The men laughed, and Soup looked round sharply and wonderingly.

"No, no," cried Mark, "I don't want you yet. Go back to the others."

He pointed, and the man obeyed on the instant, while Mark used his glass to have a good long look-out for help, but only closed it again with a shake of the head; for there was the far-stretching sea and the long line of coast without sign of human habitation. Nothing more, save that the sun was sinking, with its lower edge close to the horizon, while the sea and sky were glorified by the wonderful colours that spread far and wide.

Mark walked right aft now, and hailed Dance on board the other schooner to find that there were cheery answers, and all appeared to be right there, the blacks crowding into the bows to shout and wave their hands to him whom they looked upon as their preserver.

"I'm glad, after all, that Bob isn't here," thought Mark; "he'd be as jealous as could be, and say I was as cocky as a lieutenant who had just received his promotion. Am I? One can't help feeling a bit proud, but it was as much Tom Fillot and the boys as it was I, and they got all the hard knocks."

"Any orders about the watch, sir, or making or taking in sail?" said Tom Fillot, meeting him as he turned, and touching his hat respectfully.

"N-no," said Mark, giving a quick look round aloft and slow. "Everything seems to be right."

"Did what I thought was best, sir."

"You say the men below have had their rations?"

"Yes, sir; and I lowered 'em down some meat as well, but they never said thankye, sir."

"I suppose not," muttered Mark. "But now about the watch over the prisoners."

"Can't do better than let Soup and one of the blacks do that, sir. They've had a good long snooze in the sun. And if they watch, and you or me give an eye to 'em now and then, we can't do better."

"No, I suppose not, Tom. That will do, and we'll be on deck all night. I don't see that we can do anything more to make the hatch safe."

"No, sir, nothing. That cask's a puzzle for 'em. We've got 'em safe now."

"Yes, Tom, and they're having a taste of what it means to coop up fellow-creatures below hatches like cattle."

Then came the tropic darkness, as if a heavy veil were drawn slowly over the sky. Lanterns were lit, the blacks went below without being told, and the business of the schooner already began to work as orderly as if it had been turned into a man-o'-war. The men examined their arms, Mark and Tom Fillot looked to their pistols, and the darkness was met with every precaution for the safety of the ships and crew.

Then came a long interval of solemn silence, with the light on the schooner they were towing rising and falling slowly on the long heaving swell, and both vessels gliding gently along toward the north.

The night was once more grand, with the great soft stars illuminating sea and sky; but, in his anxiety, Mark could not study their beauty, nor that of the myriads of phosphorescent creatures softly emitting flash and spark, fathoms below in the clear water.

These were not the stars or sparks that had any interest for the midshipman now. He watched with interest the lantern in the bows of the schooner they were towing astern, and then from time to time walked forward in the solemn silence, only broken by a sigh from the hold uttered by some black sleeper, dreaming, perhaps, of the village far-away in his own land; then laying the glass on the bulwark, Mark carefully swept the horizon—astronomer like—in search of the star that would send hope and delight into his breast—the lamp shown by the Nautilus coming down to their aid.

All this was done again and again, but there was no sign of that help, and he felt angry with Captain Maitland and the lieutenant for forgetting them, or leaving them to their fate.

"But of course they could not know what a pickle we are in," he said to himself the next moment, as he resumed his patient watch, going to and fro, noting that steersman and blacks were all intent upon their duty, while Tom Fillot was forward keeping a bright look-out.

And so hours passed, and then an intense feeling of drowsiness came for him to combat.

It made Mark angry with nature, for it seemed to be so absurd that after taking a good mid-day rest he could not go through a night without feeling so wretchedly sleepy. But after a good sluice in a fresh bucket of water he felt better, and getting a biscuit, began to nibble that and walked forward again. Then back to the cabin, and grew melancholy to see his brother officer lying there so utterly helpless, just when he wanted his aid so badly.

Once more in the bows he stood using his glass in vain, and then telling himself that it was not to be expected, he turned to Tom Fillot.

"I suppose we shall not sight the Nautilus," he said.

"No, sir, I don't expect it. Two or three days more like this, though, and we shall be in port without her help."

"I hope we shall," said Mark, rather despondently; and, tucking his glass under his arm, he went aft again toward where he could see the faint glow from the binnacle light shining up in the steersman's face.

He spoke to the man at the wheel.

"Quite an easy job," he said.

"Ay, ay, sir: easy enough. Wish it was a little rougher, for everything's so quiet that it's sleepy work."

"For all of us, my lad," said Mark, quickly, and he walked forward again, half amused at his own importance, and thinking of how only the other day he was at school, and captain of the second cricket eleven, instead of commodore of two schooners.

As he reached the forecastle hatch he stopped short, for a heavier breathing than usual caught his ear, and, peering forward, it was to see that Soup and the naked black who shared his watch were both fast asleep.

Flushing up with anger, the midshipman took his heavy glass from under his arm to tap both blacks on the head: but second thoughts stayed his hand, and he glanced forward to see Tom Fillot's figure dimly as he leaned over the bulwark staring away ahead.

"They ought to be punished," he thought; "but, poor fellows, they're tired out. I will not be hard on them."

Stepping to the back of the cask, he reached over to scoop up some of the water with his right hand to splash over them, and wake them up unseen, and then he felt quite a shock, for his hand did not touch water.

He thought the cask was filled right up. Then he was sure of it. Yes, filled quite full. Softly reaching over a little more, he tried again, but still could not reach.

"It's more than half empty," he said to himself; and, listening intently, he could hear a trickling sound, and then a faint splash somewhere below.

The lad's heart began to throb heavily, and stepping away from the hatch, he walked on tiptoe to where Tom Fillot stood close to the bowsprit, and laid his hand upon the man's shoulder.

Tom Fillot started round fiercely.

"Oh! you, sir," he said in a tone of relief. "I thought—"

"Hist! Fetch up the other fellows quietly-armed."

"What's up, sir?"

"The Yanks have bored a hole through into the bottom of the cask, and the water's nearly out."

Tom ran aft, barefooted, and without a sound, while Mark stepped back to the hatch, and reached over to feel for the water once more.

As he did so, and was straining over, with the edge of the cask against his armpit, he distinctly felt it heave up, as if men were busy raising it from below.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

METHODICAL MADNESS.

Those were thrilling moments in the darkness, as one side of the cask was heaved up and let down again, probably to try its weight, for it was by no means empty, and the water within washed to and fro, and then made whispering noises as it subsided, but the trickling sound went on.

Then came, faintly heard, a whispering, as of orders what to do; and Mark drew his dirk in an agony of desperation, wondering the while why he did not rouse up the blacks to help him.

The moments seemed to be drawn out into minutes, the minutes to hours, before he heard the soft patting of the men's bare feet over the deck.

Then they were about him, each seizing the side of the cask to hold it down, and the blacks sprang up, ready to strike at those around.

"Yah!" growled Tom Fillot, fiercely; "it's court-martial for you."

At that moment there was a strong heave up of the hatch, but the attempt was vain; and knowing that all had been discovered, a low growl arose, and then, as if enraged beyond bearing at their failure, one of the men below fired a shot upwards, one which passed through the bottom of the cask, but did no harm to its holders, the only effect produced being the trickling out of the water through a second hole.

"Shall we have it off now, sir, and nail down the hatch?"

"No," said Mark; "two of you open the cable tier, and hand out the chain."

"Again, sir?" whispered Tom.

"Yes, man, quick!"

Fillot and Stepney seized the chain and brought the end forward.

"Ready, sir," cried the former, as the links rattled and clinked over the deck; and they stood waiting for the cask to be removed for the chain to be laid down in its place.

"Now then, in with it!" cried Mark.

"In with it, sir?"

"Yes; into the cask."

"Oh!" cried Tom Fillot, with an exultant cry, and the next moment the chain was being rattled into the empty cask at a rapid rate, and in very short time, a quarter of a ton was occupying the place of the water.

"I think that'll puzzle 'em now, sir," cried Tom; and Mark Vandean breathed freely once again.

But there were the blacks to punish, and the men fell back while Mark turned angrily upon the two culprits, who stood trembling before him with the light from a lantern one of the men had fetched thrown full upon their faces.

Only a short time before the big black had been an utter savage, but now in this very brief space, though unable fully to comprehend the words and ways of the English officers, he had grown to realise what discipline and authority meant; and as he stood there before Mark, who looked frowning and stern, he literally shivered, his eyes dropped, and he stooped before the midshipman, as if expecting a blow. For he knew that he had betrayed his trust, and that some punishment was about to be inflicted upon him for his lapse from duty.

The men looked on eagerly, and thoughts of flogging, putting in irons, even of hanging, flashed across their minds, as they gazed in their young officer's face.

Mark did not speak for a few moments, and then drawing a long breath, and forgetting his youthfulness, everything in the fact that he was in supreme authority as a British officer there, he spoke out firmly.

"It is of no use to waste words with you, my man," he said. "I was ready to trust you and treat you as a British sailor, but you have broken faith. You cannot understand my words, but your own heart tells you that you have done wrong. There—I cannot punish you for being neglectful and ignorant, but in future you will be only one of the blacks."

He turned his back upon the great fellow, who shivered at the lad's words, and then, with a cry of despair, ran after his officer, flung himself down on the deck at his feet, and held up the cutlass he had drawn when he went on duty and had held ever since. He held it up by the blade, and made signs for Mark to take it and use it upon him.

"There is no need to punish you," said Mark, quietly; "you feel your position quite bitterly enough. There, get up, man, and go to your duty. I ought to have known better than to trust you. Get up."

As the black still grovelled at his feet, Mark stooped down and caught hold of his collar, giving it a drag, and the man rose to his knees.

"No," said Mark, making signs; "sheathe your cutlass. I am not a West-coast tyrant, ready to take off your head. Get them away, Bannock, I want to think of what is to be done next."

The sailor stepped forward, and clapped the big black on the shoulder.

"Come along, my hearty. You've got off wonderfully easy. No cat for you to-day. It's all right."

"All righ'?" cried the black, eagerly.

"Yes."

"No all righ'," he continued, mournfully, as he shook his head and rose to follow the sailor; but he turned directly and ran to Mark's side, sank on one knee, and kissed his hand. Then he rose, and hurried off with his fellow sleeper.

