A week passed thus; but on the seventh day following that on which the Southern Cross had been spoken, and within an hour or two of the time when the skipper, having worked up his meridian altitude of the sun, had expressed to his passengers a confident hope that they would have crossed the line by the time that they retired that night, the wind began to fail them, and by eight bells in the afternoon watch the ship was lying motionless on a sea the surface of which was smooth as polished glass, save for the undulations of the ground-swell which came creeping up to them from the northward and eastward. The sky was hazy but without a cloud, and the temperature of the motionless atmosphere was almost unbearably oppressive, the pitch melting out of the deck- seams and adhering to the shoe-soles even beneath the shelter of the awning which was spread over the poop.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," said Captain Blyth as he joined his passengers at the dinner-table that evening, "here we are in the Doldrums, fast enough, and no mistake. The nor'-east trades brought us so close up to the line that I was in hopes they'd be accommodating enough to carry us over it. However, we mustn't grumble. We're within sixty miles of the Equator, whilst on my last outward voyage I was left becalmed close upon two hundred miles to the nor'ard of it. And we're not alone in our misery; I counted no less than fifteen sail in sight from the deck just before dark, but I couldn't make out the Cross among 'em. I am in hopes of getting a start across and into the south- easters before she comes up."

"How far astern do you think she is just now, captain?" asked Mrs Henderson.

"Not an inch less than one hundred and fifty miles, ma'am," answered the skipper. "And if she brings the trades as far down with her as we've done—which is doubtful—she can't reach the spot sooner than nine o'clock to-morrow evening. So we've twenty-six hours the start of her now, and I'm going to do my best to keep it."

The saloon was far too hot for the passengers to hold their usual concert there that evening; they therefore adjourned to the deck, and lounged there to the latest possible moment. It was a glorious night— brilliant star-light with a young moon—the combined light enabling them to just dimly make out here and there the hull and sails of one or another of their companions in misfortune, the side-lights, green or red according to the position of the vessel, gleaming brightly and throwing long, wavering, tremulous lines of colour along the polished surface of the water. On board one of these vessels, about a mile distant, someone was playing a concertina—very creditably, too—and singing a favourite forecastle ditty to its accompaniment; and it was surprising how softly yet clearly the sounds were conveyed across the intervening space of water. Singing and playing was also going on among the more distant ships; but the sounds were too far removed to create the discord which would have resulted had they been near enough to mingle.

On board the Flying Cloud all was silent save for the persistent "whistling for a breeze" in which Captain Blyth indulged, mingled with the rustle and flap of the canvas overhead, and the patter of the reef- points occasioned by the pendulum-like roll of the ship. The water was highly phosphorescent; and the two children, carefully looked after by Mr Gaunt, were delightedly watching from the taffrail the streams of brilliant stars and haloes produced by the gentle swaying movement of the ship's stern-post and rudder, when far down in the liquid crystal a dim moon-like radiance was seen, which increased in intensity and gradually took form as it rose upwards until it floated just beneath the surface, its nature fully confessed by the luminosity which enveloped it from snout to tail—an enormous shark! It remained under the ship's counter, lazily swimming to and fro athwart the ship's stern, just long enough to allow the rest of the passengers to get a good sight of it, when it suddenly whisked round and darted off at a tremendous pace toward one of the other ships, leaving a long trailing wake of silver light behind it. A moment later, the sound of a heavy splash at some distance was heard; and whilst the little group of horrified spectators on board the Flying Cloud were still speaking of the terrible aspect presented by the monster a shout and a shrill piercing scream came floating across the water, followed by more shouting and sounds as of the hasty lowering of a boat.

"Hark! What can that mean?" ejaculated Mrs Gaunt.

"Sounds as though there was something wrong aboard the barque yonder, sir," reported one of the men to the chief-mate. (Captain Blyth happened to be below at the moment.)

"Well, it's no business of ours if there is," answered Mr Bryce, not attempting to move from his seat.

"Did you ever know such a brute as that man is?" whispered Mrs Gaunt to Miss Stanhope.

"Never," was the reply. "That I am free from any further association with him will be my most pleasant reflection when I leave the ship."

The flash of oars in the phosphorescent water showed that a boat had been lowered from the barque, and she could be faintly seen pulling about for some time afterwards; but at length she returned to the ship. The cheep of the tackle-blocks could be heard as she was hoisted up, and that ended the incident for the night.

On running into the calm the Flying Cloud had, of course, been stripped of her studding-sails in order that she might be ready to meet the light variable airs which were all she would have to depend upon to help her across the calm belt; and about nine o'clock that evening one of these little puffs, accompanied by a smart shower of rain, came out from the westward, lasting nearly an hour, and enabling the little fleet to make some four miles of progress on their several ways, some of the vessels being bound north, whilst the others were making their way in the opposite direction.

The following morning dawned with another flat calm; but that the crews of the several ships had not been idle during the night was shown by the scattered appearance of the fleet. Six of the fifteen sail counted by Captain Blyth on the previous evening were hull-down to the northward, in which direction three more vessels had put in an appearance during the hours of darkness; but these three were all in a bunch and about twelve miles to the northward and westward of the Flying Cloud. A solitary sail had also hove up above the southern horizon during the same period, and the remaining nine were scattered over an area of about seven miles; the barque before referred to being nearest the Flying Cloud, but a shade to the southward of her, showing how partial had been the light airs encountered during the night.

About four bells in the forenoon watch, that day, a few light cats'-paws were seen stealing over the surface of the water from the southward, and the sails of the several vessels were properly trimmed to meet them. The Flying Cloud happened to be heading to the westward, whilst the barque was heading east when the little breeze reached them, in consequence of which the two vessels began to approach each other on opposite tacks as soon as their canvas filled. Captain Blyth had been informed of the mysterious incident of the previous night on board the barque, and he now announced his intention of speaking her if the breeze lasted long enough to bring the two vessels within speaking distance. It was at first doubtful if this would be the case, but when the two vessels were within about a cable's-length of each other a somewhat stronger puff came up, dying away again just as the Flying Cloud was slowly passing under the barque's stern.

The usual hails were exchanged, by means of which each captain was made acquainted with the name, destination, port sailed from, number of days out, and so on, of the other vessel (the barque turning out to be the Ceres, of Liverpool, bound from that port to Capetown); and then Captain Blyth continued:

"Was anything wrong on board you last night? Some of my people thought they heard some sort of a commotion in your direction."

"Yes," answered the skipper from the barque. "I am grieved to say that we lost one of our best men. The poor, foolish fellow—unknown to me, of course—took the notion into his head to jump overboard, with the idea of swimming round the ship. He jumped from the starboard cat-head, and had very nearly completed his journey when he was seized by a shark and carried off from under our very eyes, as it might be. We lowered the gig and gave chase, but the boat could not get near him, and at last the fish dived, taking the man down with him, and we never saw any more of either. Good-bye! if we don't meet again I'll be sure to report you when we get in!"

The vessels gradually drifted apart, and the short colloquy was brought to a close.

"Good heavens, how horrible!" ejaculated Gaunt, turning to his fellow- passengers, who, with himself, had heard the short history of the tragedy. "That must, undoubtedly, have been the identical shark we saw. Being in the water he, of course, heard the plunge of the unfortunate man before the sound reached our ears, and at once made off, as we saw, in that direction. How little we dreamed of the fatal errand on which he was bound as we watched him disappear! Truly, 'in the midst of life we are in death.'"

Shortly before noon a black, heavy, thunderous-looking cloud worked up from the southward, and, when immediately over the ship, burst with a tremendous downpour of rain, but with no wind. Seeing that the fall was likely to be heavy, Captain Blyth ordered a couple of studding-sails to be opened out and spread to catch the water as it fell, and so copious was the shower that not only did they succeed in completely refilling all the tanks, but, by plugging up the scupper-holes the men were actually enabled to enjoy the unwonted luxury of a thorough personal cleansing in the warm soft water, and also to wash a change of clothing. The ladies and children, had, of course, been driven below by the heavy downpour; but they were not forgotten, Messrs. Henderson and Gaunt taking care to promptly secure a sufficiency of water to afford each of them the treat of a copious fresh-water bath.

