms of the English sailors, and the fierce readiness of the blacks, Soup and Taters, awed them, especially as their skipper made no sign, and a quarter of an hour later captain and men were safely fastened in the forecastle, with Soup now as sentry—Taters having been sent on board the second schooner to see to the freed slaves, with another man to help him. Then a hawser was made fast and sail set, the first schooner towing the second fairly well, and some knots were sailed toward the north before the position of the sun suggested to Mark that an anxious time was coming. For if an attempt were made to turn the tables upon them, it would for certain be that night.

However, Mark went on with his preparations. The blacks on both ships were fed, every precaution taken, and, giving up all idea of sleep for that night, a well-armed watch was set, and he paced the deck, feeling quite an old man with his responsibility. He asked himself whether there was anything he had left undone, whether the tow-line would hold, and a score of other questions, while all above was calmness, and the great stars glittered and shone down from the purply black sky.

"Are we to have a peaceful night?" he thought, as he looked over the schooner's counter at the dark silent vessel towed behind.

Tom Fillot gave him the answer, by running aft to him, his bare feet making a soft pad pad upon the deck.

"Got your shooter, sir?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"Loaded?"

"Of course; but why do you ask?" cried Mark, excitedly.

"The game has begun, sir. It will have to be the irons, after all."

Almost as he spoke there was a flash and the report of a pistol, fired from the forecastle hatch.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

TOM FILLOT ADVISES.

There was a fierce howl of rage and a heavy crash from forward as Mark drew and cocked his pistol, running toward the hatch with Tom Fillot into the foul smelling smoke that hung around, in the midst of which stood the great black, whirling the capstan bar with which he was armed about his head, after delivering a crushing blow at someone who had tried to climb out, and then dropped back groaning, but not much injured, fortunately for him, the principal force of the blow having fallen upon the woodwork of the hatchway.

As the black saw them he uttered a low, savage roar, and pointed to his shoulder, which had been grazed by a pistol ball, the smarting making the great fellow grin with rage and roll his eyes.

"Hi, below there!" cried Mark, the excitement making him forget all danger. "Hand up that pistol and any other weapons you have, or we'll fire down among you."

The answer was a flash, a sharp report, and a puff of smoke, Mark being conscious of a whizzing sound close by one ear.

"You scoundrels!" he cried, passionately. "Surrender; do you hear?"

"Not we," came in a familiar voice. "S'render yourselves. You're not Queen's officers, only pirates, and I'm going to retake my ship."

"If that pistol is not thrown out on the deck, sir, I give the orders to fire," cried Mark.

"That's jist what you darn't do, mister," said the American skipper.

"Let 'em have it, sir," whispered Tom Fillot, excitedly.

But Mark felt as if the skipper's words were correct, and that he dare not fire down into that cabin to the destruction of some poor wretch's life, so he did not—to use Tom Fillot's expression—"Let 'em have it," but gave orders sharply in the way of defence, and not attack.

"Clap on the hatch, Tom," he shouted; and the covering, which had been forced off in some way, was thrust back and held down for a moment or two, before Tom leaped away as a shot crashed through, and the hatch was driven off once more.

By this time the rest of the men were gathered round, and it was just as well, for a daring attempt was made to climb on deck, but only for each man who attempted the feat to be sent down again by a blow on head or shoulder.

"If you'd give orders, sir," said Tom, "we'd soon have that hatch over again, and fifty fathom o' chain cable piled atop."

"I don't like risking you men's lives," said Mark; "but there's no going back now; it must be done."

"Come on, Dick Bannock," cried Tom Fillot, rolling up his sleeves. "You chaps stand by with the end of that cable."

Another shot was fired from the forecastle, and directly after the muzzle of a pistol appeared over the side with a hand directing it, when bang, crash—down came Soup's capstan bar, striking pistol and hand with such good effect that they were snatched back, and a burst of fierce oaths came up.

"Well done, my lad!" cried Mark; and the black looked at him and showed his white teeth as he stood watchful, and ready, with the bar raised for another blow.

By this time the men had laid hold of the end of the cable and drawn some two or three fathoms up from the little forward compartment, while Tom Fillot and Bannock seized the loose hatch ready to clap on.

"No, no," cried Mark, hastily; "don't expose yourselves needlessly, my lads. Lie down and crawl toward the hatchway, pushing the cable before you."

"Thought you'd fancy we were cowardly, sir," said Tom, obeying his orders.