"You're a rum 'un, Soup," growled the sailor. "Who'd have thought it of a savage? Why, it was reg'lar polite and genteel. I couldn't ha' done that. Who'd ha' expected it of a chap who dresses in an orstridge feather and a wisp o' grass when he's at home?"

The black gazed at him inquiringly, striving hard to make out his meaning, the poor fellow's face growing more puckered every moment.

"Dessay you were a prince when you was over yonder; now you're a foremast man. Well, ups and downs in life we see, Soup old chap. Mebbe I shall be a prince some day. Ah, well, you're not a bad sort, and I'm glad you haven't got flogged."

Meanwhile Mark was talking to Tom Fillot about the culprits.

"Then you think I ought to have punished them, Tom?" said Mark.

"Well, sir," said Tom, rubbing one ear, "I do and don't, sir. What's to be done with chaps like that, as don't know no better?"

"Exactly," cried Mark. "They fought for us as well as they could."

"They have, sir, and it ain't as if they'd had a twelvemonth of the first luff to drill 'em into shape. But, bless your 'art, sir, if they had they mightn't have been able to fight agin sleep. Able seamen can't always do it, so what's to be expected of a regular black just picked out of a slaver's hold?"

"That will do, then," said Mark. "You have helped me so that I didn't like you to think I went against your advice."

"Don't you be afeared of that, sir," cried Tom. "I give you my bit of advice for you as a gentleman and a scholard, to see if it's worth taking. Well, sir, what about the prisoners now?"

"I think they must be safe this time, Tom," said Mark, walking back to the cask, and giving a pull at it, to find it as solid as so much iron.

"Well, sir, that's what I think; but don't you trust 'em. They mean to get out and take the schooner again."

"And we mean that they shan't, Tom," said Mark, merrily; "and as we have the strongest position, we must win."

"That's it, sir; so if you'll give me the watch there by the fo'c'sle hatch, I'll promise you I won't go to sleep."

"Take the watch, then," said Mark; and then suddenly, "Why, what does that mean?"

For just then the prisoners began in chorus to whistle an American air, accompanying it with a rhythmic clapping of hands.

Then the sound ended as quickly as it had begun, and there was a hearty burst of laughter.

"Merry, eh?" said Tom Fillot. "Well, there's no harm in that."

They listened in the darkness, and one man with a musical voice began a plantation ditty, his companions breaking in with a roaring chorus at the end of every verse, clapping their hands and stamping their feet, ending by one of the party starting up and breaking into a kind of jig or hornpipe, evidently keeping it up till he was tired, when, with a shout, another man took his place and danced with all his might.

The listeners had to trust to their ears for all this, but it was perfectly plain, and it seemed to Mark that in despair of escaping the Americans had determined to make the best of their position.

This went on for some time with great spirit and a tremendous amount of noise, sufficient to make the slaves in the hold uneasy, and a good deal of murmuring and talking went on.

The sounds ceased, and there was a hail from the forecastle.

"Hey, there, yew, on the watch!"

"Hullo! What is it?" cried Tom Fillot.

"Ask yewr young skipper to pitch us down a little 'bacco, will you, mister? My lads here is out, and they want to make their miserable lives happy."

"I oughtn't to let them have any," thought Mark; "but it may keep them quiet. I hope they will not set the ship on fire."

So a roll of tobacco was thrown down to them through the ventilator, pipes were evidently lit, for the strong fumes came up, and the singing and dancing went on again more uproariously than ever, till Mark began to feel annoyed.

"The brutes!" he said to himself; "they've been asleep all day and can sit up all night. Ah, well, they're prisoners, so I will not be too hard upon them."

Just then Tom Fillot left his post for a moment.

"They must have got some grog below, sir, or they wouldn't keep on dancing like that. Nuff to tire anyone."

"Oh, let them enjoy themselves," said Mark; "it's better than hatching plans to attack us."

It was now within about an hour of daybreak, and Mark kept on looking longingly away over the mist eastward, in hopes of seeing the stars begin to grow pale. But all was deep, dark night at present, and he paced the deck, going from place to place, listening to the uproar made by the Americans, which was as loud as ever.

"Yes," said Mark at last. "They must have got some spirits down below, Tom, or they would never keep up noise like that."

Just as he was speaking one of the prisoners finished off a dance with a tremendous stamp, stamp, stamp, and the others began to applaud and cheer vociferously. Then all was silent, and Mark exclaimed,—

"At last!"

"Perhaps they'll go to sleep now, sir, and I hope they won't wake again for a week."

"Why, what's the matter now?" cried Mark. "I'm not going to have the blacks begin. Here, pass the word for Soup—Pish! I mean for the big black."

"Ay, ay, sir;" and Soup came up quickly, all excitement at the noise going on in the hold.

"Why, they're quarrelling and getting up a fight," cried Mark, as the noise increased; and there was evidently a struggle, while blows were being struck and savage cries arose.

"Go down and stop it," cried Mark. "Stupid idiots! Why can't they be still?"

Soup ran to the hold hatch and lowered himself rapidly down, just as the noise below culminated in shrieks and yells, while the fighting was rapidly growing desperate.

"We must go down and stop it," said Mark.

"Shall I pipe all hands on deck, sir?" cried Tom.

"No, no; we can quiet them. Get a light. They'll settle down as soon as they see me."

Tom Fillot fetched a lantern, and two men who had heard the fierce yelling came up to see just as Mark reached the ladder, and was about to descend, when, to his astonishment, Soup came rushing up, and fell heavily upon the deck.

"Why, Soup, my lad, have they attacked you?" cried Mark, taking the lantern to hold over the prostrate black.

"Hi! Look-out, sir!" roared Tom Fillot, blowing a whistle with all his might, as he drew his cutlass, and made a cut at a dark shadow which leaped on deck; and before Mark could grasp what it all meant, other shadowy figures rushed up from below, made a desperate charge, and a moment later he, Tom Fillot, and Dick Bannock, with Stepney, were driven down into the cabin, while the body of the big black was hurled upon them, and the hatchway doors banged to.

For a few moments Mark could neither get his breath nor speak. Then wriggling himself out from beneath poor Soup, he cried angrily,—

"The treacherous brutes! This is setting blacks free, so that they may turn against us. Why, they've half killed him."

"And us, too, sir," groaned Tom Fillot. "I always thought they'd be too many for us."

"What do you mean?" cried Mark.

"Why, sir, all that caterwauling and stamping was to hide what they were about."

"Who were about?" cried Mark.

"Them Yankees, sir. They've done us this time. I thought they would."



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

IN DESPERATION.

"In the name of common sense, Tom Fillot, what are you talking about?" cried Mark, angrily.

"The Yanks, sir."

"But what have they to do with it? Oh, my arm! It's nearly dragged out of the socket. Here, speak out. What do you mean?"

"Only this, sir: they were too cunning for us. They cheated us with that row they made."

"Look here," cried Mark, pettishly, for he was in great pain, "I'm in no humour for listening to your rigmaroles. Help me to get this hatch undone, and then we must make a rush at them and drive them below. Nice state of affairs to beat the Americans, and all the time leave the way open for those wretched blacks to take us in the rear."

"You don't see the rights of it, sir," said Tom Fillot, dismally.

"Yes, I do. The blacks thought they had a good chance of getting their own way, and they took it."

"Ah, you think it was the niggers, then?"

"Why, of course. Bah! how stupid of me. They made that noise below in the forecastle—the Yankees, I mean."

"Yes, sir, you've got the right pig by the ear now," said Tom Fillot. "They kicked up that row to cover the noise they made breaking through the bulk-heading, so as to get into the hold where the blacks are."

"Yes," cried Mark, excitedly, "and the slaves fought and tried to keep them back. Of course; and we thought it was those poor fellows. Well, it was a cunning trick. A ship makes a bad prison for one's enemies."

"Yes, sir; they've been one too many for us this time," said Tom Fillot. "The Yankees are sharp, and no mistake."

"Do you mean to say, mate," growled Dick Bannock, "that the Yanks got out through the hold where the niggers was?"

"Yes; that's it."

"Oh, very well; that's it, then. Stow all that talking, mate, and let's have a go at 'em again. Strikes me we'd better drive 'em overboard this time."

"Ay, but then they'd come up through the keel or in at the hawse-holes," growled Tom Fillot.

"Silence!" said Mark, sharply. "Who else is down here?"

"There's me," said Stepney.

"Fillot, Stepney, Bannock, and the black, isn't it?"

"Ay, ay, sir. You're here, Soup?"

"Ay, ay, sir," came in the negro's familiar voice.

"Anybody wounded?" asked Mark, anxiously.

"Too dark to see, sir," growled Stepney. "I feel as if I'd got only one leg."

"Ah! your leg not broken?"

"No, sir, I don't think so. I'm a-feeling for it. It's all right, sir; it's here, only got it doubled under me when I fell. Aren't we going to make someone's head ache, sir, for this?"

"We're going to make a dash for them directly," said Mark, in a voice full of suppressed excitement. "Ah! the light at last. Now we shall be able to see what we are going to do. Hush! what's that?"

For there was a loud rattling of chain forward, and Mark looked inquiringly at the face of Tom Fillot, which was gradually growing plainer in the coming light.

"They're a-hauling the chain cable out o' the cask, sir, and running it back into the tier. Hadn't we better make a try, sir, now they're busy?"

"Yes. Now then, Fillot—Bannock, open that hatch, and then follow me."

"Better let me go first, sir," growled Tom. "I'm harder than you, and had better take the first hits."

"Don't talk," cried Mark, snappishly. "Now then, can you get it open?"

"No, sir," grumbled Tom, after a good deal of trying, thrusting and dragging at it. "Tight as a hoyster."

As he spoke, he and Bannock heaved and thrust at the door, and a heavy blow was struck upon it outside.

"Keep below there, dew yew hear?" came in an unmistakable voice.

"You might as well mind your own business," growled Tom Fillot.

"D'yer hear? Keep below."

The door cracked again with Tom Fillot's efforts, and the next moment there was a sharp report, and a bullet crashed through.

"Guess yew'd best keep from ahind that theer hatchway, strangers, for I'm out o' practyse, and I'm going to make a target o' that theer door."

"Stand down, Tom," said Mark.

"Oh, I ain't feared, sir, if you like to say keep on," cried Tom Fillot.

"I know that, my lad; but I'm not going to run foolish risks."

