"Not a bit, man," said Joe, as he bound up the injured member by the simple process of tying a kerchief right round his friend's face and head; "it'll be handsomer than ever. There was always too much of it. You can afford to have it reduced."

Rooney did not quite seem to appreciate this comforting remark; however, after his nose was bound he and the rest of the boat's crew continued their work, and soon returned on board the gun-boat with a mixed lot of pirates and captives. Of course the rescuers were more careful in approaching the swimmers after Rooney's misfortune, but in spite of this many of them were wounded by the pirates slashing at them with their swords and knives, or flinging these weapons violently into the boats.

In a short time all were saved who yet remained above water. Then the boats were hauled up and the steamer gave chase to the prow in charge of the pirate captain, which was by that time far away on the horizon.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE FIGHT CONCLUDED.

The nautical proverb saith that "A stern chase is a long one;" but that proverb, to make it perfect and universally applicable, should have been prefaced by the words "All things being equal."

In the present case all things were not equal. The gun-boat was a fast steamer; the chase was a slow row-boat, insufficiently manned by tired and wounded men. But many of them were desperate men. Their leader was an arch-fiend of resolution and ferocity. He knew that escape, in the circumstances, was impossible. He was well aware of the fate that awaited him if taken. He therefore made up his mind to give his enemies as much trouble as possible, to delay their triumph and cause it to cost them dear, and, in every practicable way that might occur, to thwart and worry them to the end.

Animated by such a spirit, he managed to encourage his men, and to terrify and lash his slaves to almost superhuman exertions, so that before being overtaken they approached considerably nearer to the shore than would otherwise have been the case. This, as it afterwards turned out, resulted in a benefit to some of those in the gun-boat, which they did not think of at the time. As they overtook the prow, Pungarin ordered the starboard rowers to cease. Those on the port side continued to pull, and in a few seconds the prow's broadside was brought to bear on the approaching enemy. Not till they were within a hundred yards did the pirate leader again speak. Then his powerful voice resounded through his vessel:—

"Fire!"

At the word every piece on board the prow, great and small, belched forth a volume of smoke, flame, and metal, but the result was trifling. In his anxiety to do deadly execution, the pirate had overdone his work. He had allowed his foe to come too close, and most of the discharge from the heavy guns passed over her, while the men with small arms, rendered nervous by prolonged delay, fired hastily, and, therefore, badly. A few wounds were suffered, and many narrow escapes were made, but in other respects the discharge passed by harmlessly. The captain, in his exposed and elevated position on the bridge, felt, indeed, as if a thunder-shower of iron hail had passed, not only round, but through him! He paid no regard to it, however, but held straight on. Next moment there was a dire collision; the prow went under water, and the surface of the sea was covered with shouting and struggling men.

The boats were quickly lowered, as on the previous occasion, and most of the people were rescued, though, of course, some who could not swim were drowned.

The scene that now ensued was very exciting, and in some respects very terrible, for, besides the gurgling cries of the perishing, there were the defiant yells of the pirates, who, more fiercely than those in the other prows, resisted being taken alive, and used their creases and knives with deadly effect.

This naturally filled the conquerors with such indignation that in many cases they killed the pirates who showed fight, instead of disarming and capturing them.

At last every one in the water was either saved, killed, drowned, or captured, with the exception of one man, whose red jacket clearly pointed him out as the pirate-chief. Being greatly superior to his fellows in mental and physical powers, it was natural that he should excel them in his efforts to escape. Even after the whole affair was over, this man, who might have been a hero in other circumstances, continued to baffle his pursuers.

In the boat which finally captured him was the Singapore man already mentioned. This man, for reasons best known to himself, had a bitter hatred of Pungarin, and was the chief cause of the boat in which he pulled an oar being kept in close pursuit of the pirate-chief.

"Dis way," he cried, when the general melee was drawing to a close. "Yonder is de red-coat. He make for de shore."

The steersman at once turned in the direction indicated, which brought them close to the gun-boat.

Pungarin's keen eye quickly observed that they were making towards him, although the water around him swarmed with other men. He at once dived and came up close to the side of the vessel, under its quarter, and in dangerous proximity to its screw. The boldness of the course might have diverted attention from him for a time, but his one touch of vanity—the red jacket—betrayed him. He was soon observed. A cry was given. His sharp-eyed enemy the Singapore man saw him, and the boat was once more pulled towards its mark. But Pungarin dived like an otter—not only under the boat, but under the steamer also; coming up on the other side, and resting while they sought for him. Again they discovered him. Again he passed under the ship's bottom, and this time continued his dive onwards towards the shore. When his power of remaining under water failed, he came gently to the surface, turning on his back, so that only his mouth and nose appeared.

One full breath sufficed, and he dived again without having been observed. If Pungarin had adopted this plan while the boats were busy capturing his comrades, it is possible that he might have escaped, for his swimming powers and endurance were very great; but it was now too late. When he rose the second time to the surface, the affair was over, and men's minds were free to fix entirely on himself. Just then, too, he thought it advisable to put his head fully out of the water in order to see that he had kept in the right direction.

He was instantly observed by his Singapore enemy, and the chase was resumed.

It is almost unnecessary to say that it terminated unfavourably for the pirate-chief. For several minutes he continued to dive under the boat while they tried to seize him, and wounded some of the men nearest to him; but his Herculean powers began at last to fail, and he finally floated on the surface as if helpless.

Even this was a ruse, for no sooner was the boat near enough, and the Singapore man within reach of his arm, than he raised himself, and made a cut at that individual with such good will that he split his skull across down nearly to the ears.

Next moment he was hauled into the boat and bound hand and foot.

The scene on board the gun-boat now was a very terrible one. Every man there was more or less begrimed with powder and smoke, or bespattered with blood and soaked with water, while all round the decks the wounded were sitting or lying awaiting their turn of being attended to, and groaning more or less with pain.

On calling the roll after the action was over, it was found that the loss suffered by the gun-boat crew was two men killed and eighteen wounded—a very small number considering the time during which the affair had lasted, and the vigour with which the pirates had fought.

And now was beautifully exemplified the advantage of a man possessing a "little knowledge"—falsely styled "a dangerous thing"—over a man who possesses no knowledge. Now, also, was exhibited the power and courage that are latent in true womanhood.