Between sunrise and sunset that day, the Flying Cloud contrived to make nearly eight miles of southing, and a small slant of wind during the night enabled her to make about fourteen more. When morning dawned they were again becalmed; but the sky was overcast, and it was evident that a heavy thunder-squall was working up from the eastward, and Captain Blyth was in hopes that when it came it would do them good service. He was on deck at daylight, eager to see if he could discover any traces of the Southern Cross; and great was his jubilation when, after a most careful scanning of the horizon from the main-topgallant- yard, he failed to detect anything at all like her in sight.

By breakfast-time the aspect of the sky was so threatening that Captain Blyth gave instructions to have all the lighter canvas taken in, leaving the ship under topsails, courses, fore-topmast staysail, jib, and mizen. It was well that he took this precaution, for just as they sat down to breakfast it began to thunder and lighten heavily, and about ten minutes later, a terrific downpour of rain followed. The rain suddenly ceased, and the murky darkness of the atmosphere as suddenly gave place to a vivid yellow light, a change which caused the skipper to spring to his feet and rush out on deck without even the pretence of an apology to his passengers for so abrupt a movement. On reaching the deck his first glance was to the eastward, the direction from which the light emanated, and he then saw that the heavy veil of black cloud—which now completely overspread the heavens—was in that quarter rent asunder, leaving a great gap through which was revealed a momentarily increasing patch of pale straw-coloured sky. The water was every where black as ink save beneath this livid streak, but there it presented the appearance of a long line of snow-white foam advancing toward the ship with terrific rapidity.

The second-mate, who was in charge of the deck, was standing on the poop regarding this phenomenon with a doubtful expression of visage, which gave place to one of unmistakable relief when he saw the skipper on deck.

"That looks like a squall coming down, sir"—he began. But Captain Blyth had no time to attend to him just then; he saw that there was not a moment to be lost, and turning his back unceremoniously upon Mr Willoughby he shouted:

"Stand by your topsail-halliards here, the watch! Hurry up, my lads, or we shall lose the sticks! Let run, fore and aft!"

The men, who saw what was coming, and had been expecting the call, sprang at once to their stations, let go the halliards, and then helped the revolving yards down by manning the topsail-clewlines, by which means the three topsails were snugly close-reefed by the moment that the squall burst upon them. There was no time to do more or Captain Blyth would have taken the courses off the ship. As it was she had to bear them; and so heavy was the squall that during its height the vessel was compelled to run dead before it. Her head was, however, brought to the southward the moment that it was safe to do so, and away she went like a frightened thing, tearing through the surges with her lee gunwale under. The first fury of the squall was spent in about a quarter of an hour, but it continued to blow with great violence until noon, when the gale broke and the crew were able to take a pull of a few feet upon the topsail-halliards. By eight bells in the afternoon watch the ship was under whole topsails once more, with a clear sea all round her and a rapidly clearing sky; and at ten o'clock that same evening, when Captain Blyth entered the saloon, after personally superintending the setting of the topgallant-sails, he announced not only that there was every prospect of a fine night and a steady breeze, but also that he believed they had caught the south-east trades.



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE DERELICT BARQUE.

The next morning demonstrated the correctness of Captain Blyth's surmise; for daylight found them with the breeze still steady at about east by south, and so fresh that they were compelled to keep all their skysails and the mizen-royal stowed. Needless to say, everybody was delighted at having slipped through the Doldrums so easily; even the chief-mate almost allowed himself now and then to be betrayed into an expression of dawning amiability; and, as for Captain Blyth, his exuberance of spirits threatened at times to pass all bounds. He believed it quite impossible that the Southern Cross could now cross the line in less than three days, at least, after himself; and the way in which the Flying Cloud, against a fair amount of head sea and on a taut bowline, was steadily reeling off her eight, nine, and sometime even ten knots per hour, with her really extraordinary weatherliness, quite convinced him that he could beat his antagonist in any weather which would permit him to show his topgallant-sails to it.

This state of general satisfaction and good humour was at its height, when about ten o'clock on that same morning, a man who was at work on the weather fore-topsail-yard-arm hailed the deck with:

"On deck, there! There is a wreck, or something like it, broad on our weather-beam, and about nine mile off."

Captain Blyth was on deck, and so was Ned; and the skipper immediately ordered that young gentleman to go aloft with his glass to see if he could make out the object.

Ned was soon in the main-topmast cross-trees, from which elevated stand- point he was at once enabled to make out the whereabouts of the supposed wreck with the naked eye, and he was not long in bringing his glass to bear upon it.

"Well, Ned, my hearty," hailed the skipper, when the lad had been working away in a puzzled manner with his telescope, "that you see something is perfectly evident. What d'ye make her out to be?"

"It is not very easy to say, sir," replied Ned. "The light is so dazzling in that quarter that I can see nothing but a dark patch; but it looks more like a vessel on her beam-ends than anything else. But, if it is so, she is lying over so much that her sails are in the water."

"Phew!" whistled the skipper. "We must have a look at her; it will never do to leave a ship in such a fix as that. Can you see any people on board her, Ned?"

"No, sir," was the answer. "But if there are people on board it would be impossible to make them out from our present position."

"No, no," muttered the skipper, "I don't suppose it would; of course not. Hark ye, Ned; just stay where you are, my lad, and let me know when we have brought the wreck a good couple of points abaft our beam, and in the meantime take a look round with your glass and see if you can make out anything like a boat anywhere."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied Ned, settling himself into a comfortable, easy position in the cross-trees, somewhat to the secret trepidation of Miss Stanhope, who was watching his movements with a great deal of undemonstrative interest, and who every moment dreaded that the young man's careless attitude, coupled with the pitching of the ship, would result in a fall. Nothing of the kind, however, happened; and in due time Ned hailed:

"I think we can fetch her now, sir. I can make her out much better than I could a quarter of an hour ago; and I believe she is a ship on her beam-ends. I can see nothing of boats in any direction, sir."

"Very well," replied Captain Blyth. "Stay where you are, nevertheless, and continue to keep a bright look-out. We will tack the ship, if you please, Mr Bryce."

"Ay, ay, sir. Hands 'bout ship!" responded the chief-mate; and in a minute or two the men were at their stations.

"All ready, sir!" reported Mr Bryce Captain Blyth walked aft to the mizen-rigging, signed to the helmsman, and gave the word:

"Helm's a-lee!"

"Helm's a-lee," responded the men, lifting the coiled-up braces and so on from the pins and throwing them down on the deck all ready for running.

The ship shot handsomely up into the wind; and the word was given to "raise tacks and sheets," quickly followed by the other commands; and in a couple of minutes the Flying Cloud was round and heading well up for the wreck, whilst the crew bowsed down the fore and main tacks simultaneously with the aid of a couple of watch tackles.

To the honour of Captain Blyth be it said that, though his interest in the race between his own ship and the Southern Cross was as ardent as though his very life depended upon its result, not one single murmur escaped him on account of this delay; for delay it certainly was. No; apart, perhaps, from the passengers, he of all on board betrayed the most anxiety respecting the crew of the distressed vessel.

In an hour the Flying Cloud was hove-to abreast and close to leeward of the wreck, which proved to be a fine wooden barque, copper-bottomed, on her beam-ends, as Ned had reported, with her masts lying prone in the water. There was no sign of any one on board her; nevertheless Captain Blyth ordered one of the gigs to be lowered, and instructed Mr Bryce to proceed to the wreck and give her a careful overhaul. At Mr Gaunt's own request that gentleman accompanied the mate.

The little party had some difficulty in boarding the derelict, for she was lying broadside-on to the wind, with her masts pointing to windward; and though there was no very great amount of sea running, there was still sufficient to make boarding from to windward an awkward if not an absolutely dangerous matter, in consequence of the raffle of spars and cordage in the water. But they succeeded at last; Mr Gaunt and the mate contriving to gain a footing in the main-rigging, whilst the boat with her crew backed off again out of harm's way. The task of examining the vessel, now that they were actually on board her, was even more difficult and dangerous than that of boarding, the ship lying so far over that her deck was perpendicular. By getting out on her weather side, however, and by means of ropes'-ends, they eventually succeeded in penetrating first to the cabin, and then to the forecastle (both of which were on deck); but in neither was there any one to be found. There were, however, in the cabin, signs—such as open and partially empty boxes and trunks, with articles of wearing apparel scattered about—which seemed to indicate that the vessel had been very hurriedly abandoned; and the state of these articles was such as to lead Mr Gaunt to the conclusion that the abandonment had taken place within the previous twenty-four hours.