"Then don't think so again, sir," cried Mark, who wondered at his own sharpness and authoritative way. "Now then, stand by all. Ready?"

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Hah! look-out!"

Crash.

"Well done, my lad."

This was as a pistol was once more thrust out, and the hand which held it appeared ready for Soup to hit at, which he did, and missed. But, all the same, the hand and pistol disappeared, and the next minute Tom and Dick, one on each side, thrust the cover over the hatch as they crawled forward, Tom flinging himself across it, while the rest of the men hauled away, and began to pile on the chain cable.

Bang again—a pistol-shot fired up through the hatchway lid, and Tom gave a sharp start.

"Ah! Hurt?" cried Mark, excitedly, as the sailor rolled over, while as quickly as possible more of the cable was piled up where he had lain.

"Dunno yet, sir," said Tom, rising up and feeling his side. "Something give me an awful whack on the ribs. Don't look like a dead 'un, do I?"

"Don't say you're wounded, Tom," said Mark, in a hoarse whisper.

"Wasn't going to, sir," replied the man, whose hands were still busy feeling his side. "No, I don't think I'm wounded; don't feel like it— only savage, and as if I should like to drop on to the chap as fired that shot. I know: I have it. The bullet must have hit the chain, and drove it against my ribs. I'm all right, sir. Deal o' fight in me yet."

"Thank Heaven!" said Mark to himself, as he thought of how helpless he would have been without the frank young sailor who was completely his strong right hand.

By this time the hatch was loaded with coil upon coil of the strong chain, and, though a couple more shots were fired, the bullets were only flattened against the iron links.

"Hah, that gives us breathing time, my lads," cried Mark. "Now then, what next?"

"Daylight'd be the best thing, sir," said Dance; "and then I should be able to see about—"

He stopped short, put his hand to his head, and looked around vacantly.

"What was it I wanted to see about?"

"It's all right, messmate; don't you worry about that," cried Tom, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Eh? No, I won't, Tom," said Dance, thoughtfully. "It's my head goes all foggy sometimes, and then I can't think; but I'm all right again, ain't I, mate? Not going to be like the lufftenant, eh?"

"Not you," said Tom Fillot.

The coxswain laughed.

"Yes, I'm coming round," he said. "Head's a bit soft, that's all; but I'm coming round."

While this was going on, Mark had turned to the black, whose shirt was wet with the blood which oozed from the score made in his shoulder by the bullet fired at him when first the attempt was made to escape, and then by the light of a lantern, while the man knelt down, the wound was bound up, the black smiling and making very light of it the while.

As Mark busied himself, he could not help thinking of how much demand there was made upon an officer in command, with the result that his respect for those over him was wonderfully increased.

All further thought of rest for the men was given up, and the remainder of the night was devoted to keeping a careful watch, Mark pacing the deck and stopping to have a quiet consultation now and then with his mate.

"I can't think where they obtained their arms, Tom," he said on one occasion.

"Oh, you needn't wonder at that, sir," replied the man, with a laugh. "'Mericans ain't like Englishmen, and pretty well every man jack of 'em's got a pistol hid somewhere about him. It ain't to be wondered at, sir," continued the man, stretching out and clenching his big hand. "I never see a 'Merican yet with a good fist like that, and a man must have something to fight with when he goes knocking about in the world. Well, sir, as you say I'm to be mate while we're on this expedition, p'r'aps you won't mind me asking what you're going to do next 'bout the prisoners. Is it to be irons?"

"No," said Mark, firmly. "I can't do that."

"Then if I were you, sir, I'd risk them trying to take the schooner again, and send 'em adrift first thing in one of the boats."

"On an uninhabited shore? Why, it would be like murdering them, man."

"Well, hardly, sir, because you give 'em all a chansh for their lives, though it ain't lively for a look-out to be cast ashore where there's only palm trees and nothing else 'cept the niggers, who might want to serve you out for captering their brothers and sisters for slaves."

"No, Tom, it will not do. We must keep the men prisoners, and make the best of our way north, to where we can hand them over to the officers of the law."

"Very good, sir," said Tom Fillot, "only either o' my ways would be easier."

"Do you think Mr Russell would act as you propose?" said Mark, sharply.

Tom Fillot screwed up his face, and shook his head.

"No, sir. He'd do as you're going to. But we must keep a sharp eye on 'em, or they'll be too many for us, I'm afraid. They're the sort as it don't do to be easy with, sir, because if you are, they only think you're feared on 'em."