The man came down, and the little party stood gazing at each other in the low ceiled cabin, as the first rays of the rising sun flooded the place, and they could see the schooner astern, with Joe Dance, and Taters the black, looking over the bows eagerly, as if wondering what had taken place.

Mark turned to where Mr Russell lay, in the same calm state of stupor, and the sun lit up his face.

"Don't look like dying, sir," said Tom Fillot. "Strikes me, sir, as he's getting all the best of it."

Mark turned upon him angrily, and Tom Fillot gave him a deprecating look.

"Beg pardon, sir. It's my tongue, not me. It will talk."

"I suppose the others are imprisoned in the forecastle," said Mark, ignoring his remark.

"Dessay, sir. That's why they were getting the chain out of the cask."

"I hope they are not much hurt."

"Oh, I don't suppose they are, sir. We Naughtylasses are all about as hard a lot as the captain could pick out."

"Ay, ay," said Dick Bannock, "they're knocked about, same as we."

Just then there reached them a savage yell; the report of a pistol, and then another; and it was evident from the sounds that a fierce conflict was going on, exciting the men so that they made another desperate effort to get out; but the cabin entrance was too strong, and Mark ran to the window.

"Can we reach the deck from here?" he cried in his excitement, feeling as he did that the cause of the sounds was that the blacks were making an effort on their behalf against their old enslavers, and that at any cost they must get on deck and help.

Dragging open the cabin light, Mark began to climb out, but had just time to avoid a blow from a heavy bar, struck at him by someone looking over the poop, and evidently on guard there to keep them from reaching the deck in that direction.

"Let me try, sir," said Tom. "I can dodge him, perhaps, and get up."

"Let's try together," said Mark; and looking up again, he could see that there was only one man, a sour, sinister-looking fellow, who seemed to take intense delight in his task.

"Wall," he shouted to them, "come on. Sharks is getting hungry, I dessay."

His words sent a chill through Mark, and he hesitated as he thought of the consequences of receiving a blow, losing his hold, and falling under the schooner's stern, where, in all probability, one or two of the savage fish were waiting for the unfortunate slaves who died and were thrown out of such vessels from time to time.

This idea did not strike Tom Fillot, who got well out and was about to climb up, when a blow came with a whish within an inch of his head.

"Miss is as good as a mile," he said, coolly. "Here you, sir; it's rank mutiny to resist the Queen's men. Put down that capstan bar and surrender."

"Come up and take it away from me, mister," said the American, with a laugh. "Wall, why don't you come on?"

"I'm a-coming," said Tom Fillot, "only that bar's a bit in my way. Better lay it down, mate, for I get a bit nasty if I'm hurt, and if you let me run my head again it, I might be in a passion, and chuck you overboard."

"Oh, I shouldn't mind," said the American, laughing. "Come on."

Tom made a feint of climbing up, but there was another fierce blow at him, and all the while quite a battle was raging somewhere on deck, the sounds of blows and firing, with yells, oaths, and shrieks of agony reaching their ears in a confused murmur.

"Come on, Tom," cried Mark, who was completely carried away by the excitement, and half maddened by the knowledge that if they could make a diversion, the schooner and its cargo might yet be saved.

"Right, sir," cried Tom.

"Forward, then!"

Mark reached up, caught at the ornamental work of the stern, and in another moment would have drawn himself on deck, but the man struck a savage blow at him, and, as Mark threw himself sidewise to avoid the bar, one hand gave way, and in his efforts to save himself, the other followed, his feet seemed to be dragged from the ledge of the window upon which he stood, and he fell headlong. But he was checked, and the next moment found himself hanging head downwards, with his face pretty close to the murky water, in which he fancied he could see the broad shovel nose of a shark.

He fell no farther, for, quick as light, Tom had made a dash at him as he slipped, and managed to grasp one leg, which glided through his great, strong hand till he gripped it fast by the ankle.

"Hold on tight to me," cried Tom, excitedly; and two men grasped him firmly as he hung over the window-ledge, supporting Mark suspended there, face downward, and just above the level of the sea.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

HISTORY REPEATING ITSELF.

"How do you like that?" cried the man, leaning over the poop.

"I'll tell you bime by," said Tom Fillot beneath his breath. Then aloud, "All right, my lad. I've got you, you know that."

Mark did know it as he hung there with his teeth set fast, for Tom Fillot's fingers pressed into his flesh, and seemed to be crushing it against the bones of his ankle.

"Hi, some on you, get more grip o' me," shouted Tom. "Get well hold, Dick. You, too, Bob. Now, then, haul away, and have us both in together."

This was as he hung out of the window from the waist, holding Mark Vandean; and exerting their great strength, the two sailors—for Tom was helpless—drew him right back and inward till Bannock could seize Mark's other leg.

As they drew him in the man overhead made a savage blow at the boy with the bar he held, but it fell short.

"All right, sir, we'll pay all that back," said Tom, as Mark stood on the cabin floor once more, looking rather white, and listening to the smothered cries and yells still coming from the deck, while the big black's face was a study to see in his wild excitement.

He had hardly noted Mark's adventure, being all the time close up by the cabin door, listening to the brave fight made by his compatriots; and now, as a fresh pistol-shot was heard, he came from the door.

"All righ'!" he cried. "No, no. Come. Fight."

There was an ominous silence on deck succeeding his words, then a murmur of voices and the banging down of a hatch. Next came a loud splash, and Mark dashed to the cabin window to look-out for that which he felt sure he would see. And there it was—the body of a man floating slowly by, and then on backward in the schooner's wake, the body of one of the blacks, with wild upturned eyes set in death, and, as it seemed to Mark, a look of horror and appeal in the stern, staring face, gazing heavenward, as if asking why such things should be.

A low, deep sigh made the young officer start and look round from the dead figure which fascinated him, to see the big black, whose face was working, and he looked hard now at the young officer, and pointed back at the cabin door, as if asking to be led on deck to avenge his fellow-countryman who had passed before them, another victim to the hated slaving—a black bar across a grand nation's fair fame.

"Yes," said Mark, slowly, as he looked at the negro, and met his appealing eyes, and spoke as if the man could comprehend every word, "we will punish them for this. The wretches deserve no mercy at our hands."

The great black could hardly grasp a word, but he smiled, as if a great satisfaction had filled his breast. For the tones in which the boy officer spoke and his manner were sufficient to make him stand back against the bulkhead with his arms folded, as if waiting for his superior's orders, and patiently watching as Mark called what may be dubbed a council of war.

The difficulty was to propose a plan of action, but Tom Fillot said cheerily:

"Don't know that there's much difficulty about it, sir. Them Yankees have shown us the way. All we've got to do is to follow their lead. Why not?"

"'Cause they'll take jolly good care we don't, messmate," said Dick Bannock, wagging his head. "We've guv 'em a lesson in taking care of prisoners, and take my word on it, Tom Fillot, they've larnt it by heart."

"Hark!" cried Tom Fillot; "they're a-lowering down the boat."

For the chirruping of the little wheels of the falls sounded familiarly on their ears.

"It's to go to the other schooner," cried Mark, excitedly. "They'll take Dance and Grote prisoners too. Do you think you could reach the tow-rope, Tom?"

The sailor looked out from the little window and upward.

"No, sir," he said, despondently. "Too high up, and that chap's waiting to give me one on the head."

"Yes; that will not do," cried Mark, as the splash of the schooner's boat in the water was heard, and the voice of the skipper shouting some directions.

Mark stood hesitating for a few moments, and then, acting upon a sudden thought, he placed his hands to his mouth, reached out of the cabin window, and shouted with all his might:

"Schooner ahoy! Coxswain!"

"Ay, ay, sir," cried Dance from the bows of the towed vessel, just as the boat with five men in glided into sight close to her right.

"Danger! Prisoners!"

"Hi! yew stop that!" cried a voice from the boat, and a man stood up and pointed a pistol at the midshipman.

"Ay, ay, sir," cried Dance.

"Keep the schooner off, and follow at a distance," roared Mark.

Bang!

There was a puff of smoke, the dull thud of a bullet striking the side of the cabin window, and, directly following, the sharp report.

"Loose the schooner," yelled Mark, between his hands.

"Go in, yew," roared the man in the boat, presenting his pistol again; but at that moment Tom Fillot took aim with an empty bottle he had kicked from out of a locker, and hurled it over Mark's head with all his might.

So true was Tom's aim, and so swiftly was the bottle sent, that the American had not time to avoid it, and received a heavy blow in the chest, sufficient to disorder his aim as he fired again.

"Ay, ay, sir," cried Dance, who seemed quite clear again in his head.

"Quick, then," cried Mark, excitedly. "Cut the tow-rope and stand off."

"Yah!" came in a roar from the boat, as the man suddenly sat down, "give way—pull, boys—pull like steam!"

The men began to send the boat through the water, making it foam, and they had but a cable's length to go, but the moments were lengthened out by excitement, and it seemed to Mark as if Joe Dance would never get the cable cut in time.

For while the oars splashed and the men pulled, the coxswain tried to get out his knife, and as Mark and the others watched him, he was evidently nervous, and fumbled. Then he tried to open it with his teeth, but the spring was strong, and he had to alter his tactics and begin to open it with his forefinger and thumb nail, and still it seemed as if he could not get it open; and all the time the boat was rapidly setting nearer. In another few seconds it would be alongside, and the Americans would be on board, five against two, unless Taters made a brave defence. There were a couple of dozen blacks on deck, but they were only staring stupidly at the approaching boat, and Joe Dance was still fumbling with his knife, while Grote had disappeared.

"Oh, if I was only there!" cried Tom Fillot.

"They might have saved that schooner," groaned Mark. "Oh, Tom, Tom, is there nothing we can do?"

"No, sir; only look on. Hah! at last."

"Yes, he's sawing at the cable with his knife."

"And it's blunt as hoop iron," groaned Tom.

"They're alongside. It's all over. Was there ever such luck?"

"Cut, you beggar, cut!" yelled Tom Fillot.

"Too late—too late!" said Mark bitterly, as he saw Dance still hacking at the cable, and the boat pulled alongside, while the bow man threw in his oar, and seized a boathook as he rose in his place.

In another minute the Americans would have been on deck, and the schooner taken; but, just as Mark Vandean's heart sank heavy as lead, Grote suddenly appeared with an axe in his hand, while his words of warning came clearly to where they stood looking on.

"Stand aside!"

Then—Chop!