Having so far completed their examination, the boat was signalled to again approach, and a few minutes later the party found themselves once more on the deck of the Flying Cloud, the chief-mate briefly reporting that the barque was undoubtedly abandoned.

"Then," said Captain Blyth, hesitatingly, "I suppose there is nothing more to be done but to hoist up the boat and fill away upon our course again?"

"No; I suppose not, sir," replied Bryce, in a tone of voice which very sufficiently indicated his supreme indifference.

"Very well," said the skipper, "man the—"

"Excuse me, Captain Blyth, but may I offer a suggestion?" interrupted Mr Gaunt.

"Assuredly, my dear sir," responded the skipper; "what suggestion would you offer?"

"Well," said Mr Gaunt, "if I may be permitted to say so, it seems a great pity to leave that fine ship there, to be possibly run into by and perhaps to occasion the loss of another ship; or, as an alternative, to eventually founder. So far as I could perceive, the hull is as sound and tight as ever it was, and, by the way she floats, I do not believe she has very much water in her; and with regard to her spars, her fore and main-topgallant masts are snapped off short by the caps, which appears to be about all the damage done in that direction. Now, why should you not right her, pump her out, man her, and send her into port? If her cargo is valuable, as is likely to be the case, it would put a handsome sum of salvage money into your pocket."

"So it would, sir," replied the skipper. "I was thinking of that just now, but couldn't exactly see how the thing is to be done; and as Mr Bryce seemed to have no idea of any such thing, why I concluded it must be impracticable."

"By no means, I should say," observed Mr Gaunt. "We engineers, you know, are constantly accomplishing things which other people would be disposed to pronounce impossible; and I confess I see no great difficulty in this case. I believe the barque is only held down in her present position by the weight of the water in her canvas."

Mr Gaunt then indicated to the skipper the means which he thought would be likely to prove successful; and Captain Blyth, though somewhat doubtful of the result, was sufficiently impressed to express his willingness to try the experiment, Mr Gaunt volunteering—to his wife's secret dismay—to assist by taking charge of a small working party on board the derelict.

To work all hands accordingly went. The gig once more shoved off for the barque, which was boarded by the energetic engineer and four men, who took with them a coil of light line, an axe, and, of course, their clasp knives. The little party got out on the weather side of the ship, in the main-chains, uncoiled their line, and were then all ready to commence operations. The gig, meanwhile, returned to the ship, and received on board a large but light new steel towing hawser, which was coiled down in long flakes fore and aft the boat, and with this she once more went alongside the barque, to leeward of her this time, however— that is to say, alongside the vessel's upturned bilge. A rope's-end was hove into her by the little working party in the main-chains, and by this means the end of the hawser was hauled on board, and, with some labour and difficulty, eventually made fast round the mainmast head, just above the truss of the main-yard. This done, a signal was made to the Flying Cloud, which had meanwhile drifted some distance away, and the ship thereupon filled her main-topsail and bore up, waring short round upon her heel. At the same time the crew hauled up the courses, clewed up royals and topgallant-sails, and, in short, reduced the canvas to the three topsails, jib, and spanker. She was now upon the larboard tack. Having stood on a sufficient distance, Captain Blyth went in stays, and the ship was again headed for the barque. Now came the only delicate part of the operation. But the skipper was an accomplished seaman, and he managed his part of the work to perfection, bringing the Flying Cloud up alongside the barque so close to leeward that there was only bare room for the boat between the two hulls; and at the proper moment the main-topsail was backed and the way of the ship stopped. A rope's-end, to which the other end of the hawser was attached, was then promptly hove from the boat alongside and smartly hauled inboard over the ship's bows, and several turns of the hawser were taken round the windlass-bitts. Then, by carefully manipulating the canvas, the Flying Cloud was brought head to wind, or with her bows towards the derelict, until, dropping to leeward all the time, the hawser was tautened out and a strain brought upon it. The topsails were then laid flat aback, and the result was awaited with some anxiety; the boat meanwhile remaining alongside the derelict to take off Mr Gaunt and his little party in the event of any accident happening. For a few minutes no visible result attended these manoeuvres; but at length a shout from Mr Gaunt of "Hurrah, there she rises! Be ready to let go the hawser on board there when I give the word" was followed by a barely perceptible indication that the vessel was righting. The movement increased; and then, still gradually, the masts rose out of the water until they were at an angle of about forty-five degrees with the horizon, when the vessel recovered herself so suddenly that the little party on board had to cling on for their lives or they would have been flung into the sea. A heavy roll or two followed, and the vessel then settled upon an even keel once more, with the water pouring in torrents out of the canvas down on to the deck, and wetting Mr Gaunt and his crew to the skin. Captain Blyth was personally superintending his share of the operations from the Flying Cloud's forecastle, and at the proper moment the end of the hawser was cast off and let fly overboard, to be recovered later on by the gig.

The first thing the engineer now did was to heave-to the barque as well as he could with his scanty crew; his next act was to sound the well, with the result that a depth of five feet of water was found in the hold. This, however, was not so formidable a matter as it at first sight appeared; for, the hold being tightly packed with cargo, the water could only get into the interstices, and a comparatively small quantity would consequently show a large rise in the pump-well.

A strong gang was now sent on board the barque, with the chief-mate in command; and the pumps were at once manned. A quarter of an hour's work at these sufficed to show that the vessel was making no water (that which was already in her having doubtless made its way in through the top-sides and down the pump-well whilst the craft was on her beam-ends); the men therefore went to work with a will, and by eight bells in the afternoon watch it was reported that the ship was dry.

Mr Gaunt, meanwhile, made his way into the cabin as soon as the mate took charge, and proceeded to give the place a general overhaul, with the object of ascertaining who and what the vessel was. He succeeded in finding the log-book, log-slate, and the captain's desk, with all of which he proceeded on board the Flying Cloud. The articles were placed in the hands of Captain Blyth, who forthwith sat down to examine them, with the result that the barque was found to be the Umhloti of Aberdeen, her commander's name being Anderson. She was from Port Natal, bound to London, thirty-three days out when discovered; and her cargo consisted of hides, ivory, indigo, coffee, sugar, and wool. She was therefore a very valuable find, well worth the time and trouble they were devoting to her. The last entry on the log-slate had been made at eight o'clock on the previous morning; and the log-book had been written-up as far as noon on the day preceding that. Captain Blyth had therefore no difficulty in arriving at the conclusion that the vessel must have been capsized in a very similar squall to that which had struck the Flying Cloud on the previous day, and at about the same moment. This surmise was confirmed by the fact that when Mr Gaunt had entered the captain's state-room he had found the chronometers still going, though nearly run down. He had, of course, at once taken the precaution to wind them afresh.

Having brought the pumps to suck, the next task of the men on board the Umhloti was to clear away and send down on deck the wreck of the fore and main-topgallant masts, with all attached, a couple of hands being at the same time deputed to give the store-room an overhaul to ascertain whether the contents had been damaged or not by water. Everything was luckily found to be in perfect order there, the water not having risen high enough in the hull to reach the lazarette. This being found to be the case, nothing now remained but to man the vessel and dispatch her on her homeward way.

Captain Blyth had already thought out his plans in this direction. And when it was reported to him that the barque could part company at any moment he went forward, and, mustering the steerage passengers, told them he had not only observed their efforts to make themselves useful on board, but had also noticed that those efforts had been crowned with a very fair measure of success; he would now, therefore, ship the whole of them for the passage, if they chose, paying them ordinary seamen's wages from the commencement of the voyage. So good an offer was not to be lightly refused; and, after a few minutes' consultation together, the men unanimously declared their willingness to accept it. This made the rest of the business quite plain sailing for the skipper; and, closing with the Umhloti, he hailed Mr Bryce to say that he intended to send him home in charge, and that he was to ascertain how many of the men then with him would volunteer to return to England. A crew of fourteen hands, all told, was soon made up, Tim Parsons and two of the apprentices being of the number; and just as night was closing down the two vessels parted company, Captain Blyth, Ned, and the saloon passengers taking advantage of the opportunity to send home letters to their friends, the skipper taking the precaution to enclose them all in his dispatch to his owners, lest Mr Bryce, in his indifference, might neglect to post them. It may as well be mentioned here that the Umhloti arrived safely in England about a fortnight later than the passengers and crew who had abandoned her; and that the letters she carried duly reached their destination.