"There shan't be much easiness with them, Tom," said Mark, firmly. "They're prisoners, and prisoners they shall stay."

"If they don't circumwent us, sir, and get out," said Tom; and the discussion closed.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

DIFFICULT PRISONERS.

Never was morning greeted with greater joy than by the crew of the Nautilus' first cutter. For with the darkness half the troubles to which they were exposed faded away; and though tired out from long watching, excitement, and loss of sleep, the bright sunshine made things look quite hopeful. So when the midshipman had partaken of a good breakfast and attended to Mr Russell's wants, he felt ready to believe that his brother officer was a little better, and had understood him when he spoke, for there was a look of intensity in his countenance widely different from the vacant, drowsy aspect which had been so marked ever since the hour when he was struck down.

On deck there was so much to see to that weariness was soon forgotten. There were the unfortunate blacks to feed on both vessels, though this had already grown into a much simpler task, Soup and Taters giving orders to the men they had selected to help them; and these latter, now that they had thoroughly grasped the fact that nothing but good was intended by their fresh captors, eagerly devoting themselves to the task of distributing the rations amongst their unfortunate fellow-country folk, and watching Mark and his men with the greatest intentness as they strove to comprehend their wishes.

That morning, as soon as the party on board the first schooner was provisioned, the boat was manned, and Fillot, accompanied by Soup, went aboard the second schooner, where all proved to be satisfactory, Taters greeting them smilingly, while the emancipated slaves were ready to lie down on the deck.

"To make it soft for us to walk upon," Tom said on his return.

This was eagerly looked for by Mark, who had spent his time watching the schooner astern, and the shore a couple of miles away, in the hope of their coming upon a town where he could land his prisoners, their presence on board being risky in the extreme.

Tom Fillot's return was looked for so eagerly on account of the action of the prisoners, who had begun to clamour for the hatch to be opened, and after several orders to be silent had been disregarded, now beat heavily on the hatchway cover, and shouted to be let out.

Mark had deferred taking any action while his right-hand man was absent; but the uproar became at last so obstreperous that he walked to the cable-covered hatchway and struck heavily upon the deck.

"Now," he said, sharply, "what is it?"

"Look here, squaire," came in the skipper's muffled tones, "guess yew don't want to kill us?"

"Then have off that there hatch. We're being smothered: that's so."

"It's not true," said Mark, firmly. "The ventilator's open."

"Wal, that say gives 'bout air enough for one man to drink in. We want more."

"You're getting more now than you considered enough for those unfortunate blacks, sir. So be silent, or I'll have you all in irons."

"Don't you try it, mister," cried the skipper. "But look here, squaire, we want our breakfast."

"Your rations shall be served out to you all in good time," replied Mark.

"But we want 'em now, mister; my lads are half famished."

"I tell you that you shall have them soon, so wait patiently."

"Wall, don't be ugly about it, squaire. We're not ugly now. Look here, it's hot and smothering down here. Let us come up on deck and have a confab about this business. It's of no use for us to quarrel about it, so let's square matters."

"I don't understand you."

"Yew don't? Wall, look here; yew've took the schooner, and I s'pose she's your prize if yew say yew ain't pirates. 'Scuse me for thinking yew was, seeing as yew came in a schooner as don't look a bit like a Britannic Majesty's ship o' war."

"I told you that was a prize to her Majesty's ship."

"Ah, so yew did, and now yew've got another, but yew don't want a lot o' Murrican corpses aboard, squaire, so let us out, so as we can breathe. We'll make a truce with yew."

The boat had come back from the second prize, and Tom Fillot walked up to look on, listening and wondering.

"You mean to say that if I let you come on deck—you and your men—you will not attempt to escape or recapture the schooner?"

"That's so, captain."

Tom made an angry gesticulation, and took a step nearer to his young officer.

"Then to show your good faith," cried Mark, "hand up all your pistols through the ventilator."

There was a few moments' silence, and Tom slapped his knee softly.

"Well, do you hear?" cried Mark.

"Wall, captain, I'm willing," said the skipper, "but my lads here say air yew to be trusted? and what's to become o' them if they come up and yew and yewr men turn nasty, and them without weepons?"

"You heard what I said, sir; hand up your pistols," said Mark, firmly.

"Guess we can't do that, squaire. But look here, captain."

The complimentary title did no good, for Mark turned sharply away.