There was no surgeon on board of that gun-boat, and, with the exception of Edgar Berrington, there was not a man possessed of a single scrap of surgical knowledge deeper than that required for the binding up of a cut finger.

As we have already shown, our hero had an inquiring mind. While at college he had become intimately acquainted with, and interested in, one or two medical students, with whom he conversed so much and so frequently about their studies, that he became quite familiar with these, and with their medical and surgical phraseology, so that people frequently mistook him for a student of medicine. Being gifted with a mechanical turn of mind, he talked with special interest on surgery; discussed difficulties, propounded theories, and visited the hospitals, the dissecting-rooms, and the operating-theatres frequently. Thus he came, unintentionally, to possess a considerable amount of surgical knowledge, and when, at last, he was thrown providentially into a position where no trained man could be found, and urgent need for one existed, he came forward and did his best like a man.

Aileen Hazlit also, on being told that there was need of a woman's tender hand in such work, at once overcame her natural repugnance to scenes of blood; she proceeded on deck, and, with a beating heart but steady hand, went to work like a trained disciple of Florence Nightingale.

To the credit of the timid, and for the encouragement of the weak, we have to add that Miss Pritty likewise became a true heroine!

No average individual, male or female, can by any effort of imagination attain to the faintest idea of poor Miss Pritty's horror at the sight of "blood!"—"human gore!" particularly. Nevertheless Miss Pritty, encouraged by her friend's example, rose to the occasion. With a face and lips so deadly pale that one might have been justified in believing that all the blood on the decks had flowed therefrom, she went about among the wounded, assisting Aileen in every possible way with her eyes shut. She did indeed open them when it was absolutely necessary to do so, but shut them again instantly on the necessity for vision passing away. She cut short bandages when directed so to do; she held threads or tapes; she tore up shirts, and slips, and other linen garments, with the most reckless disregard of propriety; she wiped away blood from wounds (under direction), and moistened many dry lips with a sponge, and brushed beads of perspiration from pale brows—like a heroine.

Meanwhile Edgar went about actively, rejoicing in his new-found capacity to alleviate human suffering. What the Faculty would have thought of him we know not. All on board the gun-boat venerated him as a most perfect surgeon. His natural neatness of hand stood him in good stead, for men were bleeding to death all round him, and in order to save some it was necessary that he should use despatch with others. Of course he attended to the most critical cases first, except in the case of those who were so hopelessly injured as to be obviously beyond the reach of benefit from man. From these he turned sadly away, after whispering to them an earnest word or two about the Saviour of mankind—to those of them at least who understood English. To waste time with these he felt would be to rob hopeful cases of a chance. All simple and easy cases of bandaging he left to the captain and his chief officer. Joe Baldwin, being a cool steady man, was appointed to act as his own assistant.

From one to another he passed unweariedly, cutting off portions of torn flesh, extracting bullets, setting broken bones, taking up and tying severed arteries, sewing together the edges of gaping wounds, and completing the amputation of limbs, in regard to which the operation had been begun—sometimes nearly finished—by cannon shot.

"How terribly some of the poor wretches have been starved!" muttered Edgar as he bent over one of the captives, attempting to draw together the edges of a sword-cut in his arm; "why, there is not enough of flesh on him to cover his wound."

"There an't much, sir," assented Joe Baldwin, in a sympathetic tone, as he stood close by holding the needle and thread in readiness. "There's one man for'ard, sir, that I saw in passing to the chest for this thread, that has scarcely as much flesh on him as would bait a rat-trap. But he seems quite contented, poor fellow, at bein' freed from slavery, and don't seem to mind much the want o' flesh and blood. Perhaps he counts on gettin' these back again."

"Hm! These are not so easily regained when lost as you seem to imagine, my friend," exclaimed a pompous but rather weak voice. Joe looked up. It was Mr Hazlit, whose bloodless countenance and shrunken condition had become more apparent than ever after he had been enabled to reclothe himself in the garments of civilisation.

"Why, sir," said Joe, gently, "you seem to have bin badly shaken. Not bin wounded, I hope, sir?"

"No,—at least not in body," replied the merchant, with a faint smile and shake of the head; "but I've been sadly bruised and broken in spirit."

Joe, remembering somewhat of Mr Hazlit's former state of spirit, had almost congratulated him on the beneficial change before it occurred that his meaning in doing so might have been misunderstood. He therefore coughed slightly and said, "Ah—indeed!"

"Yes, indeed, my man," returned the merchant; "but I have reason to be supremely thankful that I am here now in any condition of mind and body worthy of being recognised."

As the amateur surgeon here desired Joe to assist him in moving his patient a little, Mr Hazlit turned away, in a stooping attitude because of weakness, and, with his vest flapping against the place where his chief development had once been, shuffled slowly towards the quarter-deck.

It was at this time that the boat which captured Pungarin came alongside, and there was a general movement of curiosity towards the gangway as he was passed on board.

The hands of the pirate-chief were tied behind his back, but otherwise he was free, the cords that had bound his legs having been cast loose.

A howl of execration burst from the captives when they saw him, and several ran forward with the evident intention of spitting on him, but these were promptly checked by the sailors.

Pungarin drew himself up and stood calmly, but not defiantly, as if waiting orders. There was no expression on his bold countenance save that of stern indifference for the crowd around him, over whose heads he gazed quietly out to sea. His brow remained as unflushed and his breathing as gentle as though his struggles for life had occurred weeks ago, though the wet garments and the ragged red jacket told eloquently of the share he had taken in the recent fight.

"Take him below and put him in irons," said the captain.

"Please, sir," remarked the man whose duty it was to secure the prisoners, "we've got no more irons on board. We had only thirty pair, and there's now thirty-eight prisoners in the hold."

"Secure him with ropes, then," returned the captain;—"where is Mr Berrington?" he added, looking round hurriedly.

"For'ard, sir, lookin' after the wounded," answered a sailor.

While the pirate-chief was led below, the captain walked quickly to the place where Edgar was busy.

"Can you spare a minute?" he asked.

"Not easily," said Edgar, who had just finished the dressing with which we left him engaged; "there are several here who require prompt attention; but of course if the case is urgent—"

"It is urgent: come and see."

Without a word our amateur surgeon rose and walked after the captain, who led him to the companion-hatch, leaning against which he found the Singapore man, with his head split across and apparently cut down nearly from ear to ear. From this awful wound two small spouts of blood, about the thickness of a coarse thread, rose a foot and a half into the air. We use no exaggeration, reader, in describing this. We almost quote verbatim the words of a most trustworthy eye-witness from whose lips we received the account.