The changes rendered necessary by this drafting off of so large a proportion of her crew involved certain promotions on board the Flying Cloud, in which promotion Ned, to his intense gratification, was made a sharer, he being appointed acting second-mate vice Mr Willoughby, who was promoted to the post of chief, whilst Williams was made boatswain's- mate.

The ship being now once more close-hauled, with the south-east trade- wind blowing steadily, and only a very moderate amount of sea running. Miss Stanhope regarded the occasion as propitious for the perfecting of herself in the art of steering; and she accordingly practised with great assiduity. Ned, of course, by virtue of his promotion, was no longer required to take his trick at the wheel—he was now the officer in command of the starboard watch—but Sibylla did not allow that circumstance to interfere in the least with her plans; on the contrary, she rather made it subservient to them. For, whereas she had before been obliged to wait for her lesson until Ned's trick came round, she now simply watched her opportunity, and whenever she saw that the young man had nothing very particular to do, she would go up to him and say, "Mr Damerell, is it convenient for you to give me a steering-lesson?" Whereupon Ned would make a suitable response, and, accompanying the young lady aft, would say to the helmsman "Here, Dick, or Tom, or Harry", as the case might be, "go forward and do so and so; Miss Stanhope wishes to give you a spell. When she is tired I will let you know, and you can come aft again and relieve her." Upon which the seaman, with an inward chuckle and much carefully suppressed jocularity, would shamble away for'ard, fully convinced by past experience that he need think no more about the wheel until his trick should again come round. By the time that the ship had run through the south-east trades, Sibylla could steer her, when on a wind, as well as the best helmsman on board; and, proud of her skill, she then began to long for the opportunity to try her hand with the ship when going free. This opportunity came, of course, in due time; and, though the fair helmswoman at first found the task far more difficult that she had ever imagined it could possibly be, she soon developed such extraordinary skill that Ned's prophecy at length became literally fulfilled, Captain Blyth gradually getting into the way of turning to Miss Stanhope when any exceptionally fine steering had to be done—as, for instance, when some contumacious craft ahead persistently refused to be overhauled—and saying, "I am afraid there is no resource but to invoke your aid, my dear young lady; we shall never overtake yon stranger unless you will oblige us with a few of your scientific touches of the wheel." Whereupon Sibylla, looking very much gratified, would make some laughing reply, and forthwith take the wheel, keeping the bows of the Flying Cloud pointing as steadily for the strange sail as though they had been nailed there, always with the most satisfactory result.

It was perhaps only a natural consequence of Ned's assiduous "coaching" of Miss Stanhope in the helmsman's art that the formal relations usually subsisting between passengers and officer should to a certain extent have given place to a kind of companionship, almost amounting to camaraderie, between these two young people. The seamen were almost, if not quite, as quick as their skipper in detecting what was going forward; and it is not very surprising that, with their love of romance, they should forthwith regard the handsome young mate and his pupil as the hero and heroine of an interesting little drama. This view of the affair afforded the men for'ard intense gratification. Ned was exceedingly popular with them; and the tars regarded the conquest with which they so promptly credited him almost as a compliment to themselves, and a triumph to which each might claim to have contributed, even though in ever so slight and indirect a way. It will be seen later on that this fancy on the part of the crew was the means of placing Sibylla in a most trying situation.

A few days later a sad fatality occurred. The ship was somewhat to the eastward of the Cape, going nine knots, with her topgallant-sails furled, the wind blowing very fresh from the northward, and a tremendously heavy swell running. Captain Blyth, the mate, and Ned were all on the poop, busy with their sextants, the hour being near noon, when, the ship giving a terrific lee-roll, Mr Willoughby lost his balance, and, gathering way, went with a run to leeward. Whether the accident was due to the poor man's anxiety to preserve his sextant from damage or not can never be known, but certain it is that, from some cause or other, he failed to bring up against the light iron protective railing which ran round the poop, overbalancing himself instead, and falling headlong into the water.

A shriek from the ladies, who witnessed the accident, and the shout of "Mate overboard!" from the helmsman caused the skipper and Ned to lay their instruments hurriedly down on deck and run aft to the lee quarter, where the first thing they saw was the unfortunate man's hat tossing on the crest of a sea about a dozen yards astern.

"He can't swim a stroke," exclaimed Ned to the skipper; and then, before the latter could stop him, the gallant fellow took a short run, and plunged headlong into the foaming wake of the ship.

"Down helm!" exclaimed the skipper to the man at the wheel, springing at the same time to the lee main-brace, which he let fly. The men forward, meanwhile, having heard the cry of "Mate overboard," rushed aft to the braces, and in another minute the ship was hove-to, with her mainsail in the brails.

This done, Williams, who was perhaps the keenest sighted man in the ship, sprang into the mizen-rigging, and, making his way with incredible rapidity into the top, stood looking in the direction where he expected to see the two men.

"D'ye see anything of them, Williams?" shouted the skipper.

"Yes, sir; I can see one of them," was the reply; "but which one it is I can't tell. It must be Ned though, I think, for he seems to be swimming round and round, as though looking for the mate."

"Keep your eye on him, my man; don't lose sight of him for a single instant!" shouted the captain. Then, turning to the men, who were clustered together on the poop, he exclaimed: "Now then, men, what are you thinking about! Out with the boat, my hearties; and be smart about it!"

The men moved to the tackles and threw the falls off the pins down on to the deck, talking eagerly together meanwhile; then one of them turned, and, stepping up to the skipper, said:

"Who is to go in the boat, sir? I must say I don't care about the job; and the others say the same. We don't believe we could get away from the ship's side in such a sea as this."

Captain Blyth stamped on the deck in his vexation and despair. It was only too true; the boat would to a certainty be stove and swamped if any such attempt were made; and that would mean the loss of more lives. What was to be done? Leave two men to perish he would not, if there was any possible means of saving them.

"Can you still see either of them, Williams?" hailed the captain.

"Yes, sir; I can still see the one I saw at first; but not the other," was the reply.

"We must pick him up, if possible," exclaimed the skipper. "Up helm, my man; hard up with it. Man the main-braces, and fill the topsail!"

At this juncture Sibylla, who had not heard the first part of the skipper's speech, stepped up to Captain Blyth, ashy pale, and gasped:

"What are you going to do, captain? Is it possible you are going to be inhuman enough to leave that poor fellow there to die?"

"No, my dear," was the answer. "I am going to save him, if it is in human power to do so. You go below, now, like a good girl, and persuade the others to go too; this is no sight for a woman to look upon."

But Sibylla could no more have gone below than she could have flown. She walked aft, and stood at the taffrail with tightly-clasped hands and starting eyes, looking eagerly astern, her whole body quivering with an agony of impatience at what seemed to her the tardy movements of the ship.

As a matter of fact, however, the Flying Cloud had never proved herself more handy, or been worked more smartly than on that precise occasion; had she been sentient she could scarcely have yielded to her commander's will more readily than she did. Keeping broad away until she had good way on her the skipper watched his opportunity, and, signing to the helmsman, the wheel was put over, and the ship flew up into the wind, tacking like a yacht, Williams at the same time making his way up on to the royal-yard, in order that the main-topsail might not interfere with his range of vision. In effecting this change of position, notwithstanding his utmost care, he contrived to lose sight of the diminutive speck on the surface of the water; and when Captain Blyth again hailed, asking him if he still saw it, he was compelled to answer "No." An anxious search of about a minute, however—a minute which seemed an age to Sibylla—enabled him to hit it off once more, and he joyously hailed the deck to say that the person—whoever it might be— was still afloat and broad on the lee-bow.

"Keep her away a couple of points," commanded Captain Blyth; "and pass the word for the boatswain to muster all the light heaving-line he can lay his hands upon. Range yourselves fore and aft along the lee bulwarks, my lads, and let each one stand by to heave a rope's-end with a standing bowline in it as soon as we get near enough. How does he bear now, Williams?"

"Straight ahead, sir. Luff, or you will be over him! It is Ned, sir."

"Luff!" said the skipper. "Man the main-braces, some of you, and stand by to heave the main-yard aback."

Captain Blyth then sprang upon a hen-coop, and peered eagerly out ahead.