"See that some biscuit and water are lowered down to these people, Fillot," he cried.

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Biscuit—water?" roared the American skipper, his voice coming up through the ventilator with a yell. "Yew don't mean to say—"

He stopped short to listen to Tom Fillot's next words.

"Shall we open the hatch, sir?"

"No; lower all down through the ventilator," cried Mark, from where he had walked.

Tom Fillot joined him, with a grim smile on his countenance, soon after.

"Hear the skipper, sir?" he said.

"No; what did he say?"

Tom Fillot gave the midshipman a comical look.

"I don't think you'd care to hear what he said, sir. But my word, he is in a snag. Swears he'll be even with you yet, sir, and that we're a set of thieves and pirates, and not British sailors at all."

"I thought you were not going to tell me what he said, Tom."

"I ain't, sir. That was only some of the nice innercent bits. You'll excuse me, sir, won't you?"

"Excuse what?"

"Just hinting again about the irons, or setting of 'em afloat near the shore."

"I'll excuse you, Tom Fillot, but I shall not do it."

"Very good, sir; you're officer, I'm only man; but I'm afeared of 'em."

"I don't believe it, Tom."

"Well, sir, I don't mean feared in one way, but in the t'other. I mean I'm feared they'll get out, and if they do, and we surwive, they'll either put us in irons or set us ashore."

"They've got to get out yet, Tom. That cable's heavy enough to keep them from opening the hatch."

"Yes, sir; it's heavy enough, but I can't feel sure of 'em. These Yankees are such clever chaps. It's wonderful what dodges and tricks they can think of. I only wish the Naughtylass would heave in sight, and take charge of both schooners. The blacks are enough to take care on without a gang o' savage chaps like them below."



CHAPTER THIRTY.

A JOINT WATCH.

That day passed quietly enough. The weather was hot, but tempered by a gentle gale, which wafted them on their way; and, as Mark gazed at the verdant shore through a glass and then at the glistening sea, it seemed to him as if Heaven was smiling upon their efforts to save the poor weak, trembling creatures, who were ready to wince and shrink away every time he marched forward to where their part of the deck was shut off by a rope stretched taut from side to side. But as soon as he put off the stern official look he wore—an unconscious copy of Captain Maitland's quarter-deck manner—and smiled at them, their faces lit up, and he felt as if they would go down upon their knees to him and kiss his feet, if he would permit it.

Already they looked better, and, like those in the second prize, basked in the sunshine, and talked together in a low, soft, pleasantly-sounding tongue.

The second prize was visited twice, and in addition to Taters, Grote and Dance were left on board, to take it in turns at the wheel and manage the little sail, hoisted now to help the steering and ease the strain on the tow-rope.

So everything went well that day: the Americans were quiet down below, and though the progress made was only slow, Mark felt hopeful, as he swept the horizon with his glass, of seeing the Nautilus come round some point, or appear in the offing at any time.

That night, so as to guard against their being passed by their friends in the darkness, lights were hoisted as a signal that would be pretty sure to bring them help; and this being done, Tom Fillot approached his superior respectfully, to speak him, as he called it, about the division of the watches.

"You'll let me take the first, sir, while you'll go below and have a good sleep, sir, won't you?" he said.

"Certainly not," said Mark, shortly. "So sure as I go to sleep, something happens."

"But you can't do without sleep, sir," said the man.

"I can to-night, Tom. I've been resting and having little naps of a few minutes at a time all day."

"Well, sir, begging your pardon, it's the rummest sort o' rest I ever see. Take my word for it, sir, you can't hold up."

"I must somehow, Tom; so no more words. Look here, we'll seep watch together, and the one who feels drowsy can take a nap now and then, ready to start up at the slightest alarm."

"Very well, sir, if you won't sleep reg'lar, so be it."

But it proved to be hard work. Nature is a terrible tyrant to those who try to break her laws, and after about an hour's duty on deck, when the clustering stars had been watched, and their reflections in the sea, the wheel visited again and again, an ear given from time to time at the forecastle hatch and ventilator, where everything was silent as the grave, all of a sudden Mark would find himself at home, talking to his father and mother, or on board the Nautilus, listening to Mr Whitney, the doctor, or to the captain, and then start up with a jerk to find he had been asleep.

"How long was I off, Tom?" he would whisper, angry with himself.

"'Bout five minutes, sir."

"Not more?"

"No, sir."