One dull, heavy blow, and the hawser, cut closely through where it passed over the bows, dropped with a splash into the water and disappeared.

The little party at the cabin window sent out a cheer and then a groan, for the bow man had hooked on, and the Americans began to climb up, their leader having his hands on the bulwarks, and sprang aboard, when something black, which proved to be Taters' fist, struck him in the face, and he fell back.

Another's head appeared above the side, and there was another blow and a splash.

Almost simultaneously Grote struck at another man with a capstan bar, and to avoid the blow, the man ducked his head, lost his hold, and, less fortunate than Mark had been, was hurled with a tremendous splash into the water, in company with the second man, while another got his head up in time to receive a crack which sent him also backward into the sea.

The man holding on loosed his hold to save his companions, who were swimming; and as the Nautiluses at the cabin window breathlessly watched and saw them picked up, they became as much interested in the fate of one of the party as if he had been a friend.

"Get an oar over," cried Mark. "Scull your boat to that man; he's going down."

"The muddle-head!" cried Tom Fillot. "Can't he scull?"

No doubt they were hard upon the man, who was doing his best. He had helped two men into the boat—no easy task when they are half-stunned, and by consequence comparatively helpless—and he had been doing his best to get to the others, who had paddled feebly and then thrown up their hands to grasp wildly at vacancy, so that the case began to look hopeless indeed.

For, failing in his efforts to scull the boat along with one oar, and evidently getting confused in his excitement, the uninjured man now sat down on a thwart and got two oars over the side to begin to row to where a drowning man lay, fully a dozen yards from him.

"Gone!" cried Tom Fillot, excitedly, as the boat was pulled to the place where the man had made a last feeble struggle and then sunk.

Mark drew a deep breath, and uttered a faint groan, as the sailor stood up in the boat, hitcher in hand, looking wildly about.

A volley of cries now came from the poop, just over where the prisoners were watching. Words of advice, orders, abuse, were hurled at the man's head, and Mark, as he watched, thought of his efforts in the cutter to save the blacks' lives, and it seemed to him like a natural form of retaliation coming upon the slavers' heads, as history almost repeated itself, with a difference.

He was, he felt, spectator of a tragedy, and a cold sensation of horror almost paralysed him, but passed away instantly as he saw the man standing in the boat suddenly make a dash with the hook and draw something toward him.

There was a cheer from the cabin window, as the boat careened over, and the nearly drowned man was dragged in.

"Say, messmates," said Tom Fillot, rubbing one ear, "that can't be right."

"What, Tom?" cried Mark, excitedly.

"Why, sir, our cheering at an enemy being saved. We ought to be glad to see him drown, oughtn't we?"

"It was the man, not the enemy, Tom," said Mark.

"Course, sir. I see now; I couldn't make out why we cheered."

And now the little party noted for the first time that the vessel they were in had been gliding steadily on, trailing the divided tow-rope, and being lightened of her burden, was now far-away from the boat, while the second schooner, having one sail set, had also glided away. Then a second sail was hoisted a little, and the helm being seized, her course was altered so as to send her to the west.

"Hurrah!" cried Mark, forgetting the officer in the elation of the boy. "Joe Dance will not let the Yankees overhaul him now. Look, he's getting the blacks to help haul up the mainsail. Then that prize is all right," he added, with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Hope so, sir," said Tom. "I should feel better satisfied, though, if we were aboard too. My, how we could stick to the ribs of this boat here, and lay her aboard some day, and take her again. Ah, here comes the boat."

In effect the boat was slowly pulled alongside, and amidst a great deal of shouting and noise, the prisoners could hear the men helped on board, and the boat hoisted into its place.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

AFTER A REST.

"I wish I knew what was best to do," said Mark Vandean. It was not long before he had to come to the conclusion that unless accident favoured them there was very little chance of escaping from the cabin, and he sat at the window at last, fretting with impatience, trying to master his disappointment, and comparing his fate with that of Bob Howlett, who was doubtless quietly going on with his duties, and amusing himself in his leisure teaching the chimpanzee to chew tobacco.

"I wish I knew what was best to do," Mark said to himself again.

"See that, sir?"

Mark looked round sharply.

"See what?"

"They've altered her course, sir, and are going after the other schooner."

It was plain enough, now that his attention was drawn to the fact. The coast which had been on the starboard side was now on the port, and there, about a mile away was the other schooner just gliding round, and with her sails filling for the other tack.

"Joe Dance sees what they're up to, sir, but he'll never get away. Too short-handed."

"But he and Grote mean to try for it. Look, Tom."

"Ay, well done, my lads," cried Tom Fillot, slapping his leg and then wincing. "Oh, how sore I am! He has the niggers hauling. Pull away, my lads, up with her. Go on, altogether—another pull. That's her. Now then, sheet her home. My wig, look at her now, sir. She can sail."

"Yes, like a yacht," cried Mark, as the great mainsail, which had been only half hoisted in a slovenly way, now spread its broad canvas to the light breeze, and the graceful vessel sped rapidly through the calm sea, and passed out of their sight. "Why, Tom, this boat will have to sail well to catch her."

"They won't catch her, sir, by fair means. If they do, it will be by seamanship, and having plenty of hands to manoeuvre."

"Well, Tom, it seems as if we can do nothing?" said Mark.

"No, sir, 'cept sit on the deck and growl, and that won't do no good, will it? Wish we could see how Joe Dance is getting on."

"I've thought every way I can," continued Mark, "but I can find no means of escape."

"Might perhaps get on deck when it's dark, sir. Dessay I could manage to get up enough to make a jump on to the chap on the watch, and hold him till you were all alongside."

"A desperate venture, Tom."

"Yes, sir, and we're all desperate now, I can tell you."

No more was said then, and after making a hearty meal from the provisions in the cabin, the men sat about and went off fast asleep, worn out as they were with watching and exertion.

But Mark could not sleep. There was the great sense of responsibility to keep him awake, and the question always troubling him: Had he done the best as an officer who had succeeded to so important a charge?

He went to where Mr Russell lay in his berth, and bent over him for a few minutes, but only to go away again with his feeling of misery increased, and seat himself once more at the cabin window in the hope of catching a glimpse of the other schooner when a tack was made; but fate did not favour him. All he could make out was that the vessel must be sailing south and south-west, and the one they were in keeping on in full pursuit.

"I don't wonder," he thought. "It means a splendid profit for them to take her and her living freight."

It was terribly hot down in that cabin, and an intense longing came over the lad to get on deck in the fresh air. Then he looked longingly down into the clear sparkling water through which they were rushing, and thought of how delightful it would be to plunge down and swim.

"Right into the jaws of some shark," he muttered, bitterly, and then, "Oh, Bob Howlett, I wish you were here to take your share of the worry."

The heat and anxiety seemed too much for him, and despair made everything now look black; he could see no ray of light.

But nature is very kind, and she came to the sufferer's help, for as he looked round sourly at those in the cabin, Mr Russell in his stupor-like slumber, and the rest breathing heavily in perfect repose, he muttered:

"Not one of them seems to care a bit. Even Tom Fillot and that black asleep, and at a time like this!"

It is a bad thing to set up as a judge without a plentiful stock of profundity. Mark scowled angrily at the sleepers, and turned away in disgust to gaze out of the cabin window at the flashing sea and try in vain to catch sight of some sail, that might bring help.

The next minute he, too, was sleeping heavily, for nature was building them all up again ready for the struggles yet to come.

A heavy bang as of a closing door made Mark Vandean start up and strike his head against a piece of wood—a blow which for the moment increased his confusion.

Where was he? What had happened?

No answer came, but there was a question from out of the darkness.

"Say, messmates, hear that?"

"Tom Fillot."

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Where are we?"

"Dunno, sir. Here, I think."

"But where is here, stupid?"

"That's a true word, sir. I am stupid—who's this?"

"Dick Bannock, AB, it is," said the familiar voice of that seaman.

"Know where we are, mate?"

"No. Awake, I think."

"Well, we know that," cried Mark, pettishly. "Yes, I remember now. I must have gone to sleep."

"That's about as near as we shall get to it, sir," said Tom Fillot. "This here's the cabin, and there ought to be a locker here, with matches in it, and a lamp. Wait a moment."

There was a rustling as Mark listened, and the rush of the water came up from below, and he could feel that the schooner was gently careening over as she glided on through the calm sea.

"Hooroar!" said Tom; and the next moment there was the scratch of a match, and the little cabin was illumined, showing Tom Fillot learning over a lamp, which directly after burned up, and showed that the cabin door must have been opened while they slept, for a tub of water and a bucketful of biscuits had been thrust in.

"Look at that," cried Dick Bannock. "Now, if we'd been awake, some of us might have got out and took the schooner again."

"Not much chance o' that, messmate," said Tom Fillot. "They're too cunning not to have taken care. Don't mean to starve us, seemingly."

"Put out the light," said Mark, after a glance round, to see that Mr Russell was unchanged, and the next moment the cabin was in darkness.

"Have your arms ready," he whispered, "and keep silence. Perhaps—"

He did not finish speaking, for a faint shadow lay across the cabin skylight, and he was aware of the fact that some one must have been watching, probably listening as well.

The shadow passed away; and mounting on the cabin table by the midshipman's orders, one of the men tried hard to find some way of opening the light, but short of breaking it open with sturdy blows of a sledge-hammer, there was no possibility of escape that way.

After a time Mark whispered with Tom Fillot as to the renewal of an ascent through the cabin window and over the poop.

"Proof o' the puddin's in the eatin', sir," said the sailor. "Only way is to try."

"Yes, by-and-by," said Mark, "when all is quiet. Some of them are sure to go to sleep."

For there was a good deal of talking going on upon deck, and they could smell tobacco, and once there came down the rattle of a bottle neck against a glass.

So the prisoners waited patiently in the darkness, Mark discussing from time to time the possibility of the second schooner having been captured, but they had no means of knowing. One thing was, however, certain—they were sailing very gently, evidently not in pursuit, and, judging by the stars, they were going south, and thus farther away from aid.

Making a guess at its being about midnight, and when all was wonderfully still, Mark whispered his plans to the men. They were simple enough.

He told them that he should climb up over the poop, and do so without exciting the attention of the hand at the helm, for it was possible, though doubtful, that the man set as sentry over them would be asleep. He had no reason to expect this, but it was probable, and he was going to try it.