"I see him!" he eagerly exclaimed at last. "Back your main-topsail. Luff, my lad; luff and shake her! So, well there with the main-braces, belay all; and stand by fore and aft with your ropes'-ends. Look out, for'ard there; now heave! Missed him, by all that's clumsy! Try you, the next man. Missed again; line not long enough. Steady, men, steady, or you'll lose him yet. Now, look out, Ned, my lad! Heave, boatswain, and let us see what you can do. Well hove! Pay out the line, pay out smartly—ha! lost it. Tut! tut! this will never do. Well done! he has it this time! Let him slip it over his shoulder; that's well. Now haul in—handsomely, my lads—and mind you don't lose him."

Half a minute more and poor Ned, gasping for breath, speechless, and too exhausted to stand upright, was dragged triumphantly up over the side and seated on the deck, where, of course, all hands instantly crowded around him. Doctor Henderson, however, promptly interfered, and, taking charge of the patient, was soon able to pronounce that, barring exhaustion, the poor fellow was all right; upon which the anxious little crowd dispersed, Sibylla retiring to her state-room, locking herself in, and gaining relief to her overwrought feelings by abandoning herself to a perfect tempest of hysterical tears.

Under the doctor's skilful treatment Ned was soon sufficiently restored to answer a few questions, when he stated that though he had remained continuously on the watch from the moment of his rising above the surface after his first plunge to almost the moment of his being picked up, he had never caught a single glimpse of the mate, and that it was his impression the unfortunate man must have been hurt in his fall, and that he had never risen above water again. Notwithstanding this statement the ship was kept hove-to for another half-hour, with a man on the look-out on each topgallant-yard; when, nothing having been seen of the missing man during that time, Captain Blyth reluctantly gave up the search, and, wearing round, the ship once more proceeded on her voyage.



CHAPTER SIX.

THE SPRINGING OF THE MINK.

The deplorable fatality mentioned in the last chapter necessitated a further rearrangement of the official duties on board the Flying Cloud; Ned being advanced still another step and made acting chief- mate, or "chief-officer" as it is the custom to dub this official in the merchant service, whilst another apprentice—a very quiet, steady young man named Robert Manners—was promoted to the post of second-mate thus rendered vacant. Although these two posts—the most important and responsible in the ship next to that of the master—were now filled by two young men whose united ages fell short of forty years, the arrangement appeared to work in the most thoroughly satisfactory manner. The lads performed their onerous duties efficiently; the crew were as orderly and obedient as heretofore, and not a single sinister omen or indication manifested itself to arouse anxiety in the mind of the skipper. To add to Captain Blyth's satisfaction, the island of New Amsterdam was sighted and passed on the morning of the tenth day succeeding the loss of the unfortunate Mr Willoughby, and that, too, in a direction and at an hour which precisely verified the prediction of the captain, who rather prided himself upon his skill and accuracy as a navigator.

For several nights previous to this occurrence the skipper had been losing a great deal of rest; he had been too anxious to sleep, knowing that during his absence from the deck the ship was in absolute charge of one or the other of two lads whom he remembered, as though it had been but yesterday, joining him without a particle of experience. But as day after day, and night after night passed, and he saw what excellent use those two lads had made of the training and instruction he had so conscientiously bestowed upon them, he had gradually grown less anxious. And now, with fine weather, a fair breeze, and New Amsterdam sighted and passed, the poor fagged skipper once more knew what it was to enjoy an easy mind; and as he bade Ned "good-night" on the poop, about five bells in the first watch, he announced, in tones loud enough to be distinctly heard by the man at the wheel, that he intended to treat himself to a whole night's sleep, and that he was not to be called or disturbed unless for something out of the common.

When, therefore, about three o'clock next morning, he was aroused from sleep by a gentle tap at the outer door of his state-room, Captain Blyth's first coherent thought was: "I wonder what is the matter now!" It was nothing to do with the weather—unless the sky had assumed a threatening aspect—for, by long force of habit, he had acquired the power of detecting, even during his soundest sleep, any such important change in the state of the elements as a material increase of wind or sea, and, though the sleep from which he had been aroused was as sound as it ever falls to the lot of a seaman to enjoy, he had been quite conscious all the time that neither the sough of the wind in the rigging nor the steady swinging motion of the ship had become intensified. It was, therefore, in a somewhat peevish tone that he inquired:

"Well, what is the news?"

"Will you please step for'ard, sir, and see what ails Bob—young Mr Manners, I mean, sir?" said a voice which the skipper recognised as belonging to one of the seamen. "He's on the fo'c's'le-head, a cussing and carrying on as if he was mad, sir; and two of the hands is holding him down so's he sha'n't fling hisself overboard."

"Whew!" whistled poor Captain Blyth in dismay. "All right, my man; I'll be out there in a brace of shakes! What can be the matter with the poor lad?" he soliloquised, as he hastily drew on his most necessary garments. "A fit, perhaps, brought on by over-anxiety. Well, I won't disturb anybody until I see what it is; then, if necessary, I must rouse out Dr Henderson."

And, as he came to this conclusion, the worthy man softly opened his state-room door and stepped out on deck.

The night was dark, there being no moon, whilst the star-lit sky was almost blotted out by the squadrons of fleecy cloud which swept with stately motion athwart it. Yet there was light enough to reveal to the skipper a dark blot on the forecastle, which he knew to be a cluster of men; and toward these he hurriedly made his way. Before he could reach them, however, two bare-footed men stepped softly out behind him from the galley; and whilst one seized and pinioned his arms behind him, the other flourished a large-headed, short-handled hammer over his head whilst he whispered fiercely in the ear of the paralysed skipper:

"Give but a single outcry, and I'll spatter your brains about the deck." Then he added, somewhat more gently: "No harm is intended you, Captain Blyth, but we mean to have the ship. We will have her; and were you to raise an alarm it would only cause bloodshed, which we are most anxious to avoid. Where's Nicholls? Here, Nicholls, this man is your prisoner; get the bilboes and clap them on him. And—mind—I shall hold you responsible for his safekeeping!"

"But—but—Williams," stammered poor Captain Blyth, who now identified the speaker, "what is the meaning of all this? I—I—don't understand it!"

"No time to explain now," was the answer. "Tell you all about it later on if you care to hear. Come, lads, away aft with us, and let us secure our other prisoner!"

In obedience to this command, the mob of mutineers who had clustered about the door of the forward deck-house—into which the unfortunate skipper had been thrust—melted away, and Captain Blyth found himself left alone with his jailer and young Manners, the latter being bound hand and foot, and lying gagged in one of the bunks which had been vacated when the steerage passengers were drafted into the forecastle.

In the midst of his bewilderment and dismay the skipper still retained enough presence of mind to note, by the light of the single lantern which illuminated the place, that his young subordinate was suffering severe discomfort from the presence of the gag—a large belaying-pin—in his mouth; and, turning to the man Nicholls, he pointed out that, unless the crew wished to add the crime of murder to that of mutiny, it would be advisable to remove the gag at once.

"Well, sir," said the man, civilly enough—he was one of the former steerage passengers—"I don't know what to do about that. I'd be willing enough to take the thing out of the young gentleman's mouth, but my orders are strict; and if anything was to happen through my meddling you may depend upon it I should be made to suffer for it."

"If that is what you are afraid of, my good fellow," said the skipper, "you may remove the gag at once. Nothing shall happen, I promise you. The crew have possession of the ship, safe enough; and, bound hand and foot as we two are, we can do nothing to recover her. So out with it at once, my man, unless you wish to see the poor lad suffocate before your eyes."

This was enough; the gag was at once removed, the skipper at the same time cautioning Manners against any ill-timed attempt to raise an alarm, and then Nicholls was questioned as to the reasons for the mutiny.

"Well, sir," was the reply, "I don't rightly understand the ins and outs of the thing, myself; but Williams has been talkin' to the men, and, accordin' to his showin', labourers and mechanics and sailors have been robbed and cheated out of their rights time out o' mind. So the long and the short of it is that we've all took a solemn oath to stand by one another in an attempt to get what rightfully belongs to us."

"What rightfully belongs to you?" exclaimed the skipper in bewilderment. "I don't understand you, my man. You surely do not pretend to say that I have defrauded you of anything to which you are entitled? A certain amount of wages is, of course, due to you in respect of work already performed; but it is the custom to pay seamen only when they arrive at the port of discharge—"

"Oh, yes, sir; we understands all that, of course," interrupted Nicholls. "It ain't that at all, sir; it's—"

Captain Blyth, however, was not destined to learn just then what "it" was, for at this point the conversation was broken in upon by the reappearance of a party of the mutineers, headed by Williams, and having poor Ned among them as a prisoner.