"That's right. All quiet?"

"Yes, sir. Have another."

"Nonsense! I'm better now."

Mark took a turn to the wheel, said a few words to the steersman, and returned to his seat, to find that in those brief minutes Tom Fillot had gone off too, but only to start up, fully awake, at the moment his young officer sat down.

"Look here, sir," he said; "mortal natur' won't bear it. I'll take a trot up and down now while you sleep."

"I'm not going to sleep," said Mark, shortly.

"Begging your pardon, sir, you are," said Tom; and he took a few turns up and down, to return at last and find Mark quite fast.

"I knowed it," he said to himself, but he had hardly thought this when Mark started up again, vexed with himself, but unable to control the desire for rest.

The consequence was that during the next two hours this natural process went on, the one who sat down going off instantly to sleep, while the other kept up his sentry-like walk, and no more words were uttered respecting it. They felt that it was nature's work and accepted their position till toward midnight, when Mark was resting with his back to the bulwark, and his chin upon his breast, sleeping heavily, as he had been for about a minute. Tom Fillot stepped up lightly to his side and touched him.

"Yes? What?" cried Mark, starting up in alarm.

"Hist, sir! Steady! They're a-breaking out."

"What!" said Mark, in an awe-stricken whisper, as his hands involuntarily sought pistol and dirk.

"Hark!" came in a whisper to his ear; and leaning forward and peering into the darkness, he distinctly heard at intervals a faint, dull clink, as if some one were very carefully and slowly moving pieces of iron.

For the moment, half drowsed still by his desire for sleep, Mark could not make out what it meant. Then he grasped the meaning of the sound.

"Why, Tom Fillot," he whispered, "they're getting off the chain cable from the hatch."

"That's it, sir; link by link."



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

A NOVEL FASTENING.

"Come on!" whispered Mark; "we must stop that game. Who's on the watch at the hatch?"

"Sam Grote, sir; but, poor lad, he can't keep awake."

"A lantern," said Mark, laconically; and Tom Fillot trotted aft to the cabin, and came back in five minutes with a light half hidden in his breast.

During his absence, Mark had stood there listening in the darkness with a peculiar shuddering sensation to the soft clinking as link passed over link; and in imagination, while he peered through the transparent darkness, he saw a hand, which had been thrust out after the hatch had been raised a little, softly lifting and passing the cable off to the deck.

Tom came back so silently that Mark was half startled. Then together they went on tiptoe in the direction of the sound, the lantern being carefully screened, and then only just a ray of light allowed to shine out forward.

It fell upon the figure of the sailor Grote in a very peculiar attitude; for the poor fellow, unable to keep awake, had knelt close by the hatch, with his drawn cutlass point downward, resting on the cover, his two hands upon the hilt, and his forehead upon his hands—fast asleep.

It was a dire offence against discipline, and a hot feeling of indignation swelled in Mark's breast against the man.

But it died out as quickly as it had come. The man had done his best to guard against the cover of the hatch being moved, feeling certain that any attempt to stir it must be communicated to his brain by the cutlass; and so no doubt it would have been later on. He was fast asleep, but for the last two nights he had hardly closed his eyes, though utterly worn out by the day's exertion, while still suffering from his injuries.

Greater reason still why Mark could not sit in judgment upon his man; he himself had been utterly unable to keep awake.

These thoughts passed as the ray of light was shifted by Tom Fillot's manipulation of the lantern, which shone directly after upon the clean white planks, with their black, well-caulked seams. Then, very slowly and cautiously, Tom Fillot guided the little patch of light along the boards till it fell upon a big heap of rusty chain between them and the hatch, showing how long and patiently someone must have been at work, and also the terrible fact that before long every link would have been removed, and in all probability the crew would have been taken by surprise.

For now, as Tom still guided on the little patch of light, it fell upon a red hand visible as far as the wrist. This had been thrust out beside the edge of the cover after a portion had been hacked away with a knife, and the fingers, rust covered and strange looking, were working away, industriously easing down link after link on to the deck, their weight helping the worker, while the heap on the hatch was steadily, as it were, melting away.

They stood watching this for a few moments, and then steadying the lantern with one hand, Tom slowly raised his cutlass with the other. A slight alteration of the rays of light must have flashed in the signal Danger! to the man at work, for the strange dull clinking of the links finished suddenly with one louder clink than the rest. The chain had been dropped as the hand darted in.