"Best let me go first, sir," said Tom Fillot. "You might be knocked over at once, and dropped into the sea."

"If I am, you must haul me out again," said the lad, coolly. "There's a coil of signal or fishing line there, strong enough to hold me—there, in that locker. I shall make it fast round my waist, and if I get up in safety, I shall secure it to a belaying-pin, so that it will be handy for you who follow. Mind, as silently as cats. Get it out, and make it fast. Two of you can hold the end."

There was a slight rustling sound as Tom obeyed; the line was declared to be quite new, and kept there in store; and at last, amidst the deep breathing of the excited men, Mark prepared to climb out, while his followers in this forlorn hope were eager and waiting for their turn.

The recollection of the last attempt would trouble the lad, try as he would to be calm and firm.

"I can do it in less than a minute," he said to himself; "but I wish that my heart would not beat quite so hard."

But it would beat all the same, and at a tremendous rate, as he, in imagination, saw the sentry ready to strike him down.

"Ready, sir?" whispered Tom.

"Yes. Got the line?"

"Right, sir; and we'll just keep touch of you, and pay it out. Moment you've made it fast."

"If I do," whispered Mark.

"You will, sir," said the man, confidently. "Give four jigs, and up we come. Got your dirk?"

"Yes."

"Draw it, sir; hold it in your teeth, to leave your hands free, and if any one comes at you use it. That thing can't kill."

Mark drew a deep breath, thrust himself half out of the window, turned, and gazed up.

All was perfectly silent—not a suggestion of an enemy above; and getting right out, the boy seized the carved ornamentation of the stern above the window, raised one foot, to find a resting-place on a kind of broad beading or streak, and began to climb.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

ON DECK AGAIN.

Nothing of a climb up over the stern of that schooner, a trifle compared to the same task on the Nautilus; but it was hard work to Mark Vandean, who had to move by inches, getting well hold and drawing himself up till he was about to reach his hand over the top, when he felt one foot gliding from its support, and thought that he was gone. But a spasmodic clutch saved him, and after clinging there motionless and in a terribly constrained attitude for a time, he drew a long breath once more, reached up suddenly, got a secure hold, and then hung for a few moments before seeking about with his foot for a fresh resting-place.

To his great delight, he found one directly; and, slight as it was, it was sufficient to enable him to raise his head very slowly till his eyes were level with the edge, and he could peer over the stern rail.

That which he saw paralysed him, and he remained perfectly motionless, gazing at the black silhouette of the man at the helm seen against the dull, soft light shed by the binnacle lamp.

This man was motionless, leaning on the wheel with his back to the spectator, but the light shone softly upon the forehead of another, seated on a coil of rope not six feet from Mark, and a little to his left.

This man, whom he recognised at once as the fellow who had struck at him, was intent upon the task of shredding some tobacco up finely, and tucking it into the bowl of a pipe, dimly-seen below where the light from the lamp struck; and as Mark watched him, not daring to move for fear of being heard, the slaver finished his task.

"Open that lantern," he said shortly to the other; and, rising, he took a step forward, Mark taking advantage of the noise he made to lower his head and listen.

The next moment the man altered his mind, as he stuck his pipe between his teeth, and turning and stepping aft, he came to the stern and looked over on the port side, Mark being more to starboard.

Thump—thump—thump went the lad's heart in those perilous moments, as he clung there close to the stern, preparing to drop the moment the man made a step to knock him off into the sea, and consoling himself with the knowledge that the line was tight round his waist, and that his friends had the other end ready to haul him into safety.

They certainly were agonising moments, and yet the man did not stir, only seemed to gaze out over the sea, then downward; and at last he turned away from Mark and walked back to his companion.

"Why didn't you open the lantern?" he said, sourly.

"Hands full," came to Mark's ears, as, unable to restrain his curiosity, the lad raised his head slightly and peered over again to see the lamp opened and the glare of light fall on the thin, sharp features of the smoker, as he drew the flame into the bowl of his pipe till the tobacco was glowing. Then the lantern was closed again with a snap, and the light was softened to a faint glow, shining on the binnacle and the black, shadowy figures before it.

"Keep a sharp look-out," said the man at the helm in a harsh growl; "don't want them fellows to come up and break my head while I'm not looking."

"Not likely to. They'd better. Make out anything of the little schooner?"

"Not since I saw her light. She's ten mile away by now."

"She'll be a cable's length astern to-morrow," said the man, significantly.

"Will she?" thought Mark, but he felt directly after that he had made a slip, for he could see no way of carrying out the plans they had hatched below, and a miserable feeling of despondency came over him. For he knew that if he stirred and made the slightest noise, he must be heard by the man posted to guard against attack. To get on deck was next to impossible, and even if he did he would not be able to make the line fast unless—Mark shuddered and set aside the horrible thought, which was in full—unless he used his dirk.

In open fight it would have been terrible enough, but then it would have been in self-defence, and for the sake of the poor enslaved creatures they were trying to save; but to wait there for an opportunity to strike would be like playing the assassin, and he felt that he would rather jump back into the sea and risk the sharks.

It was hard work hanging there. His arms and wrists ached, his legs felt cramped, and a peculiar tingling numbness began to assail him, as more and more he was forced to the conclusion that there was only one way out of the difficulty, and that was to descend—if he could, for he knew that this would be as difficult a task again.

There was a slight rustling, and raising his head once more very slowly, he looked over to dimly make out the figure of the man who was on guard leaning over the same part of the stern as before, and smoking, a faint glow arising from his pipe at every puff.

"It's all over," thought Mark. "I shall have to drop into the water and let them haul me in. I can't get down. If I move, he'll come and break my head or smash my fingers."

In this spirit he turned his head a little to try and look downward, but it was too dark to see anything, and if it had been otherwise, he could at the most have seen his shoulder, in the cramped attitude he occupied.

He had some idea of signalling by tugging at the cord, but he found that he could not get at it without loosening one hand, which was not to be thought of; besides, if he had tugged, in all probability Tom Fillot would have believed that it was the signal that the cord was made fast, tighten it, and drag him off. So at last he said to himself, "Now for it," and prepared to drop.

But he hesitated. Who would not under the circumstances? It was not many feet down, but the water was black, and there was the thought of the sharks.

He tried to make up his mind for the bold plunge, but still he could not. The perspiration stood out on his forehead, his hands grew wet, and his breath came short; but at last, when feeling that his task must be done, for if he did not drop, Tom Fillot would begin to climb up, only to be struck back, he drew a long breath, and pressing his feet hard against the stern, instead of descending he began to draw himself up. Striving gently he glided on to the rail, and from there, as softly as a serpent, lowered himself to the deck, crept along for a few feet and then began to unfasten the line about his chest, and secured it to the stout iron upon which the block ran from side to side, and held down the heavy boom of the fore and aft mainsail.

For all at once, when he was at his worst pitch of agony and despair at his failure, a familiar voice from somewhere forward cried sharply:

"Jeffs."

"Hello," said the man close by him, softly.

"Forward!"

The man went away, and Mark felt that his time had come. He might be able to make the rope fast after all, without being heard by the man at the wheel.

He could hardly believe in his good fortune, for just as the fellow Jeffs went forward, the helmsman began to hum over some sea-song, pretty loudly, to amuse himself; while he held his hand below his eyes and gazed over it forward, to see what was going on, and why his companion had been summoned.

He was still occupied in this way when Mark gave the line the signal tugs, and crept sidewise into the shelter of the bulwark, where all was perfectly black.

There he crouched dirk in hand, listening to the beating of his heart, and the peculiar dull sound made by the line as it tightened, and this was supplemented by a crack or two as it gave over the wood across which it was strained.

The man at the wheel was so intent upon his song, and that which was going on forward, that he did not notice the sounds which were terribly loud to the midshipman's ear, till Tom Fillot had climbed up, was about to throw his legs over, but slipped.

The noise he made in his slip was slight in the extreme, but unfortunately he uttered a sharp ejaculation as he saved himself from going down. The helmsman looked round, uttered a shout of warning, and picked up a heavy cudgel lying by him on the deck.

Tom Fillot leaped forward, then back, and shouted:

"Up with you, lads!" and then made a rush at the helmsman, avoided a blow aimed at him, and retaliated with a thrust which sent the man staggering back against the next corner, checking him for the moment, and giving Dick Bannock time to get over on to the poop.

But before the others could mount, the schooner's crew came with so fierce a rush that, being in the forefront boldly heading his little party of two, Mark was driven back to the rail, and tossed over, but made a desperate clutch to save himself, and caught at the line he had secured.

It was a terrible scrape for his hands, but he held on, came with a heavy bang against the stern, and feeling as if his arms had been jerked from his shoulders, he hung there for a moment, and was then helped into the cabin by the black and Stepney, who had been stopped from climbing up by the strength of the defence. Then after a sturdy struggle there were a couple of heavy splashes in the dark water below, while from overhead came a jeering series of cheers.

Fortunately, when the man left the wheel, the way of the schooner was to some extent stopped, or Tom Fillot and Bannock would have been hopelessly left behind, the slavers not having the slightest intention of lowering a boat to pick up their enemies; but under the circumstances, as the vessel rolled in the hollow with her sails flapping and the great booms swaying to and fro, the men rose and swam close under the stern, Dick Bannock getting hold of a ring-bolt, and holding on in the darkness, while Tom Fillot swam with all his strength to keep up.

"Can't lend you a hand, mate," growled Dick, "or I would. Take a grip of me with your teeth—oh!"

Dick uttered a yell, so firmly had Tom Fillot followed out his instructions, and there the pair hung as the wheel was seized once more, and the schooner began to glide rapidly through the water.

"How long can you hold on?" cried Mark, whose hands were busy the while.

No answer came, but by this time he had reached up as high as he could, and cut the line, at which the men on deck were jerking and tugging. There was enough for his purpose, and rapidly making a loop, he threw it down.

"Get an arm through that, Tom, and we'll haul you up," cried Mark. "Got it!"

There was a peculiar sound from Tom Fillot, and then a cheery "All right, sir," as the line tightened. For his first utterance had been when his teeth were set fast in Dick Bannock's trousers and leg, the second when he had quitted his hold.

With four in the cabin to haul, and Tom Fillot's activity to help, it was not long before he was up and in at the window, getting the noose of the line off his arm.

"Hold on, Dick," cried Mark, leaning out as far as he could.