"There, Ned, there's the skipper. In you go, my lad, and stow yourself alongside of him; and that will complete the party," exclaimed Williams cheerfully, as he thrust the lad unceremoniously through the doorway of the deck-house. "Now take the gag out of his mouth," he commanded; "but I caution you," he continued sternly, addressing himself particularly to Ned, "that if either of you utter a single outcry I'll blow his brains out without hesitation." And as he spoke he drew from his pocket a revolver which he began deliberately to load.

"You are carrying things with a high hand, my fine fellow!" observed Captain Blyth fiercely; "but I warn you at once that you are only preparing a halter with which to hang yourself. The fact that something is wrong on board here will infallibly be discovered by the first man- of-war which falls in with us, and your punishment will speedily follow. Hear me, men," he continued, raising his voice and addressing the crew generally; "I don't in the least understand your motive for behaving in this extraordinary fashion; but cast me and my two mates adrift, and I promise you on my word of honour that I will listen patiently to whatever complaint you may have to make, and will redress any wrong which you can show has been done you."

"Spare your breath, skipper," answered Williams quietly. "We haven't done this thing in a hurry, and we're not to be talked out of it in a moment; and perhaps the sooner you understand that the better. No, sir; we've no fault to find with you or anybody else aboard here. The fault lies with them who've robbed, and cheated, and ground down the likes of us for centuries; and the time has now come when the few of us as belongs to this ship's fo'c's'le intend to help our selves to what we've as good a right as anybody to have. As to punishment, why, we've agreed to take our chances about that; and as to men-o'-war, how many have we fell in with, so far, this voyage? We'll take our chances about them too. Josh Williams may be no scholar, cap'n, but he knows a thing or two—he knows enough to be able to take care of his own neck, and of the necks of them that trust him too."

"My good fellow, you don't in the least know what you are talking about!" exclaimed Captain Blyth.

"Enough said, sir—enough!" interrupted Williams. "All the talking in the world won't undo what's done. We've put our heads into the noose, but we're not fools enough to sway away upon the yard-rope; so you may spare yourself the trouble of further talk, and us the trouble of listening to you. Now the present time is as good as any to tell you what our plans are so far as you are concerned; so please pay attention. We're all hands averse to bloodshed, and we intend to work our business without it, if possible—you understand, if possible!—so, instead of cutting your throats and heaving you overboard, we're going to land you, Captain Blyth, on some island or another where you'll be able to pick up a living, but from which you won't be likely to get away until long after we've done with the ship. Young Manners there we shall clap ashore on some other island four or five hundred miles away from you, skipper; and the passengers we shall put ashore somewhere else, where they'll not be likely to get us into trouble or to send trouble after us. As for Ned, here, we intend to keep him with us to navigate the ship."

"Do you?" ejaculated Ned. "Then understand at once and for all that I decline to remain with you. What! do you suppose I will mix myself up in any way or associate with a pack of rascally mutineers? I'll see you all hanged first!"

"Well crowed!" ejaculated Williams approvingly with a hearty laugh. "My eyes, lads, what a skipper he'd make for us if he could only be persuaded to join! But we won't ask you to do that, Ned," he continued in the same bantering tone. "You can follow your own inclinations in that matter—join us or not, just as you please; but remain with us and navigate us you shall and will, whether you like it or not."

"Never!" declared Ned resolutely. "You may pitch me overboard if you choose, but I will never do a single hand's turn to help you in any way."

Williams did not appear to be in the least disconcerted at this declaration; he simply sat down by Ned's side and whispered earnestly for some minutes in the lad's ear.

As the communication progressed poor Ned first flushed deeply, then grew as ashy pale as the sunburn on his cheeks would permit; his eyes dilated with horror, and when Williams had finished the lad struggled to his feet and gasped out:

"You villain! you infernal scoundrel! Cast off my lashings, and, lad as I am, I will thrash you before all hands for daring to make such an infamous proposal to me!"

For the first time that night Williams showed signs of anger, but, quickly checking himself, he said:

"Well, if that card won't take the trick, I have another that will!" And again he sat down and resumed his whispering.

It was evident by the expression of his countenance that this time Ned was not only horrified but also thoroughly frightened; and when Williams ceased the poor lad hung his head and murmured in a scarcely audible voice:

"Enough! you have conquered! though I can scarcely believe you could be so inhuman—to those poor children, too! But remember! if, after what you have promised, the slightest insult or injury is offered to any one of them, I'll—I'll—"

"There, that will do!" interrupted William. "I've pledged you my word, boy; and I hope to have you with us long enough to convince you that I never break it. But mind! I must have you faithfully do whatever you are told to do, in return. And now, as we thoroughly understand each other, you may go back to your berth and turn in until morning; and then I shall expect that when the passengers make their appearance you will tell them what has happened aboard here, and also mention our intentions about them. And be careful to make them clearly understand that, whilst we are all against bloodshed, the slightest suspicious action on their part will be looked upon as treachery, and treated as such. Cast our new sailing-master adrift there, some of you, and let him go back to his berth."

Williams' order was promptly obeyed; and Ned, half-dazed, rose to his feet, advanced to the door, and then stopped. "What about Captain Blyth and Mr Manners?" he asked. "What are you going to do with them?"

"They will have to put up with such accommodation as they can find here until we have an opportunity to land them," was the reply. "But make your mind easy on their account, Mr Damerell; their comfort will be properly looked after, and no harm will come to them unless an attempt is made to retake the ship. In such a case as that I won't answer for the consequences. The blame for whatever happens must fall upon the shoulders of them that bring it about."

Ned was obliged to be content with this; and with a heavy heart he turned and left the deck-house, not daring to look his commander in the face, and feeling as guilty in his new dignity as though he had voluntarily thrown in his lot with the mutineers, notwithstanding the fact that pressure had been brought to bear upon him which he was equally powerless to avoid or to resist.

Ned's first act, on returning aft, was to enter Captain Blyth's state- room, with the object of securing the keys of the arm-chests; but the mutineers seemed to have been beforehand with him, for the keys were gone. He next sought the lock-up tin box in which the ship's papers were kept; but here, too, the mutineers had been ahead of him, for the box, as also the captain's desk, was missing. Being thus foiled in the only matters which occurred to him at the moment, he left the state- room, closing the door after him as silently and reverently as if the captain's dead body had been lying there, and reluctantly returned to his own berth. Not to sleep, of course, that was utterly out of the question, the poor lad was so overwhelmed with consternation at the unexpected seizure of the ship, and with dismay at the way in which he had been compulsorily identified with the movement, that he just then felt as though he would never be able to sleep again. No; sleep and he were strangers, at least for the time being, so he flung himself down on the sofa-locker and tried to think. But for the first half-hour or so even the power of thought was denied him. The catastrophe had been so utterly unattended by any warning that it was like a levin stroke falling from a cloudless sky, and for the moment Ned found himself unable to recognise it as an actual fact. Over and over again he stood up and shook himself to ascertain whether or not he was really awake, or whether his disjointed cogitations and the cause of them were only parts of an ugly dream. At length, however, his mind grew clearer, the disastrous reality of the whole business finally asserted itself, and he then began to cast blindly about him for the means of rectification. But, alas, the longer he thought about it, the more hopeless did the situation appear. He began to see that Williams had only spoken the simple truth when he asserted that the mutiny was the result of long premeditation. They had laid their plans well, the scoundrels! and had carried them out with such consummate artifice and attention to detail, that as Ned turned over in his mind scheme after scheme for the recovery of the ship, it was only to realise that each had been anticipated and provided against. At length, baffled and in despair, he gave up, temporarily, all hope of effecting a recapture, and allowed his thoughts to turn in another direction. "What was to become of the passengers?" True, Williams had guaranteed for them perfect immunity from molestation, the price of this privilege being on Ned's part true and faithful service as navigator of the ship for the mutineers, but a time was to come when the passengers would be landed on some out-of-the-way spot, doubtless, and exposed to countless perils from hunger, thirst, exposure, and worse than all, perhaps the nameless horrors of a captivity among savages! And yet Ned felt that they would be in even greater peril so long as they remained on board the Flying Cloud. The mutineers seemed peaceably disposed for the moment certainly, but how long would that state of things continue after they had gained access to the liquor on board? Ned shuddered as his excited imagination pictured the scene of bloodshed which might be enacted within the next twenty- four hours, and he finally began to realise that even falling into the hands of a tribe of savages might not prove to be the very worst evil possible for those poor weak women and children. His next thought was that they must be got out of the ship with all possible expedition. Ha! but that involved the necessity for saying "good-bye"—for a parting! Well; what of that? He had said "good-bye" before now to plenty of pleasant people, both on the Melbourne quays, and on the dock walls at London. But, somehow, this time it seemed different; he did not know how it was, but these people seemed more than friends, the ladies especially; for them he felt that he entertained a regard as tender, almost—or quite—as that which he felt for Eva, and this now made the idea of parting so distasteful to him that, as his mind began to dwell upon it, the feeling amounted almost to agony. And this, too, quite apart from the sensation of indignant disgust with which he regarded Williams' unscrupulous resolution to involve him and his fortunes with the future career of the mutineers. But it should not be; he would outwit the rascals somehow, and join the little party of passengers when they were landed, even if he had to steal over the ship's side, drop overboard, and swim ashore as the vessel sailed away.