Grote started back into wakefulness at the sound and sprang to his feet, on guard with his cutlass, while Tom Fillot fully uncovered the lantern, and held it up right in the man's face, the light gleaming on the weapons they held.

"Yes, you're a nice 'un, you are," growled Tom Fillot, "Look at that. Where should we have been in another hour if we'd trusted to you?"

The man stared at the two heaps of chain, then at Tom Fillot, and then at his young officer, as he uttered a low groan.

"I've done it now, sir," he faltered, in his deep bass. "I did try so hard, sir; oh, so hard, but it come over me like all of a sudden, and walking up and down warn't no good. I was asleep as I walked, and at last I thought if I shut my eyes a moment—"

Bang!

A sharp flash and a report made all three start back, and spread the alarm, one of the first to run up being the great black, bar in hand, his eyes flashing, his teeth gleaming, and all eager to join in any fray on behalf of those who had saved his life.

"Wish my cutlash had come down heavy on the hand as fired that shot," muttered Tom Fillot.

"Put out the light," said Mark sharply.

Tom Fillot drew his jacket over the lantern, and they all stood round ready for the next order.

"Haul back the chain," said Mark, in a low voice. "Fillot, stand by, ready to cut at the first hand which thrusts out a pistol." Then going close to the ventilator, he shouted down, "Below there you heard my orders. We shall show no mercy now."

A shout of defiance came up, followed by another shot, as the chain began to clink and chink while being hauled back and piled round and round from the edge toward the centre.

"Stop!" cried Mark, as a thought struck him. Then in a whisper, "I'll have an anchor laid on instead of the cable, and then I'll have that run back into the tier. No: better still. Get up the biggest water cask we have."

"Ay, ay, sir," cried Tom; and, with all the alacrity of man-o'-war's men, he and his fellows went off with the lantern, and before long had a cask on deck and rolled it up to the hatchway.

"But what for I dunno," muttered Tom, "unless it's for a sentry box."

He soon learned.

"Buckets," said Mark, laconically; and as soon as these were obtained, though in full expectation of shots being fired through the wooden cover at them, he gave his orders and the chain was rapidly hauled to the deck.

But no shot was fired from below, the Americans evidently expecting that they would be attacked, and reserving their fire for the moment when the chain was all off, and the hatch thrown open.

But as the last link fell off upon the deck two men who were standing ready lifted and banged the empty cask down heavily upon the hatch, a couple of buckets of water were splashed in directly, and then as rapidly as they could be drawn from over the side, others followed and were poured in.

Those below were so puzzled that for a time they remained utterly without movement. Then as the water poured in there was a low whispering, and soon after a heaving up of the hatch a little way, but a man held on to the top of the cask on either side, and their weight proved to be too much for those who tried to heave up the hatch. Ten minutes after, the addition of many buckets of water turned the cask into a ponderous object beyond their strength.

"Right to the brim," said Mark; and the cask was filled.

"There," cried Tom; "it would puzzle them to move that."

The men below evidently thought so too, for they made no further effort, and subsided into a sulky kind of silence, while the chain was run back into the cable tier, and the watch resumed without fresh alarm till morning.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

"HATCHING MISCHIEF."

A long, busy day similar to the last, as they slowly crept along by the coast. The weather glorious, the blacks docile to a degree, and the Americans perfectly silent in their prison.

Provisions and bottles of water were lowered down to them by means of a line through the ventilator; but the prisoners made no sign.

"My!" said Tom, with a laugh, as he fastened a string round the neck of a well-corked bottle to lower it down, "won't the Yankee skipper be mad when he puts that to his lips. Being a bottle, he'll think it's rum. Some folks can't think as a bottle would hold anything else."

But no sound came even then, and Mark began to feel anxious.

"We haven't suffocated them, have we?" he said in a low voice. "They are so very quiet."

"Not we, sir. They aren't the chaps to lie down and die without making a pretty good flurry over it fust. No sir; they're a-settin'."

"Sitting, Tom," said Mark, wonderingly.

"No, sir; setting. Hatching mischief. They'll give us another of their chickens after dark, and you and I must have a sleep apiece, so as to be ready for 'em to-night."

"Yes. We must," said Mark; and after leaving the deck in charge of Stepney and Grote, of the latter especially, as Mark felt sure that he could be trusted now, he and Tom Fillot lay down under an awning they had rigged up, and in less than a moment they were both sleeping heavily.