The man looked anxiously at Edgar, who turned at once to the captain and said in an undertone, but hurriedly, "I can be of no use here. It is quite impossible that he can live. To attempt anything would really be taking up time that is of vast importance to more hopeful cases."

"Sir, do try," faltered the poor man in English.

"Ha! You speak English?" said Edgar, turning quickly towards him; "forgive me, my poor fellow, I did not know that you understood—"

"Yis, me speak Engleesh. Me Singapore man. Go for vist me friends here. Cotch by pirits. Do try, doctir."

While he was speaking Edgar quickly took off the man's necktie and bound it round his head; then, using a little piece of wood as a lever, he passed it through the tie and twisted it until the two sides of the gaping gash were brought together, which operation stopped the bleeding at once. This done he hastily left him; but it will interest the reader to know that this Singapore man actually recovered from his terrible wound after a month of hospital treatment. He was afterwards taken over to Singapore as a natural curiosity, and exhibited there to several doctors who had refused to believe the story. For aught we know to the contrary, the man may be alive and well at the present day. Certain it is that his cure at that time was complete. [Note. We were told this fact by a trustworthy eye-witness.]

It was evening before all the wounds were dressed, and it was dark night ere the disorder caused by the action and its consequences were removed, and the gun-boat restored to somewhat of its wonted tidiness and appearance of comfort. But there was little comfort on board during the silence of that long night, which seemed to many as though it would never end; and which, in the case of a few, ended in Eternity.

Although silence began to descend on all, sleep was not there. Excitement, fatigue, and the awful scenes they had witnessed, drove it from the pillows of Aileen and her friend. Frequent calls for the aid of the surgeon put anything like refreshing rest—much though he required it—quite out of the question, and at whatever hour of the night or early morning he entered the temporary hospital where the sufferers lay, he was sure to be met by the white flash of the many eyes in haggard swart faces that turned eagerly and expectantly towards him— proving that sleep had little or no influence there.

There was less of this want of repose, strange to say, in another part of the vessel.

Down in the dark hold, where one feeble lamp cast a mere apology for light on the wretched surroundings, many of the pirates slept soundly. Their days were numbered—each one knew that full well—yet they slept. Their hearts ought to have been fall of dark forebodings, but they slumbered—some of them with the profound quietude of infants! One might wonder at this were it not a familiar fact. This condition of "the wicked" has been observed in every age, and is stated in holy writ.

But all were not asleep in that dismal prison-house. There were among them, it seemed, a few who were troubled with fears—perhaps some who had consciences not yet utterly seared. At all events, two or three of them moved uneasily as they sat huddled together, for there was little room for so many in such a confined space, and now and then a bursting sigh escaped. But such evidences of weakness, if such it may be called, were few. For the most part silence reigned. In mercy the captain had ordered a chink of the hatch to be left open, and through this the stars shone down into the dark chamber.

Looking up at these, in statue-like silence, sat the pirate-chief. No one had spoken to him, and he had spoken to none since his entry there. Sleep did not visit his eyes, nor rest his heart, yet he sat perfectly still, hour after hour. Perchance he experienced the rest resulting from an iron will that abides its approaching time for action.

The tending of the wounded, the cleansing of the ship, the feeding of survivors, the shutting up and arranging for the night, had passed away—even the groaning of sufferers had dwindled down to its lowest ebb—long before Pungarin moved with the intent to carry out his purpose.

The night-watch had been set and changed; the guard over the prisoners had been relieved; the man in charge of them had gone his rounds and examined their fetters; the careful captain had himself inspected them,—all was perfectly quiet and deemed safe, when Pungarin at last moved, and gave vent to one deep prolonged sigh that seemed to be the opening of the escape-valve of his heart, and the out-rush of its long-pent-up emotions.

Slowly, but persistently, he began to struggle, and in the darkness of the place it seemed to those of his comrades who observed him as if he were writhing like a snake. But little did his fellow-pirates heed. Their hearts had long ago ceased to be impressible by horrid fancies. They could not help but see what went on before their eyes—it did not require an effort to help caring!

We have already said that some of the prisoners had been bound with ropes for want of irons. Pungarin was among the number, and his almost superhuman efforts were directed to freeing himself from his rope, either by tearing his limbs out of it, or by snapping it asunder. In both attempts he failed. Sailors are, of all men, least likely to tie a knot badly, or to select a rope too weak for its purpose. The pirate at length made this discovery, and sank down exhausted. But he rose again ere long.

Those of the prisoners who had been secured by ropes were fastened to a beam overhead. The place was very low. None of them could have stood erect under this beam. While endeavouring to free himself, Pungarin had struggled on his knees. He now raised himself as high as possible on his knees. His hands, although tied in front of him, could be raised to his head. He quickly made a loop on the rope and passed it over his head.

Just then the guard removed the hatchway, and descended to make the last inspection for the night. Pungarin hastily removed the rope, sank down and lay quite still as if in slumber.

Night passed slowly on. The morning-star arose. The sun soon chased away the shadows, and brought joy to the awaking world. It even brought some degree of comfort to the comfortless on board the gun-boat. The sleepers began to rouse themselves, the wounded to move and relieve themselves, if possible, by change of position. The cook set about his preparations for the morning meal, and the captain, who, being dangerously close to shore, had taken no rest whatever during the night, gave up the charge of his vessel to the first officer, and went below to seek that repose which he had so well earned.

Ere he had closed an eye, however, his attention, was arrested by a cry, and by a peculiar noise of voices on deck. There are tones in the human voice which need no verbal explanation to tell us that they mean something serious. He jumped up and sprang on deck. As if by instinct he went towards the hatchway leading to the hold.

"He's dead, sir!" were the first words that greeted him.

A glance into the hold was enough to explain.

The pirate-chief had hanged himself. With difficulty, but with inflexible resolution, he had accomplished his purpose by fastening the rope round his neck and lifting his legs off the ground, so that he was actually found suspended in a sitting posture.

His comrades in guilt, little impressed, apparently, by his fate, sat or reclined around his body in callous indifference.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

DIFFICULTIES OF VARIOUS KINDS, ALSO TROUBLES, AND A DISCOVERY.