"Can't, sir," came like a groan. "There's so little to hold on by."

"Here, quick! the line!" cried Mark, dragging it to him in loops, and, leaning out, he dropped it right on to the man, who made a desperate snatch at it, and twisted it round his wrist as the swift current seemed to snatch him from his hold.

The lad's heart felt as if it had stopped in those brief moments when he gazed down at the dimly-seen figure in the agitated water.

"Right!" came the next moment; and then the word, "Haul."

In another minute Dick lay panting on the cabin floor, breathless and trembling, so that for a time he could not speak.

"Better now?" said Mark, sympathetically.

"Yes, sir," said the man, faintly. "I'm a-coming round, sir, but that there was very near."

"Near?"

"Yes, sir; I thought I was gone."

"But you warn't, mate," said Tom Fillot; "and you and me's got to pollergise for making the cabin floor so wet."

"Never mind the cabin floor," said Mark.

"You dunno how juicy I am, sir, or you wouldn't talk like that," said Tom.

"Are either of you much hurt?" said Mark. "Can't tell yet, sir; haven't had time to think. Pretty tidy, though, I should say."

"Let's have a light and see."

"Oh, never mind about that, sir. We shan't hurt, Dick and me. It was all wrastling, and no knives or pistols. We shall do. Sorry we didn't get up quicker."

"It was a failure, Tom, but only the first time. They tried till they took the schooner; we're going to try the same."

"That's the way to take it, sir. Won't try again to-night, I suppose?"

"Of course not, nor yet that way, Tom. We'll wait for morning now."



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

TOM MAKES A SUGGESTION.

Morning was a long time coming to the prisoners, but at last the bright light of day shed hope into all their hearts, and, forgetful of the sufferings of the night, Mark's eyes were strained as far as the cabin window would admit in search of their prize.

It was nowhere in sight. Dance's head had evidently proved sufficiently clear to enable him to sail the craft well enough to keep out of the would-be captor's reach, unless she were somewhere in sight forward and the American captain was in pursuit.

Whenever any tack was made, eyes were strained to try and catch a glimpse of her, but all in vain, and the prisoners sat about avoiding each other's eyes, for, in spite of all determination to be patient and try and think out some plan, a hopeless state of despondency would creep over them.

Their captors, following their own example, flung them some biscuit through the cabin skylight, and lowered a bucket of fresh water, the American skipper shouting down in a fierce snarl that if they made any further attempt to escape he would have them shot like mad dogs.

"If you can," cried Mark, defiantly, and then he shrank and gave an uneasy glance round at his men to see what effect the American's words had upon them. For with a contemptuous laugh the Yankee uttered the one word "cockerel," and slammed down and fastened the light.

"Never you mind, sir," whispered Tom Fillot at the first opportunity; "cockerels is young game cocks, and we know as you're game to the backbone. You'll give him one p'r'aps 'fore he knows where he is."

It was weary work in that breathlessly hot cabin, but no one murmured, and Mark sat gazing out of the window and wondering why their captors did not set them adrift in a boat, the simple explanation being that they would have done so had they not dreaded being followed and caught when becalmed, and then surprised. For it was evident that, for reasons of his own, the American skipper shrank from leaving the coast, with its many creeks and rivers, where he could hide or run from pursuit.

It soon became evident that either the other prize had been taken and sent off, or Dance had managed to effect his escape, for there was no further sign of her.

Tom Fillot felt bitterly aggrieved.

"He must ha' been a bit flighty still, sir, or he wouldn't ha' done it. He's gone off with that there craft. I would ha' stood by my messmates if it had been me."

Night came, with the position unaltered. They were still coasting along south, and they had full testimony of the fact that their captors did not mean to give them the slightest chance to escape.

The skylight was tried and the door. There was a discussion as to the possibility of getting through the bulkhead forward, and one or two attempts were made, but each time, at the first crack made by the wood, there was the report of a pistol, and the shattering of the bulkhead above their heads, plain proof that they were strictly watched by one who had had orders to fire at the first attempt.

"P'raps we'd best take it coolly, sir," said Tom Fillot, the second time, "or else put it off till after dark."

Mark nodded, and sat listening to some cries which made their black companion begin to pant and glare at the cabin-hatch; and Mark himself felt as if he could have enjoyed lashing with wires the backs of the scoundrels who treated their black fellows worse than they would have treated dogs.

Then night came once more, with the resolve to make another attempt to get on deck; but to their disgust and misery, they found that a lanthorn was placed upon the skylight, where it would cast down its rays and show what they were about, and once more when a movement was made to make an attack upon the door, there came the splintering of glass, a bullet struck down into the floor, and a sharp report told them how well their captors were upon the qui vive.

"Look here," shouted Tom Fillot, "I know who you are, Mr Skipper. You'll be hitting some one if you don't mind, and it may be murder."

There was no response, and the little party subsided into a state of despair.

Excepting Mark.

He was as determined as ever to escape, and felt that there must be a way if he could only hit upon it.

His last idea was to raise some of the cabin floor boards and get down below, where they might reach a hatchway; but there was no chance of doing this while a man was watching them, armed with a pistol. Nothing could be done but wait.

Mark sat back against the bulkhead, with his hand playing with the hilt of his midshipman's dirk, which he had managed to retain all through his various struggles, from the habit of thrusting it into its sheath the moment opportunity served; and as he sat he glared up at the skylight feeling as if he would give anything to have a fair chance on deck, his men against the American skipper's, and the victory to the bravest and most strong. He was ready, boy as he was, to lead them on, being wound up to a pitch of utter recklessness.

Almost, for he had sense enough and teaching enough to know that it would be an act of cruel madness to his men to force them to squeeze themselves, one by one, up through that light, ready to be knocked back helpless into the cabin.

He glanced at Mr Russell, where he lay in his stupor, and recalled some words that officer had once said to him respecting the management of his followers:—"Always use them as if their lives were of greater value than your own, Vandean," he said. "Never risk them recklessly."

"And that would be recklessly," Mark said, half aloud.

"You speak to me, sir?" said Tom Fillot.

"Eh? No, Tom; I was only thinking."

"Of how to get out of this place, sir, and dropping on to them beggars up above?"

Mark shook his head.

"Don't say that, sir. Do think o' some way. It's 'orrid, and I feel 'shamed o' myself. I'd sooner have a fight for it, and be down in hospital six months arter, than be beaten like this here."

"So would I, Tom; but what can be done?"

"Why, here's five on us, sir, and you to lead us, all ready to make a rush for it. We're a bit knocked about, but full of fight. It's only for you to say the word."

"I'm ready to say the word, man, but how can I?" cried Mark, eagerly. "Can we get out on deck through that light?"

"Well, I'm feared as only 'bout a couple on us would, sir."

"Right, even if we could manage that; and the survivors would be thrown back, worse off than we are now."

"That's a true word, sir."

"Well, you know what happened trying the cabin window?"

"Yes, sir, I just do," said Tom, dolefully. "I thought Fillot AB's kit was for sale aboard the Naughtylass."

"Then the door—the hatch; what about that?"

"Ah," said Tom, thoughtfully, "what about that?"

"Why, it's wedged and barricaded up, and exit that way is impossible."

"Hah! Exit that way's impossible," said Tom, after a deep breath. "Exit that way's impossible."

"We could not batter it open, but if we did, the whole gang would be waiting for us, ready to beat us back as we crept through, one at a time. Our only chance is to take them by surprise."

"Only charnsh is to take 'em by surprise," said Tom, thoughtfully—"surprise—surprise. Look ye here, sir," he suddenly cried, eagerly, "why not take 'em then by surprise?"

"How?"

"Powder, sir, out o' that there locker."

"What! and blow them up?"

"O' course, sir," whispered Tom, "sky high."



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

DESPERATE MEASURES.

"Powder? An explosion?"

"Yes, sir; blow the whole thing out just when they didn't expect it."

"The powder?" cried Mark, excitedly. "Yes, of course. Why, Tom, I never thought of that. We will in the morning, when they are not so strictly on the watch."

He looked excitedly at Tom Fillot for a few moments, and then his countenance changed.

"No," he said; "it is impossible."

"Not it, sir. Lay the powder snug again the door, make a train, fire it, get out of the way. Then bang it goes; smash tumbles the door and hatch and all the rest of it, and then out we rushes, knocks 'em over one at a time, and the schooner's ours."

"Man, man, can't you see that if we did that we should blow ourselves up as well?"

"No, we wouldn't sir, because we'd lie down."

"Well, what difference would that make?"

"All on it, sir. Powder flies up, and it wouldn't hurt us."

"Think not?"

"Sure on it, sir."

"Tom, I'm not sure; but dare we risk—"

"O' course, sir."

Mark sat thinking for a few moments.

"We might try it with a little."

"It must be a big dose or none at all, sir."

"Yes, and we must risk it," said Mark. "Now, then, it must be done quietly, for depend upon it that scoundrel is watching us."

"Then I tell you what," said Tom, "as now it's dark he can see us, and we can't see him, I say, sir, let's all have a nap, and directly after the sun's up get ready."

"That's good advice, Tom. We can sleep in peace with the way of escape open to us—that is, if we can."

"T'others can, sir," said Tom; "they're all sound enough."

Mark glanced at their companions, who had been unheeded during their earnest conversation, and could see that his lieutenant's words were correct.

"Let's lie down, then;" and, setting the example, his mind was so utterly weary, and yet so much at peace, that he was soundly asleep in less than five minutes, Tom Fillot in two.

Meanwhile on deck, after a bit of a consultation, the American skipper had determined to get rid of his dangerous prisoners; and to this end he had had the worst boat slightly provisioned with biscuit and water, and she hung at the davits, ready for the midshipman and his followers to be had up one by one, soon after daylight, and disarmed and bundled into the boat to make for the shore.

"We'll get too far out for 'em to nab us again," the skipper said, as he glanced shoreward through his night-glass, where the coast lay some seven or eight miles away.

In profound ignorance of all this, Mark slept on till he was awakened by Tom Fillot, and started up, staring and wondering, till he recalled that which was before him.

Then he felt a chill of dread, for it would be a terrible thing to do— that firing off a sufficient charge of powder to blow out the door and yet leave the occupants of the cabin uninjured.

Tom Fillot had no such dread, and after trying to make out whether they were watched, he quietly thrust an arm beneath the lid of the locker and drew out a tin of powder, which he carried across, and placed with the neck opened and on its side, so that a little of the contents ran out close by the cabin entrance.