Whilst cogitating thus, the returning daylight surprised him; and shortly afterwards he heard a movement in the saloon which told him that the gentlemen were about to make their appearance on deck to indulge in the usual matutinal "tub."

He opened his state-room door and entered the saloon with a cheery "Good-morning, gentlemen!"

"Good-morning, Mr Damerell," was the equally cheery reply; and then Mr Gaunt, happening to notice the lad's worn and haggard appearance, exclaimed:

"Why, good heavens, Ned, what is the matter? Are you ill?"

"Hush!" said Ned. "No, I am not ill, Mr Gaunt, but I am in great trouble and perplexity. I have passed through a rather startling experience during the night; and"—in a low tone of voice, so that the ladies, if awake, might not hear him—"I have bad news to communicate. Will you kindly step into my cabin for a moment?"

The two gentlemen passed into the state-room and seated themselves on the sofa-locker, Ned following and closing the door after him.

"Now, Ned, what is it?" asked the engineer. "If I may judge from the expression of your countenance the matter is serious; and, if so, out with it at once. You need not be afraid of startling us, I fancy."

"You will be startled, nevertheless, I expect," was the reply. "The matter is simply this. The crew have seized the ship, and poor Captain Blyth and Mr Manners are at this moment close prisoners in the deck- house for'ard!"

The two gentlemen stared first at each other, and then at Ned, in the utmost perplexity. For a moment or two they were both so completely astounded that neither could find a word to say. At length, however, the engineer so far recovered his powers of speech as to ejaculate:

"But—but—good heavens! what will become of the women and children? And how is it, sir, that, if what you state be true, you are free—as you apparently are?"

"You are all perfectly safe—I hope and believe—at all events for the present. And the price of your safety is a promise on my part to faithfully navigate the ship to the best of my ability for the mutineers," answered Ned with quivering lips; and then suddenly and completely overcome by a sense of his desolate and desperate situation, the poor lad turned away, buried his face in his hands, and burst into tears.

Doctor Henderson appeared to be too thoroughly paralysed with surprise and consternation to say or do anything just then; but Mr Gaunt at once rose to his feet, and, laying his hand kindly on the young fellow's shoulder, said:

"There, don't give way, Ned, I ought not to have spoken so harshly, but I was rather 'taken aback' as you sailors say. Sit down, my lad, and tell us all about it, and then we must see if we cannot devise a means to recover possession of the ship, and restore their freedom to poor Captain Blyth and Mr Manners."

Quickly recovering his self-control, Ned seated himself on the edge of his bunk, and briefly related to his astonished listeners all that had occurred during the preceding night, winding up by saying:

"As to retaking the ship, I am afraid there is scarcely a chance of our succeeding in that, for the entire crew seem to have been completely won over by that fellow Williams, and to be thoroughly united in their determination to try their fortunes as pirates—for that, as I understand it, is what it all amounts to; so you see there are only our three selves against all hands for'ard—for they seem determined to keep poor Captain Blyth and Manners close prisoners until they can be landed somewhere—and what can we three do against so many? Moreover, I have been ordered to particularly impress upon you that, whilst the mutineers are at present extremely averse to bloodshed, anything like a suspicious action on your part will be looked upon as premeditated treachery, and treated as such. Those were Williams' very words. So, whilst I shall be only too glad to take my part in any feasible scheme which you may be able to devise, I feel it my duty to warn you that we must all act with the utmost circumspection."

This announcement made the gentlemen look rather blank again.

"Um!" at length said Mr Gaunt. "The further we advance with this business the more serious does its aspect become. I have no very great fancy just now for being landed anywhere but at Melbourne; nevertheless, as matters now are, I can easily conceive a state of things which would make us glad enough to be all safely quit of the ship, even if we had to leave her for a raft. We must be circumspect, as you say, Ned, ay, even to the extent of not being seen talking much together. But we will keep our thoughts busy, and if a scheme occurs to either of us that person must contrive an opportunity to communicate it as briefly as may be to the others. Meanwhile, you will be doing good service if you can manage to sound the better-disposed portion of the crew, with a view to ascertaining whether it would be possible to win them back to their allegiance. And now, Henderson, the best thing we can do, I think, will be to return to our respective cabins and break this news as gently as possible to our wives; they must know it—it would be quite impossible to long conceal the fact of the mutiny from them—and we are the most suitable bearers of the intelligence to them. Well, good-bye for the present, Ned, and do not forget that you may depend upon us at any hour of the day or night. Is not that so, Henderson?"

"Yes, certainly, of course," was the reply. "I am too much astonished to say much just now, but I shall not be found wanting when the time for action arrives. Good-bye, Ned!"

And with a cordial shake of Ned's hand, the two quiet, unpretending- looking men filed out and re-entered their respective cabins.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

ANXIOUS DAYS.

Upon learning the news of the mutiny the ladies were, as might be expected, overwhelmed with consternation and dismay, feelings which were intensified when it was further intimated to them, through Ned, that Williams intended henceforward to take up his abode in the cabin, and that he should expect all the passengers to favour him with their company at meals, and, in fact, whensoever he might choose to join them. So impertinent a message naturally excited at the outset a great deal of indignation; but Mr Gaunt—who seemed to rise to the occasion, and who, immediately upon the occurrence of the crisis, instinctively assumed the direction of affairs—soon brought the little party to reason when they assembled in the saloon for a hurried conference, by pointing out to them that, for the present, at least, they were quite helpless, and that, therefore, instead of struggling against what was unavoidable, their best plan would be to humour the whims of the mutineers, so long, of course, as they were not too outrageous, and to quietly bide their time in the hope that an opportunity might present itself for turning the tables upon the crew. And he emphasised his proposition by so many convincing arguments that, when breakfast was announced by the steward, the entire party presented themselves at table, the ladies making such a successful effort to conceal their perturbation as to thoroughly astonish Williams when that worthy made his appearance and established himself at the head of the table.

"Good-morning, ladies and gentlemen," said he, making a not ungraceful bow as he seated himself. "Hope you all slept well."

"Thank you," said Mr Gaunt; "yes, I believe we all enjoyed a fairly good night's rest; thanks to our ignorance of what was going forward."

"Ah, yes," answered Williams with a somewhat constrained laugh and an obviously embarrassed manner; "yes, we took the liberty of making a change or two for the better during the night."

"For the better?" repeated Gaunt. "Pray how can you demonstrate that the changes you have effected are for the better?"

"Well, I'll tell you," answered Williams. "I'm glad you've asked, as it gives me an opportunity to explain the why and the wherefore of our acts, and to show you that we are not, after all, quite such villains as I daresay you now think us. First and foremost," he continued, "I suppose I need not point out to gentlemen of your intelligence and experience that sailors—foremast men, that is to say—lead the hardest lives and are the worst paid for it of any set of men living?"

"Well," said Mr Gaunt, "without being prepared to go so far as that I am quite willing to admit that the life of a seaman is a hard one. But what has that to do with your mutiny? In the first place, I suppose you joined the ship voluntarily; and, in the next, it seems to me, from what I have seen, that you have been made as comfortable on board here as was possible under the circumstances. Your food has been good and sufficient, your quarters are dry, airy, and comfortable, and surely it would be difficult to find more considerate officers than Captain Blyth and his mates?"