"Gentlemen," said the captain of the gun-boat to Mr Hazlit and Edgar as they sat that morning at breakfast, "it is my intention to run to the nearest town on the coast—which happens to be Muku—have these pirates tried and shot, then proceed to Singapore, and perhaps run thence to the coast of China. I will take you with me if you wish it, or if you prefer it, will put you on board the first homeward-bound passenger-ship that we can find. What say you?"

Now, reader, we possess the happy privilege of knowing what Mr Hazlit and Edgar thought as well as what they said, and will use that privilege for purposes of our own.

In the first place, Edgar thought he should very much like to hear Mr Hazlit's views on that subject before speaking. He therefore said nothing.

The course being thus left clear to him, the merchant thought as follows:—

"It's very awkward, excessively awkward and vexatious. Here am I, ever so many thousands of miles away from home, without a single sovereign in my purse, and without even the right to borrow of the captain, for I have nothing certainly available even at home—Some! Why, I have no home!"

At this point the poor man's thoughts took form in words.

"Ahem!" he said, clearing his throat, "I am much obliged by your kindness ('Don't mention it, sir,' from the captain), and should prefer, if possible, to reach Hong-Kong and ship thence for England. You see, I have some business friends there, and as I shall have to replenish my purse before—"

"Oh, don't let that stand in the way," said the captain, promptly, "I shall be happy to lend what you may require, and—"

"Excuse my interrupting you, captain, and thanks for your obliging offer," said Mr Hazlit, holding up his large hand as if to put the suggestion away; "but for reasons that it is not necessary to explain, I wish to recruit my finances at Hong-Kong."

"And I," said Edgar, breaking in here, "wish to go to the same place, not so much on my own account as on that of one of my companions, who has left two very pretty little pieces of property there in the shape of a wife and a child, who might object to being left behind."

This settled the question, and the breakfast party went on deck.

"Mr Hazlit," said Edgar, "will you walk with me to the stern of the vessel? I wish to get out of earshot of others."

Mr Hazlit replied, "Certainly, Mr Berrington;" but he thought a good deal more than he said. Among many other things he thought, "Ah! Here it comes at last. He thinks this a good time to renew his suit, having just rendered us such signal assistance. I think he might have waited! Besides, his saving our lives does not alter the fact that he is still a penniless youth, and I will not give my daughter to such. It is true I am a more thoroughly penniless man than he, for these villains have robbed me and Aileen of our rings, chains, and watches, on which I counted a good deal,—alas! But that does not mend matters. It makes them rather worse. No, it must not be! My child's interests must be considered even before gratitude. I must be firm."

Thought is wondrously rapid. Mr Hazlit thought all that and a great deal more during the brief passage from the companion-hatch to the stern-rail.

"I wish to ask you to do me a favour, Mr Hazlit," the young man began.

The merchant looked at him with a troubled expression.

"Mr Berrington, you have been the means of saving our lives. It would be ungrateful in me to refuse you any favour that I can, with propriety, grant."

"I am aware," continued Edgar, "that you have—have—met with losses. That your circumstances are changed—"

Mr Hazlit coloured and drew himself proudly up.

"Be not offended, my dear sir," continued the youth earnestly; "I do not intrude on private matters—I would not dare to do so. I only speak of what I saw in English newspapers in Hong-Kong just before I left, and therefore refer to what is generally known to all. And while I sincerely deplore what I know, I would not presume to touch on it at all were I not certain that the pirates must have robbed you of all you possess, and that you must of necessity be in want of present funds. I also know that some of a man's so-called 'friends' are apt to fall off and fail him in the time of financial difficulty. Now, the favour I ask is that you will consider me—as indeed I am—one of your true friends, and accept of a loan of two or three hundred pounds—"

"Impossible, sir,—im—it is very kind of you—very, Mr Berrington— but, impossible," said Mr Hazlit, struggling between kindly feeling and hurt dignity.

"Nay, but," pleaded Edgar, "I only offer you a loan. Besides, I want to benefit myself," he added, with a smile. "The fact is, I have made a little money in a diving venture, which I and some others undertook to these seas, and I receive no interest for it just now. If you would accept of a few hundreds—what you require for present necessities—you may have them at three or five per cent. I would ask more, but that, you know, would be usurious!"

Still the fallen merchant remained immovable. He acknowledged Edgar's pleasantry about interest with a smile, but would by no means accept of a single penny from him in any form.

Edgar had set his heart upon two things that morning, and had prayed, not for success, but, for guidance in regard to them.

In the first he had failed—apparently. Not much depressed, and nothing daunted, he tried the second.

"Captain," he said, pacing up and down by the side of that black-bearded, black-eyed, and powerful pirate-killer, "what say you to run back to the spot where you sank the pirates, and attempt to fish up some of the treasure with our diving apparatus?"

"I've thought of that two or three times," replied the captain, shaking his head; "but they went down in deep waters,—forty fathoms, at least,—which is far beyond your powers."

"True," returned Edgar, "but the prow of the pirate-chief was, you know, run down in only nineteen fathoms, and that is not beyond us."

"Is it not?"

"No, we have already been deeper than twenty fathoms with the dress I have on board."

"There is only one objection," said the captain, pausing in his walk; "I have learned from the prisoners that before we came up with them, Pungarin had had all the money and chief treasure transferred from his own prow to another, which was a faster boat, intending to change into it himself, but that after our appearing he deferred doing so until the fight should be over. If this be true, then the treasure went down in deep water, and the chiefs prow has nothing in it worth diving for."

"But we are not sure that this story is true; and at all events it is probable that at least some of the treasure may have been left in Pungarin's boat," urged Edgar.

"Well, I'll make the trial; but first I must dispose of my prisoners."

So saying, the captain resumed his walk and Edgar went below to look after his engine, having, in passing, given Rooney Machowl instructions to overhaul the diving gear and get it into good working order.

This Rooney did with much consequential display, for he dearly loved to bring about that condition of things which is styled "astonishing the natives." As the Malays on board, seamen and captives, were easily astonished by the novelties of the western hemisphere, he had no difficulty in attracting and chaining their attention to the minutest details of his apparatus. He more than astonished them!