This he did three more times, laying the tins neck to neck, each open, and helping to make a little hill of black grains, while his comrades looked gloomily on. Then, fetching a fifth, he opened it, and laid a zigzag train completely along the cabin floor right to beneath the window, and returned carefully to empty the remainder on the little heap and about the necks of the other tins.

Five pounds of gunpowder! Plenty to bring destruction upon all within the cabin, as well as knock out the door and hatch beyond.

"There we are, sir," said Tom Fillot, seeking for a box of matches and coolly taking one out. "Now we'll all lie down together when you think it's a good time, and keep our heads close to the floor. The blaze'll go right over us, and you understand, lads, as soon as the blow up comes, we shall all rush out, take 'em by surprise, and capter the schooner. That's right, sir, ain't it?"

"Yes, that's right, Tom. Be ready, my lads."

"Ay, ay, sir," said the men, coolly; and the black grasped a cutlass as well, looking prepared for anything.

"It'll be sharp work, my lads, but we must win."

"And we will," said Tom, grimly. "Think I can do better with the powder, sir?"

"No; that will be excellent for the purpose," said Mark. "Now give me the box and lie down."

"Give you—the box o' matches, sir?" stammered Tom Fillot.

"Yes. I shall fire the train."

Tom handed over the box unwillingly.

"Hadn't I better, sir? You might be burnt."

"Well, if I am, what then? Ready, my lads?" whispered Mark. "All is quiet now."

"Ay, ay, sir, ready," said the men, as they pressed closely to the floor, holding down their heads for the most part; but Tom Fillot with a face full of anxiety watched.

"Then the moment after the explosion spring up and follow me."

As Mark spoke he lay down close to the end of the train right beneath the open window, took a match from the box, struck it, and, as it burst into flame, touched the powder, which began to burn along the zigzag train with a peculiar rushing hiss.



CHAPTER FORTY.

FIRING A TRAIN.

A sound like a sigh or the escape of some pent-up emotion came from the little group of prostrate men, all of whom, save the black, knew that the powder might after all, while driving out the cabin door and its barricading, injure, perhaps kill them, in its explosion.

But no one flinched, as the schooner careened over in obedience to a turn or two of the wheel, and glided rapidly off on a fresh tack, while the flame of the heavy train ran here and there over the cabin floor, its peculiar hiss suggesting to Mark the idea of a fiery reptile, and the strain of those exciting moments growing till they appeared to be minutes.

Away it sped in its serpent-like trail, for Tom had made liberal sweeps of the powder, and the whole course was marked by an ever-increasing cloud of white smoke, which rapidly filled the cabin, till only about four of the bends remained between the fire and the heap of powder, when with a suddenness that sent a thrill through all, there was a tremendous crash, followed by a heavy, dull jar which shook the vessel from stem to stern. Mark Vandean sprang up, gave one glance toward the stern window as if he were going to spring out, and then flung himself between the burning train and the powder tins, rolling himself over and over in the hissing flame, and at the same time sweeping the powder, so carefully laid in zigzag curves, right and left and away toward the cabin window, where it sputtered and flashed innocuously.

"Quick, Tom!" he panted; "sweep away. Mind it don't go off."

"Why, it has gone off," cried Tom, rising up on his knees and speaking from out of the dense white smoke, which now completely filled the cabin and rendered the men invisible to each other.

He was making for the cabin door, when Mark seized and clung to him.

"Come on, my lads," cried Tom. And then, "All right, sir; you lead them."

"Don't—don't you see?" panted Mark.

"No, sir; who is to see in this blessed smoke? But you're losing time. Come on."

"The door isn't open."

"What? It must be. Come on."

"I mustn't go near," cried Mark. "Look. These sparks."

"Ay, you're all afire, sir. What made you go so soon? You ought to have waited."

"You don't understand," cried Mark, who could hardly sneak for trembling. "That was not the explosion. I—I stopped it."

"You stopped it, sir," cried Tom Fillot, as he kept on passing his hands over Mark's garments to press out a few sparks which lingered there.

"Yes, of course. Didn't you hear what that was?"

"Course I did, sir, though I was down on my face with my fingers in my ears. It went off well. Come on, the door must be down."

Another heavy report seemed to strike the schooner again, as the smoke curled rapidly out of the cabin window, and Mark pressed to it, thrust out his head, and uttered a loud cheer.

"Why—no—yes—hooray!" roared Tom Fillot, as he caught a glimpse of something half a mile away, seen through the thick white smoke. "Cheer, lads, cheer! It's the Naughtylass just astarn."

"I—I knew it," panted Mark, "and stopped the train just in time. Look at the floor and sweep away any sparks that are left. I—I can't now. Mind the powder doesn't go off."

The smoke in the cabin was less dense now, and, awakening fully to the fact that there were sparks here and there where the train had ignited a few tindery spots between the boards, Tom Fillot and Bannock carefully trampled them out and swept away with their caps any portions of the loose powder which might communicate with the heap by the cabin door.

"That's about right now, sir," said Tom; "and that's about safe, but I'm blessed if I didn't think it had all gone off."

Bang! went another gun.

"Go it, old gal," cried Tom. "I say, sir, that first shot must have hit us somewheres forrard. Oughtn't we to give 'em a cheer?"

"Yes," cried Mark; and the men pressed to the cabin window, but before they could shout there was the smashing of glass overhead, and the barrel of a pistol was thrust down.

"Say, there," came in the skipper's voice. "Just yew all lie down. Yew show yewrselves at that winder any one of yew and I'll send a bullet through the fire that signals."

Mark's first idea was to commence war on their side, but he waited his time, and sat down smarting and throbbing, as the black came across to him and laid a hand upon his knee, looking commiseratingly in his face.

"Oh, it's nothing much," said Mark, hastily, though he was quivering with pain.

"But it is much, sir," said Tom Fillot, who, at a sign from Mark, had drawn back and now stood gazing at his young leader.

"Does it show, Tom?"

"Want me to tell you the hull truth, sir?"

"Yes, of course."

"Hair's all singed off, sir, and you ain't got a bit a' eyebrow or eyelash left."

Mark groaned.

"But they'll all grow again, sir," cried the sailor, eagerly, "and it might ha' been worse."

"Couldn't, Tom. It does smart so."

"But s'pose your whiskers had growed, sir. Why, it would ha' took all them off too."

"Don't—don't talk, man," cried Mark impatiently. "Only try if you can see what's going on. How was it we didn't see the Nautilus before?"

"She must ha' come round some pynte sudden-like, and took 'em on the hop, sir. We couldn't make her because we can only see just astarn. They're luffing a bit aboard the Naughtylass to fire. There she goes."

Almost as he spoke there was a white puff of smoke, a shot came skipping along the surface and then went right over the schooner, and splashed in the sea beyond.

"Hadn't we better hyste them colours out o' winder?" said Tom.

"What for?" said Mark, trying to suppress the manifestations of pain which would keep showing.

"They'll think we've surrendered and cease firing."

"But that would be helping the schooner to escape."

"Why, of course, sir," cried Tom, slapping his leg; "that wouldn't do no good. I was only thinking of its being onpleasant to sit here and be shot at by one's own messmates. But it don't matter; they can't hit very often."

Mark glanced up at the skylight, to see if they were being watched, and had ample proof of that being the case, for he could see the skipper looking down at him.

Directly after the man walked away, and they heard him giving some orders, which were followed by a quick trampling, and directly after, to the lad's annoyance and disgust, the cabin was partially darkened by a sail being hung down over the stern.

"To keep us from seeing what is going on," grumbled Dick Bannock.

"No," said Mark; "to keep us from signalling."

But though they could not see, they could hear, and they all sat listening with intense excitement as shot followed shot, and the schooner lay so much over to one side that it was evident that she was carrying a very heavy press of sail, and that the slaver captain was straining every nerve to escape.

"Now, then," cried Mark, "be ready for a rush either at the door or up through the skylight, in case the boats board. We can then take the Yankee between two fires."

"Ay, ay, sir," cried Tom; "strikes me, begging your pardon, sir, as some of us aboard the Naughtylass is terrible bad shots. I want 'em to hit us—forrard, o' course; not here."

"They could hit fast enough," said Mark, petulantly, for he was in great pain, "only they are firing at the rigging, so as not to injure the slaves."

"Course. I forget that, sir; only if they don't bring down a spar, and the beggars escape again, where are we?"

Just at that moment there was a rattling and thumping at the cabin door, as if something was being removed; and as the prisoners listened, the skipper's voice was heard at the skylight.

"Below there!" he cried. "Ah, it's of no use. I'm covering yew with this pistol. Look here, I've got a boat alongside ready; that door's a-going to be opened, and one of yew will come out a time, and tumble into the boat. One at a time, mind; and if there's any show o' fighting, we'll shoot you down without mercy. Do yew hear?"

"Yes, I hear," said Mark bitterly.

"Soon as yew're all over the side, we'll cut yew adrift; and when yew're skipper picks yew up, yew may tell him that I'll throw every nigger overboard before he shall take us, and run the schooner aground and blow her up this time."

"You can give your message when Captain Maitland has you safely in irons, sir," said Mark, stoutly.

"Thankye," said the skipper; and at that moment, in obedience to an order previously given, the cabin door was dragged open.

"What d'yer say to a rush, sir?" whispered Tom Fillot.

He had hardly uttered the words, when there was a fresh crashing noise, a heavy report, and a splintering of wood, accompanied by a strange rustling sound. The door was clapped to again and fastened, and as there was a rush of feet, a shouting of orders, and the sound of axes being used, the schooner swung round, stopped, and the prisoners set up a cheer.

"Mainmast down by the board," cried Tom Fillot, slapping his leg. "We can aim straight, sir, arter all."

Mark forgot the smarting and throbbing from his burns on the instant, as he snatched out his dirk, for knowing as well as if he could see everything that the whole of the after-rigging was lying across the deck and dragging at the side, so that the schooner lay on the water like a gull with a broken wing, he felt that in a few minutes a couple of boats' crews from the Nautilus would be aboard; and if there was to be any resistance, now was the time to make a diversion.

"Make ready, my lads," he cried. "Cutlasses only. Quick!"

Just then there was a fresh crackling and breaking sound, and the skylight, through which he had meant to lead his men, was also darkened by the falling over it of a part of the great sail and the gaff; so that they were in twilight.