"All very true, so far as it goes," answered Williams, "but would you like to be a seaman before the mast?"

"No," said Mr Gaunt, "I frankly admit I should not; otherwise, I suppose I should have been a seaman, and not a civil engineer. But the life was of your own choosing, I presume?"

"Yes, it was, and I don't complain of it," said Williams. "The thing I complain of is, that, seeing what a life of hardship and peril ours is, we do not get paid a half nor a quarter enough. What would be the use of ships without sailors to man them? We are just as necessary to a ship as her captain; yet look at the difference in his pay and ours! I say it is not fair; it is rank injustice; sailors have just been robbed all these years, and the long and the short of it is that the crew of this ship means to get back part of what has been stolen from them by the dishonesty of shipowners."

"But, my good fellow," exclaimed the engineer, "you are taking an altogether wrong view of the question. Admitting that you are as necessary to the ship as her captain, you entirely overlook the important fact that one captain is sufficient for a ship, no matter how large she may be, whilst one seaman alone is of very trifling value; hence the difference in the scale of pay."

It was clear enough from the expression of the mutineer's face that this view of the question had never before been presented to him; he was completely "taken aback," and for a minute or two could find absolutely nothing to say.

"Well!" he exclaimed at last, "it is clear enough that it is no use for an ignorant man like me to try to argue with an educated gentleman like you; you are bound to go to wind'ard of me the very first tack, and I was a fool for attempting it. But there are other matters which, in my opinion, fully justify the step we have taken."

"The fellow may call himself an ignorant man, but his language is that of a person who has enjoyed at least some of the benefits of education," thought Gaunt. But he merely said:

"Indeed! May I ask what they are?"

"Certainly. The question is just this. Why should I, and thousands like me, have to work and slave for a bare living, whilst there are others who never do a stroke of work in their whole lives and yet have houses, and land, and money, horses and carriages—in fact, all that heart can wish for? Is this fair, or right, or just?"

"Assuredly it is," was the reply, "and so, I think, you will admit, if you will give the matter a moment's consideration. It is not your fault or mine that you and I do not occupy the enviable position in life to which you have just referred; it is the fault, if fault there be, of our ancestors. They did not happen to be money-getters, and therefore, if we wish to enjoy the advantages attendant upon the possession of a fortune, large or small, we must get the fortune for ourselves. Just look at the question for a moment from the millionaire's point of view. If you happened to possess a fortune would you consider it fair or just that you should be called upon to divide it evenly with everybody worse off than yourself? For that, I fancy, is the idea you have in your mind."

This was another poser which Williams evidently found it wholly impossible to answer. He hung his head in deep and perplexed thought for some minutes, and at length said:

"It is quite impossible for me to argue with you, as I said before; but the long and the short of it is this, we have made our plans, and we intend to carry them out, right or wrong. But you need have no apprehension for yourselves. We have no intention to prey upon private individuals; and though we shall be obliged to land you on some spot from which it will be impossible for you to escape, we will deliver up to you the whole of your private property, and also furnish you with means to protect yourselves and to preserve your lives, so far as we have the power."

And without waiting to discuss the question further, the mutineer rose from the table and beat a somewhat precipitate retreat.

"Had you any hope of convincing the fellow?" asked the doctor, when the little party once more found themselves free to converse unreservedly.

"No, I cannot say I had," answered Gaunt; "but I thought I might so far shake his purpose as to make him hesitate about his future plans, and so give us a little more time in which to act. But it is evident enough that he has no wish to be convinced; if, therefore, we are to do anything we must make our arrangements speedily. Come on deck and have a smoke, old fellow."

The ladies had no fancy for being left alone just then; the entire party, therefore, children included, adjourned to the poop. Williams was then standing in the waist talking to the boatswain, to whom he appeared to be giving some instructions; but on observing the movements of the passengers he signed to Ned, who was standing near, to follow him, and hastily made his way into the saloon.

"Bring me the captain's charts," he said, as soon as Ned joined him. The charts were produced; and after carefully looking them over Williams selected a track-chart of the world, which he carefully spread out on the table.

"Now, show me whereabouts we are," he said.

Ned indicated the position of the ship by making a pencil dot on the paper, and a long period of anxious study on Williams' part followed.

"What is the course to the Straits of Sunda?" was the next question.

Ned told him; whereupon Williams left the saloon, and a moment later was heard altering the course of the ship in accordance with Ned's information. He then returned to the saloon, and unrolled a chart of the North Pacific, which he pored anxiously over for fully a quarter of an hour, finally huddling the charts all together in a heap, with the remark, "That will do for the present;" which Ned construed into a token of dismissal, and accordingly left the cabin.

Day followed day with little or no variety, the weather continuing fine all the time, and at length the Flying Cloud arrived within a few days' sail of the Straits of Sunda. Ned now spent on deck every moment he could possibly spare from sleep, as he was not without hopes that hereabout a man-of-war might be fallen in with; and he was resolved that, in such a case, it should go hard but he would make some effort to communicate to her the state of affairs on board.

And, as a matter of fact, they actually did sight a frigate on the day upon which they entered the straits. But Williams was not to be caught napping; he too had evidently contemplated some such possibility, and had taken such precautions as not only rendered it impossible for anyone to make a private signal, but had also arranged such answers to the signals usually made on such occasions that the frigate was completely hoodwinked, and passed on her way without attempting to send a boat alongside.

This was a terrible disappointment, not only to Ned but also to Gaunt and the doctor, each of them having confidently reckoned upon a certain deliverance in the event of a man-of-war being fallen in with.

They now recognised that in Williams, whether educated or not, they had a man of no ordinary acuteness to deal with; they realised that, though apparently free as air to act as they pleased, an unceasing watch was being kept upon them, and they felt that henceforth they must not place any dependence upon the hope of help from without. They all, therefore, individually and collectively too, so far as they had opportunity, began to plot and scheme; in the hope of being able to hit upon some plan which might enable them to recover possession of the ship, going even to the perilous length of sounding the least unpromising of the crew in the hope of finding at least a few of them open to either persuasion or bribery. But it was all of no avail. The men proved not only unresponsive but suspicious; and they were also wholly unsuccessful in their efforts to communicate with Captain Blyth, of whom they could not get so much as a sight, much less speech with him.

"It is of no use for us to try any further," at last said Gaunt, when talking matters over with the doctor. "We have tried our best, but Williams is too acute and too strong for us. I have noticed a certain something in his manner within the last day or two which tells me that we are standing on very perilous ground, and we must drop the whole affair before worse comes of it. We must not forget that the women and children have only us to look to for protection in this awful strait; it will never do for us to attempt anything which might result in their being left to the tender mercies of those ruffians forward. The only thing we can now hope for is a speedy and safe deliverance from their clutches by being landed somewhere; and we must pray that they will be induced to land us on some spot where we may not only be able to make ourselves safe, but also to secure the means of living."

Meanwhile the ship passed safely through the Straits of Sunda, along the south coast of Borneo, and so into the Java and Flores Seas; Williams maintaining a ceaseless and anxious watch upon Ned as the lad daily pricked off upon the chart the position of the ship, and frequently altering the course with the evident object of inspecting certain islands, probably to ascertain whether they were suitable for landing his unwelcome guests upon. Several islands were visited, but none of them proved satisfactory. Some were found to be inhabited by savages, whose demonstrations at sight of the ship were so unmistakably hostile that it would have been obviously only murder thinly disguised to have landed any white person there, whilst others seemed deficient in the means of sustaining life. Wandering thus about the ocean a fortnight passed away, and Williams began to grow impatient; so much so indeed that he at length proposed landing the passengers on the next land seen, let it be what it would. But to this the crew would not agree: they were as yet young in crime, and were determined that, since the passengers must be got rid of, they should at least be given a fair chance. A compromise was at length come to, by which it was agreed that the search should be continued for three days longer, after which the unlucky passengers were to be landed on the first land seen, there to take their chance. This matter was decided at a council composed of the entire crew, on the evening of a day whereon no less than three islands had been fruitlessly visited; and at the close of the discussion Ned was summoned and the chart consulted. At Williams' request the area already examined was pointed out, and then, after much discussion, a course of due east was decided upon, in order that a new tract of sea might be explored. On this course the chart showed a clear sea for something like three hundred miles ahead of them. Everybody was therefore much astonished when at daybreak next morning land was descried right ahead at a distance of only about ten miles.