With the able assistance of Baldwin and Maxwell and Ram-stam, he drew out, uncoiled, rubbed, examined inch by inch, and re-coiled the life-line and the air-tube; unscrewed the various pieces—glasses, nuts, and valves—of the helmet, carefully examined them, oiled them, and re-fastened them, much to the interest and curiosity of "the natives." The helmet itself he polished up till it shone like a great globe of silver, to the intense admiration of "the natives." The pump he took to pieces elaborately, much to the anxiety of "the natives," who evidently thought he had wantonly destroyed it, but who soon saw it gradually put together again, much to their satisfaction, and brought into good working order. Rooney even went the length of horrifying one or two of "the natives" by letting one of the heavy shoulder-weights fall on their naked toes. This had the effect of making them jump and howl, while it threw the others into ecstasies of delight, which they expressed by throwing back their heads, shutting their eyes, opening their mouths, and chuckling heartily.

Aileen and Miss Pritty, in the meantime, lay on the sofas in the cabin, and at last obtained much-needed refreshment to their weary spirits by falling into deep, dreamless, and untroubled slumber.

Thus the gun-boat with its varied freight sped on until it reached Sarawak, where the pirates were sent ashore under a strong guard.

With these our tale has now nothing more to do; but as this cutting short of their career is not fiction, it may interest the reader to know that they were afterwards tried by a jury composed half of native chiefs and half of Europeans, who unanimously found them guilty. They were condemned to be shot, and the sentence was carried out immediately, in the jungle, two miles outside of the town. They were buried where they fell, and thus ended one of the sharpest lessons that had ever been taught to a band of miscreants, who had long filled with terror the inhabitants of Borneo and the neighbouring archipelago.

Some idea may be formed of the service done on this occasion—as estimated by those who were well able to judge—when we say that the captain of the gun-boat afterwards received, in recognition of his prowess, a handsome sword and letter of thanks from the Rajah, Sir James Brooke; a certificate, with a pocket chronometer, from the Netherlands-Indian Government; a commander's commission from the Sarawak Government; and letters of grateful thanks from the Resident Governor of the west coast of Borneo, the Council of Singapore for the Netherlands Government, and others—all expressive of his gallant conduct in utterly routing so large a body of pirates, liberating two hundred and fifty slaves—chiefly of the Dutch settlements—and clearing the Borneon coast of a curse that had infested it for many years. [See Note 1.]

Having disposed of the pirates, the gun-boat proceeded immediately to sea, and in a short time reached the scene of her recent victory. It had previously been proposed to Mr Hazlit that he might remain in Sarawak, if he chose, during the short period of the gun-boat's intended absence, but the unfortunate man—owing to financial reasons!—decided to remain in the vessel.

It happened to be a calm, lovely morning, not unlike that on which the action had been fought, when they reached the scene of their intended operations, and began to drag for the sunken prow.

The difficulty of finding it was much greater than had been anticipated, for the land, although visible, was much too far off to be of any service as a guide. At last, however, it was discovered; the diving apparatus was got out; the anchor cast, and Maxwell, being esteemed the most enduring among the divers, prepared to go down.

"It feels quite like old times, sir, don't it?" said Joe Baldwin to Edgar Berrington, as he assisted to dress the diver, and manipulated the various parts of the costume with a fondness that one might feel towards a favourite dog from which one had been for some time parted.

"It does indeed, Joe," replied Edgar, smiling; "I almost envy Maxwell the pleasure of a dip—especially in such a clear cool sea in this hot weather."

"How is he to breathe?" asked Miss Pritty, who with Aileen and her father, as well as the captain and crew of the gun-boat, watched the process of robing with as much interest as if they had never before seen it performed.

"Sure, Miss," observed Rooney Machowl, with great simplicity of aspect, "he does it by drawin' in an' puffin' out the air through his mouth an' nose."

"Very true," observed Miss Pritty, with a good-natured smile, for even she could see that the Irishman was poking fun at her; "but how is air conveyed to him?"

"It is sent down by means of an air-pump," said Edgar, who took on himself the duty of explaining.

"Dear me!" returned Miss Pritty, elevating her eyebrows in surprise; "I always thought that pumps were used only for pumping up water."

"Och! No, Miss," said Rooney, "they're largely used for pumping up beer in London."

"Now, David, are you all right?" asked Joe.

"All right," said Maxwell, as he rose and shook himself to settle the weights comfortably on his back and breast.

"Come along then, me boy," said Rooney.

Maxwell went to the side of the vessel, where a rope-ladder had been prepared, and his two attendants assisted him to get over.

"All right?" asked Joe again, after giving the order to pump, which Ram-stam commenced with the steady coolness and regularity of a veteran.

"All right," replied Maxwell, who immediately afterwards slowly disappeared.

After an hour's absence he signalled that he was coming up. In a few minutes his helmet was seen far down in the depths. Then it emerged from the surface.

"I want a crowbar," he said on the glass being removed.

"If you'd had on a helmet with a speakin'-tube," observed Rooney, "you might have said that without comin' up."

"True, lad," growled Maxwell, "but not havin' on a helmet with a speakin'-toobe, here I am, so please look alive."

"Any sign of treasure?" asked Edgar.

"Not as yet, sir."

The crowbar having been brought, the diver again went down.

For some time all went on quietly, for it was expected that, deep though the water was, Maxwell's power of enduring pressure would enable him to remain below for at least two hours, if not longer. After looking for some time inquiringly at the spot where he had disappeared, most of the Malays resumed their various duties about the vessel, though a few remained a little to regard Ram-stam with much interest, as being one who, in a measure, held the life of a fellow-being in his hands.

Suddenly a loud hissing noise was heard over the side. It sounded to those on deck as if the great sea-serpent had put his head out of the sea close alongside and sent a violent hiss into the air.

Joe Baldwin was attending to the air-tube, while Rooney held the life-line. He looked quickly down.

"The air-pipe's burst!" he shouted, and both he and his comrade, without a moment's delay, began to haul up the diver as fast as they possibly could.

That the reader may properly appreciate what had happened, it is necessary to remind him that at nineteen fathoms Maxwell's body was subjected to a pressure—from water, outside his dress—of about 50 pounds to the square inch, and that to prevent such a tremendous pressure from crushing in and collapsing all the cavities of his body, an equal pressure of air had to be forced into his dress, so that the pressure of water outside the dress was met and counteracted by the pressure of air inside. This highly condensed air of course tended to crush the diver, as did the water, but with this important difference, that the air entered his lungs, wind-pipe, ears, nose, etcetera, and thus prevented these organs from collapsing, and confined the absolute pressure to their walls of flesh so to speak, and to the solid muscular parts of his frame. Maxwell, being a very muscular man and tough, was, as we have said, able to stand the pressure on these parts better than many men. When, therefore, the air-tube burst—which it happened to do at a weak point just a foot or so above water—the diver's dress was instantaneously crushed tight round him in every part, the air was driven completely out of it, and also largely out of poor Maxwell's body!