It was nearly sundown when Mark awoke with a start from an uneasy dream, in which he fancied that he had been neglecting his duty.

Tom Fillot was standing over him, and the lad's first words were,—

"What's the matter?"

Tom Fillot hastened to reply.

"Nothing, sir, I've been all round. Prisoners safe, rations been issued, blacks all quiet, shore three miles off, and nice wind from the sou'-west."

"Ah!" sighed Mark, with a feeling of relief stealing over him. "I thought something was wrong, and that I had slept too much. How is Mr Russell?"

"Just as he was, sir; lying as quiet as a babby." Mark crossed to where a bucket of water stood on the deck, signed to one of the men to empty it and draw another, and into this he plunged his face, bathing it for a few minutes to get rid of the remains of his drowsiness, while Tom Fillot fetched him a towel from the cabin.

"You haven't had half enough snooze, sir, but I thought I had better rouse you up," he said.

"Sleep? We mustn't think of any more for a couple of nights, Fillot. Now what is the next thing to be done?"

"Nothing, sir, but wait."

"Nothing?"

"I dunno of anything, sir. Sails all right, and unless you set us to scrape the chain cable, I can't think of a job."

"Job? There is only one, and that is to get these two schooners safe alongside of the Nautilus. We must not lose them now."

"Course not, sir. We won't."

"How are the men?"

"Well, sir, you've been asleep about five hours, so they aren't had time to change much, but they've mended as much as they could in that little time."

"Of course. It was a stupid question, Tom. But about the prisoners?"

"Oh, they're quiet enough, sir. That cask o' water settled 'em."

"But are they not too quiet, Tom? I mean there is no danger of their suffering from the hatch being closed?"

"Now look here, Mr Vandean, sir; 'scuse me, but you're too easy and soft over 'em. I don't say they're comfortable, for I wouldn't like to sleep down there without having the hatch opened, but the air they've got's quite good enough for such as them."

"But you said they were very quiet, and it is startling."

"As I told you afore, sir, they won't die without hollering; so make your mind easy, and go below, and have something to eat. I've had some coffee made, and it's all ready. Sort o' breakfast upside down. Go and eat and drink well, and then you'll feel ready for anything, sir."

"Yes. I'll go forward, though, first."

Mark smiled and felt brightened directly as a low murmured chorus of sound arose from the blacks, the men showing their teeth and the women smiling at him.

He stopped by the forecastle hatch, and listened, but there was not a sound to be heard, and feeling startled, in spite of Tom Fillot's words, he cautiously approached the ventilator, and listened there.

The silence was ominous, and a chill of horror came over him as he turned his eyes upon his companion, while his active brain pictured before him the bottom of the forecastle, with a party of suffocated men lying one over the other, just as they had fallen in their last struggle for air.

Tom smiled encouragement, but an angry frown made the lad's brow look rugged, and he was about to give orders for the hatch to be removed, when there was a yawn, and a smothered voice said,—

"Guess it's hot enough down here."

Mark gave vent to a sigh of relief as he turned away, went aft, and below into the cabin to bend over Mr Russell, who, still perfectly insensible, was sleeping, as Tom Fillot said, "as quiet as a babby."

Mark sighed, and the sight of his brother officer took away his appetite; but feeling the necessity of eating and drinking to keep up his strength, he sat down and began, and after the first few mouthfuls felt better, and made a hearty meal.

There's something wonderfully cheering in a good meal, and though only a boy, still the midshipman felt like a new man as he went on deck, ready for anything now, and determined to make a brave fight against any odds of enemy or weather to get his prizes under the wing of the Nautilus, or into port.

Everything on deck looked cheery and encouraging. The men were in excellent spirits, and ready to salute him. Their hurts were better, and though the bruises visible did not improve their personal appearance, they looked in working or fighting trim, and ready for anything if he gave the word.

Mark's heart swelled with elation, and he was ready to give the big black, whose absurd name of Soup had already ceased to sound nonsensical, a friendly nod, to which the great fellow responded with a regular man-o'-war's man's bow and scrape.

"How's the wound, Soup?" cried Mark, touching the bandage.

"All righ'!" was the reply, with a laugh, for nearly everything was all right with the freed slave now.

"And how are the people?"

"All righ'!" he cried again, as Mark waved his hand towards the negroes. Then, as the young officer moved forward, the black drew the cutlass he wore, shouldered arms, and began to march behind his leader, as if ready to use the blade when ordered.