"Better try the door, sir," cried Tom Fillot. "We'll kick it out now, sir; there's nothing behind."

"Quick, then, quick!" cried Mark, excitedly; and the men went at it with a cheer, while the shouting of orders on deck grew more loud and angry.

"We must get out, Tom," cried Mark, "and make a desperate effort ourselves. If the boats get here first, they will claim to have taken the schooner, and rob us of all the honour."

"We'll try, sir," cried Tom. "Go it, my lads! Lay your backs into it. Soup, heave!"

But the door resisted all their efforts, and it was evident that the Americans had wedged it with a couple of pieces of wood.

"Oh, this is maddening," cried Mark. "They mustn't find us prisoners here below."

"Let's try the skylight, sir," cried Tom Fillot; and at a word from Mark, he mounted the little table, and began to drag at the heavy canvas, so as to get it aside, but came down with a crash, as there was a flash and the report of a pistol.

"Hurt, Tom?" cried Mark, in agony, as he went down on one knee in the dim cabin, and caught at the sailor's arm.

"Hurt, sir!" grumbled the man. "Just you lose your footing, and come down with your ribs on the edge of that table, and see if you wouldn't be hurt."

"But I mean shot—wounded."

"Yah! no. He couldn't hit a hay-stack, sir. I'm all right."

"Let me try," said Dick Bannock, "while he's loading his pea-shooter."

The man mounted the table, and began to drag at the canvas and tangle of rope, and blocks, but there was no attack made upon him, and he struggled on till he was obliged to give up with a sigh of despair.

"Can't you do it?" cried Mark.

"No, sir, nohow. Wants someone on deck with a hax."

"Let's try the window again," cried Mark; but a few minutes decided that. Hampered by the great sail hanging down, there was no exit there without cutting a way through, while those who tried would have been quite at the mercy of the men on deck.

Back at the door, they hammered and beat and thrust, trying all they knew without avail, till suddenly, as a cheer was heard alongside, one of the pieces of wood which wedged them in so securely gave way a little, then a little more, and with the tramping of feet increasing overhead, the door flew open.

Mark bounded out, but was driven back into the cabin by Bob Howlett, who forced his way in with his men, his first words shouted in the dark cabin—doubly dark to those who entered from the glaring Afric sunshine—silencing Tom Fillot and his comrades, who shrank back puzzled at first, then full of mirth and enjoyment at the midshipman's mistake.

For, seeing in the blackened object whom he had helped to drive back into the cabin a foe of a calibre suited to his size, and one whom he could tackle, Bob Howlett shouted to his men—"Cut 'em down if they resist," and then to Mark. "Now you slave-catching dog, surrender, or this goes through you like a spit."



CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

FUN!

"This" was, of course, Bob Howlett's little midshipman's dirk, a weapon worn more for ornament than use. But the boy looked as if he meant to use it, for, according to his own way of expressing himself, his monkey was up, he was bubbling over with excitement, and ready for anything. As it happened, he was exceeding his duty, for the officer in command would never have given a mere lad charge of men to make a desperate attack upon enemies who had apparently taken refuge below. But without a moment's hesitation he bore Mark back against the bulkhead, gripping him with one hand and with the other holding the point of his dirk against the lad's throat.

"Here, do as I do, my lads," he shouted; and then to Mark:

"Yield, you miserable Yankee hound, or I'll run you through."

Excitement, the emotion and relief at finding himself among friends once more, and the prize safe, robbed Mark for a few moments of all power of speech or action; and then the absurdity of the position tickled him into the determination to hold his peace for a few minutes, and keep up the joke.

"Here," he cried, imitating the Yankee captain's drawl, and speaking in a husky, disguised voice, "just mind what yew're about with that there toothpick, or yew'll be hurting somebody if yew don't cut yewrself."

"Silence, you dog!" cried Bob, fiercely. "Do you surrender?"

"Eh? Dew yew mean give myself up as a prisoner?"

"Yes, of course, sir."

"Then why didn't yew say so, mister, and not talk in that windy-bag way?"

"Disarm the others, my lads," cried Bob. "Now you sir," he continued to Mark, "give up your sword."

"Shan't."

"What?"

"I'm not going to give it up to yew. Tell 'em to send an orfycer, not one of the ship's boys."

"You insolent hound!"

"If yew call me a hound again, squaire, I'll kinder punch your head," said Mark, quietly.

"What!" cried Bob, trying to give his prisoner a shake, but shaking himself instead. "If you dare to say that again, sir, I'll have you clapped in irons. Here, my lads, bring 'em all out, and let's have a look at the hang-dog scoundrels."

"Cock-a-doodle-do!"

Mark gave a fair imitation of the crowing of a cock, and Bob was furious.

"How dare you, sir!" he cried. "Recollect you are prisoner to Her Majesty's ship Nautilus."

"Commanded by Bob Howlett, Esquire," said Mark, in his natural tones, "Oh, I say, Bob, how you can bully and bounce!"

Bob's hands dropped to his side, and just then a familiar voice shouted,—

"Where's Mr Howlett?"

"Here, sir," said Bob, dismally.

"Ah, that's right. Nobody there, I suppose?" The voice was quite close to the door now, and a shadow was cast down into the darkened cabin.

"Oh yes, sir, there's some one down here," said Bob. "We haven't taken the schooner after all."

"What!"

"It's all right, sir," said Mark, stepping out on to the deck to face Mr Staples. "We took the schooner."

"Mr Vandean! Bless me, my dear boy, I am glad to see you again. We thought you were gone. But in the name of all that's horrible, how did you come in this state?"

"State, sir?" said Mark, who had for the moment forgotten his injuries.

"My dear boy, yes; why, you haven't a bit of hair on face or head, and you're black as a negro."

"I'd forgotten, sir. It was the powder."

"Powder! an explosion?"

"Yes, sir; no, sir."

"Mr Vandean," cried the lieutenant, "do you want to aggravate me?"

"No, sir," cried Mark; and he told him hastily what had taken place.

"Lucky for you that you did stop the train," cried the lieutenant; "why, my good sir, it was too desperate; not one of you would have been left alive. But where is Mr Russell?"

"In the cabin, sir, wounded."

"Tut—tut—tut! Signal for the surgeon, Mr Howlett," he cried; and Bob went off, while the lieutenant looked sharply around.

"Where are the rest of your men?"

"Dance and Grote are in the other schooner we took, sir."

"Another? Well, this is a curious state of affairs. You are left in charge of a prize—"

"Yes, sir, and we lost her and took her again, and then captured a second prize. Dance and Grote have charge of her. Haven't you seen her, sir?"

"No—yes. Of course, that is the vessel we sighted just before we attacked here to-day. But the other three men?"

"Don't know, sir, unless they are prisoners in the forecastle."

"Go and see, my lads," cried the lieutenant; and, to the delight of their messmates, the others were set free from where they had been imprisoned.

"Then we are all accounted for," said Mark, holding his hand to his burning face, "But where are the Yankees, sir?"

"Oh, they performed their old manoeuvre," said the lieutenant, bitterly; "as soon as we set off from the Nautilus to board, they took to the boat they had ready trailing alongside, and made for the shore, where I hope the niggers'll catch 'em and turn 'em into slaves. Hah, here comes Mr Whitney! Poor Russell! has he been long like this?"

"Yes, sir; all the time since the Yankees came off in their boat and surprised us."

"Then you—you—Why, Mr Vandean, you don't mean to say you've been in command all the time?"

"Yes, sir," said Mark, modestly. "Fillot has been my first lieutenant."

"Humph! the forecastle joker, eh?" said Mr Staples, grimly.

"No, sir, there has been no joking," said Mark. "It has been too serious for that."

"So I should suppose, my lad. Hah, Whitney, here's work for you. Poor Russell again. Been insensible for days."

"And this lad—burned?" said the doctor, sharply. "Why, Mr Vandean! why, my dear boy, what a state you're in! Get him under an awning at once. I'll dress your face soon."

Mark was quite ready to walk, but he was carried and laid down under the shelter of a sail, and in a few minutes Mr Russell was laid beside him, and the doctor went down on one knee to make a careful examination.

"Very bad?" Mark heard the first lieutenant whisper.

"Bad enough," replied the doctor. "Fracture, with a piece of bone resting upon the brain. We must get him on board the Nautilus at once."

"Dangerous?"

"Pretty well."

"Fatal?"

"In some hands," said the doctor, importantly, "but we shall see."

Mark could hardly believe it true an hour later when he was lying in a comfortable cot on board the Nautilus, with cool applications to his face and head, and a man told off to attend upon him—that man being Tom Fillot. The captain had been to see him, and shaken hands, thanking him for what he had done toward capturing the two schooners, the second, with Dance and Grote on board, being now only a few cables' lengths away.

"We found you did not put in an appearance, Mr Vandean, so we sailed south in search of you, and a pretty dance you have led us. But you have behaved uncommonly well, my dear boy—very well, indeed."

As soon as he could get a chance, Bob Howlett paid the patient a visit, and reported that the doctor had performed an operation upon Mr Russell's head, and said that he had borne it very well.

"What an unlucky fellow he is," Mark cried, as he lay there in perfect peace now that he was relieved of his responsibility, and could rest.

"Not half such an unlucky beggar as some one I know," grumbled Bob.

"Oh, you mean me," said Mark, quietly.

"That I don't," cried Bob. "I call you lucky."

"Me?"

"Yes; look at the fun you've had all to yourself. A regular cruise."

"Fun?"

"Yes, fun. Captain of the schooner; capturing another; complimented by the skipper; praised by old hooks and staples; and of course, just when I thought I was going to distinguish myself, and charged down into that dark cabin and made sure I'd captured the skipper at the point of my sword—"

"Dirk," said Mark.

"Well, dirk, if you like—of course it must turn out to be you. Bah! it's disgusting."

"Nonsense!"

"It is, I say," cried Bob, angrily. "You get all the fat and gravy of life. And now you're as good as wounded, and you'll be named in the skipper's despatch, and—but oh, what a lark!" cried Bob, bursting into a roar of laughter. "What a jolly old fifth of November guy you do look!"



CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

CONVALESCENCE.

"Hallo, old mole!"

"I'm going to give you a thoroughly good licking, Bob, as soon as I get well," said Mark, a few mornings later, on being saluted as above.