The moment he appeared at the surface it was seen that he was insensible, for he swung about by his life-line and tube in a helpless manner.

Seeing this, Edgar, who had anxiously watched for him, got out on the ladder and passed the loop of a rope under his arms. It was quickly done. He was laid on deck and the bull's-eye was unscrewed by Rooney, who instantly exclaimed, "He's dead!"

"No, he's not; I see his lips move," said Joe Baldwin, aiding Edgar to unscrew the helmet.

This was soon removed, and a frightful sight was revealed to the spectators. Maxwell's face and neck were quite livid and swelled out to an almost bursting extent; blood was flowing profusely from his mouth and ears, and his eyes protruded horribly, as if they had been nearly forced out of their sockets.

It is right to observe that the helmet worn by Maxwell on this occasion was an old-fashioned one which, in the haste of departure from Hong-Kong, they had taken with them instead of one of their new ones. Most of the helmets now in use possess a valve which shuts of itself in the event of the air-tube bursting, and prevents the air from being crushed out of the dress. A dress full of air will, as we have already said, keep a man alive for at least five minutes. He has time, therefore, to reach the surface, so that danger from this source is not nearly so great as it used to be.

Such restoratives as suggested themselves to the chief onlookers were applied, and, to the surprise of every one, the diver began to show signs of returning life. In a few minutes he began to retch, and soon vomited a large quantity of clotted blood. After a time he began to whisper a few words.

"Cheer up, my lad," said the captain in a kindly voice, as he went down on one knee beside the prostrate man; "don't attempt to speak or exert yourself in any way. You'll be all right in a few days. We'll have your dress taken off and send you below, where you shall be taken good care of."

With returning vitality came back Maxwell's inbred obstinacy. He would not hold his tongue, but insisted on explaining his sensations to his comrades as they busied themselves taking off his dress—a rather violent operation at all times, and very difficult in the circumstances.

"W'y messmates," he said, "I hadn't even time to guess wot 'ad 'appened. Got no warnin' wotsomedever. I just felt a tree-mendous shock all of a suddent that struck me motionless—as if Tom Sayers had hit me a double-handed cropper on the top o' my beak an' in the pit o' my bread-basket at one an' the same moment. Then came an 'orrible pressure as if a two-thousand-ton ship 'ad bin let down a-top o' me, an' arter that I remembers nothin'."

It is probable that the poor fellow would have gone on with his comments, though he spoke with difficulty and in a feeble voice, in which none of his characteristic gruffness remained, if he had not been cut short by Joe Baldwin and Rooney Machowl lifting him up and carrying him below.

Rooney, who carried his shoulders, took occasion to say while on the way down:—

"David, boy, did ye find anny treasure?"

"No;—see'd nothin'."

"Ow, ow, worse luck!" sighed Rooney.

Maxwell was made comfortable with a glass of weak brandy and water— hot—and his comrades returned on deck, where they found Edgar Berrington commencing to put on the diving-dress.

"Goin' down, sir?" inquired Joe.

"Yes. We have fortunately another air-tube, and I want to complete the work we have begun."

"Is there not a risk," whispered Aileen to her father, "that the same accident may happen again?"

"Ah, true," answered Mr Hazlit aloud; "the water appears to be very deep, Mr Berrington. Do you not think it probable that the air-tube may burst a second time?"

"I think not," replied Edgar, as he sat down to have his helmet affixed to the dress. "The best made articles are liable to possess flaws. Even the most perfect railway-wheel, in which the cleverest engineer alive might fail to detect a fault, may conceal a dangerous flaw. There is no certainty in human affairs. All we can say is that, when we consider the thousands of divers who are daily employed all over the world, accidents of the kind you have just witnessed are not numerous. If I were to refrain from going down because this accident has occurred, I might as well refrain evermore from entering a railway-carriage. We must risk something sometimes in our progress through life, Mr Hazlit. It was intended that we should. Why were we gifted with the quality of courage if risk and danger were never to be encountered?"

The screwing on of the bull's-eye put a stop to further remark, and a few seconds later our hero went over the side, while Ram-stam, smiling benignant indifference as to the event which had so recently happened, steadily performed his duty.

As Mr Hazlit and Aileen watched the bubbles that rose in multitudes to the surface, the former repeated to himself, mentally, "Yes, we must risk something sometimes in our progress through life." He went on repeating this until at last he followed it up with the sudden reflection:—"Well, perhaps I must risk my daughter's happiness in this youth's hands, even though he is penniless. He seems an able fellow; will, doubtless, make his way anywhere. At all events it is quite evident that he will risk his life anywhere! Besides, now I think of it, he said something about lending me some hundred pounds or so. Perhaps he is not absolutely penniless. It is quite certain that I am. Curious sentiment that of his: 'We must risk something sometimes.' Very curious, and quite new—at least exhibited to me in quite a new light."

While Mr Hazlit's mind ran on thus, and his eyes dreamily watched the bubbles on the surface of the sea, our hero was grubbing like a big-headed goblin among the wreckage at the bottom.

He moved about from place to place in that slow leaning fashion which the resistance of water renders unavoidable, but he found nothing whatever to repay him for his trouble. There were beams and twisted iron-work, and overturned guns, and a few bales, but nothing that bore the least resemblance to boxes or bags of money.

One or two large cases he discovered, and forced them open with the crowbar, which Maxwell had dropped when he was struck insensible, but they contained nothing worth the labour of having them hoisted up. At last he was about to leave, after a careful search of more than an hour, when he espied something shining in a corner of what had once been the pirate-chief's cabin. He took it up and found it to be a small box of unusual weight for its size. His sense of touch told him that it was ornamented with carving on its surface, but the light was not sufficient to enable him to see it distinctly. His heart beat hopefully, however, as he hastened as fast as the water would permit out of the cabin, and then, to his joy he found that it was Aileen Hazlit's jewel-box! How it came there he could not guess; but the reader partly knows the truth, and can easily imagine that when the pirate-chief sent his other valuables to the swift prow, as before mentioned, he kept this—the most precious of them all—close to his own person to the last, desiring, no doubt, to have it always under his own eye.

Not troubling himself much, however, with such speculations, Edgar returned to the cabin, placed the box where he found it, and spent full half-an-hour more in plying his crowbar in the hope of discovering more of the pirate's horde. While thus engaged he received two or three signals to "Come up" from Joe Baldwin, who held his life-line; but he signalled back "All right—let me alone," and went on with his work.

At last there came the signal "Come up!" given with such a peremptory tug that he was fain, though unwilling, to comply. Taking the box under his arm he began to ascend slowly. On gaining the surface he was made at once aware of the reason of the repeated signalling, for a sudden squall had burst upon the eastern sea, which by that time, although perfectly calm below, was tumbling about in waves so large that the gun-boat was tossing like a cork at her anchor, and it was found to be almost impossible to work the air-pump. In fact it was only by having two men stationed to keep Ram-stam on his legs that the thing could be done!

With some difficulty Edgar was got on board, and the order was immediately given to weigh anchor.

Expressing great surprise at the state of things he found above water, and regret that he had not sooner attended to orders, Edgar placed the box on the deck. Then he unrobed, and drawing on his trousers and a canvas jacket he issued from behind the funnel—which had been his robing-room—and went aft, where he found Aileen seated between her friend Miss Pritty and her father.

"Miss Hazlit," he said with a peculiar smile, "allow me to introduce you to an old friend."

He held up before her the carved steel box.

"My mother's jewel-case!" she exclaimed, with a look of intense surprise.

"My—my wife's jewels!" stammered Mr Hazlit, in equal surprise; "whereon earth—why—how—where—young man, did you find them?"

"I found them at the bottom of the sea," replied Edgar. "It is the second time, strange to say, that I have had the pleasure of fishing them up from that vast repository of riches where, I doubt not, many another jewel-case still lies, and will continue to lie, unclaimed for ever. Meanwhile, I count myself peculiarly fortunate in being the means of restoring this case to its rightful owner."

So saying he placed it in the hands of Aileen.

The captain, who had watched the whole scene with quiet interest and a peculiar curl about his black moustache, as well as a twinkle in his sharp black eye, uttered a short laugh, thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked away to give the order that the steamer's head should be laid precisely "sou', sou'-west, and by south, half-south," with a slight—almost a shadowy—leaning in the direction of "southerly."

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Note 1. We may as well state here that our information on this subject was obtained from Captain John Hewat, formerly in command of the steam gun-boat Rainbow,—belonging to Sir James Brooke, K.C.B., Rajah of Sarawak,—in which he had six years' experience of pirate-hunting in the eastern seas, and now captain of one of Donald Currie and Company's magnificent line of Cape steamers. Perhaps we ought to apologise for thus dragging the gallant captain into fiction, but we trust he will find that, in regard to his own particular doings, we have stuck pretty closely to fact.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MISCELLANEOUS MATTERS, ENDING WITH A "SCRIMMAGE" UNDER WATER.

We are back again in Hong-Kong—in the pagoda—with our old friends seated comfortably round their little table enjoying a good supper.

Pretty little Mrs Machowl has prepared it, and is now assisting at the partaking of it. Young Master Teddy Machowl is similarly engaged on his father's knee. The child has grown appallingly during its father's absence! Ram-stam and Chok-foo are in waiting—gazing at each other with the affection of Chinese lovers re-united.

"What a sight you are, Rooney!" said Mrs Machowl, pausing between bites to look at her husband.

"Sure it's the same may be said of yoursilf, cushla!" replied Rooney, stuffing his child's mouth with sweet potato.

"Yes, but it's what a fright you are, I mane," said Mrs Machowl.

"An' it's what a purty cratur you are that I mane," replied Rooney, repeating the dose to Teddy, who regarded his father with looks of deep affection.

"Ah! Go 'long wid you. Sure it's your nose is spoilt entirely," said Mrs Machowl.

"An' it's your own that is swaiter than iver, which more than makes up the difference," retorted her lord.—"Howld it open as wide as ye can this time, Ted, me boy; there, that's your sort—but don't choke, ye spalpeen."

There seemed indeed some occasion for the latter admonition, for Teddy, unused to such vigorous treatment, was beginning to look purple in the face and apoplectic about the eyes. In short, there is every probability that an attack of croup, or something dreadful, would have ensued if the child's mother had not risen hastily and snatched it away from the would-be infanticide.

"Now then, Ram-stam and Chok-foo," said Edgar Berrington, putting down his spoon, "clear away the rat's-tail soup, and bring on the roast puppy."

Grinning from ear to ear, and with almost closed eyes, the Chinese servitors obeyed.

While they cleared the table and laid the second course, the conversation became general. Previously it had been particular, referring chiefly to the soup and the free circulation of the salt.

"So, then," observed Joe Baldwin, leaning back in his chair, "we must make up our minds to be content with what we have got. Well, it an't so bad after all! Let me see. How much did you say the total is, Mister Eddy?"

"Close upon eight thousand five hundred pounds."

"A tidy little sum," observed Rooney, with an air of satisfaction.

"Eight thousand—eh?" repeated Joe; "hum, well, we'll cut off the five hundred for expenses and passage home, and that leaves eight thousand clear, which, according to agreement, gives each of us two thousand pounds."

Maxwell, who still looked pale and thin from the effects of his late accident, nodded his head slowly, and growled, "Two thousand—jus' so."

"An' that, Molly, my dear," said Rooney, "if properly invisted, gives you an' me a clair income—only think, an income, Molly—of wan hundred a year! It's true, cushla! That ye won't be able to rowl in yer carridge an' walk in silks an' satins on that income, but it'll pay the rint an' taxes, owld girl, an' help Teddy to a collidge eddication— to say nothin' o' pipes an' baccy. Ochone!—if we'd only not lost the first haul, we'd have bin millerinaires be this time. I wouldn't have called the Quane me grandmother."

"Come, Rooney, be grateful for what you've got," said Edgar. "Enough is as good as a feast."

"Ah! Sur, it'll be time to say that when we've finished the puppy," replied the Irishman, as Chok-foo placed on the board a savoury roast which bore some resemblance to the animal named, though, having had its head and legs amputated, there could be no absolute certainty on the point. Whatever it was, the party attacked it with relish, and silence reigned until it was finished, after which conversation flowed again— somewhat languidly at first. When, however, pipes were got out by those who smoked, and chairs were placed in the verandah, and no sound was heard around save the yelling of Chinese children who were romping in the Chinese kennel that skirted the pagoda, and the champing of the jaws of Ram-stam and Chok-foo as they masticated inside—then came the feast of reason, not to mention the flow of soul.

"I wonder what our friends at Whitstable will say to this ventur' of ours," said Maxwell.

"Have you many friends there?" asked Edgar.

"Many?—of course I has. W'y, I suppose every English diver must have friends there."

"Where is it?" asked Edgar.

"Why, sir, don't you know Whitstable?" exclaimed Joe Baldwin, in surprise.

"You forget, Joe," replied Edgar, with a smile, "that although I have learnt how to dive, and have read a good deal about the history of diving, I am only an amateur after all, and cannot be supposed to know everything connected with the profession. All I know about Whitstable is that it is a port somewhere in the south of England."

"Right, sir," said Joe, "but it's more than that; it lies on the coast of Kent, and is famous for its oyster-beds and its divers. How it came to be a place of resort for divers I don't know, but so it is, an' I have heard say it was divin' for oysters in days of old that gave the natives a taste for the work. Anyhow, they've got the taste very decided somehow, an' after every spell o' dirty weather they're sure to have telegrams from all parts of the coast, and you'll see Lloyds' agents huntin' up the divers in the public-houses an' packin' 'em off wi' their gear right and left by rail to look after salvage.

"These men," continued Joe, "are most of 'em handicraftmen as well as divers, because you know, sir, it would be of no use to send down a mere labourer to repair the bottom of a ship, no matter how good he was at divin'; so, you'll find among 'em masons, and shipbuilders, and carpenters, and engineers—"

"Ah!" interrupted Edgar, "I was just wondering how they would manage if it were found necessary to have the engines of a sunk steamer taken to pieces and sent up."

"Well, sir," rejoined Joe, "they've got men there who can dive, and who know as much about marine engines as you do yourself. And these men make lots of tin, for a good diver can earn a pound a day, an' be kept in pretty regular employment in deep water. In shallow water he can earn from ten to fifteen shillings a day. Besides this, they make special arrangements for runnin' extra risks. Then the savin' they sometimes effect is amazin'. Why, sir, although you do know somethin' of the advantages of diving, you can never know fully what good they do in the world at large. Just take the case of the Agamemnon at Sebastopol—"

"Och!" interrupted Rooney, whose visage was perplexed by reason of his pipe refusing to draw well, "wasn't (puff) that a good job intirely (puff! There; you're all right at last!) He was a friend o' mine that managed that job. Tarry, we called him—though that wasn't his right name. This is how it was. The fleet was blazin' away at the fortifications, an' of coorse the fortifications—out o' politeness if nothin' else—was blazin' away at the fleet, and smoke was curlin' up like a chimbley on fire, an' big balls was goin' about like pais in a rattle, an' small shot like hail was blowin' horizontal, an' men was bein' shot an' cut to pieces, an' them as warn't was cheerin' as if there was any glory in wholesale murther—bah! I wouldn't give a day at Donnybrook wid a shillelah for all the sieges of Sebastopool as ever I heard tell of. Well, suddintly, bang goes a round shot slap through the hull of the Agamemnon, below the water-line! Here was a pretty to do! The ordinary coorse in this case would have bin to haul out of action, go right away to Malta, an' have the ship docked and repaired there. But what does they do? Why, they gets from under fire for a bit, and sends down my friend Tarry to look at the hole. He goes down, looks at it, then comes up an' looks at the Commodore,—bowld as brass.

"'I can repair it,' says Tarry.

"'Well, do,' says the Commodore.

"So down he goes an' does it, an' very soon after that the Agamemnon went into action again, and blazed away at the walls o' the owld place harder than ever."

"That was a good case, an' a true one," said Joe Baldwin, with an approving nod.

"And these divers, Mr Edgar," continued Joe, "sometimes go on their own hook, like we have done this time, with more or less luck. There was one chum of mine who took it into his head to try his chances at the wreck of the Royal Charter, long after all hope of further salvage had been abandoned, and in a short time he managed to recover between three and four hundred pounds sterling."

"An immense amount of money, they do say, was recovered from the Royal Charter by divers," observed Maxwell.

"That is true, and it happens," said Edgar, sadly, "that I know a few interesting facts regarding that vessel. I know of some people whose hearts were broken by the loss of relatives in that wreck. There were many such—God comfort them! But that is not what I meant to speak of. The facts I refer to are connected with the treasure lost in the vessel. Just before leaving London I had occasion to call on the gentleman who had the management of the recovered gold, and he told me several interesting things. First of all, the whole of the gold that could be identified was handed at once over to its owners; but this matter of identification was not easy, for much of the gold was found quite loose in the form of sovereigns and nuggets and dust. The dust was ordered to be sent up with the 'dirt' that surrounded it, and a process of gold-washing was instituted, after the regular diggings fashion, with a bowl and water. Tons of 'dirt' were sent up and washed in this way, and a large quantity of gold saved. The agent showed me the bowl that was used on this occasion. He also showed me sovereigns that had been kept as curious specimens. Some of them were partly destroyed, as if they had been caught between iron-plates and cut in half; others were more or less defaced and bent, and a few had been squeezed almost into an unrecognisable shape. In one place, he told me, the divers saw a pile of sovereigns through a rent in an iron-plate. The rent was too small to admit a man's arm, and the plates could not be dislodged. The divers, therefore, made a pair of iron tongs, with which they picked out the sovereigns, and thus saved a large sum of money. One very curious case of identification occurred. A bag of sovereigns was found with no name on it. A claimant appeared, but he could tell of no mark to prove that he was the rightful owner. Of course it could not be given up, and it appeared as if the unfortunate man (who was indeed the owner) must relinquish his claim, when in a happy moment his wife remembered that she had put a brass 'token' into the bag with the gold. The bag was searched, the token was found, and the gold was immediately handed to them."

"Molly, my dear," said Rooney Machowl at this point, "you make a note o' that; an' if ever you have to do with bags o' goold, just putt a brass token or two into 'em."

"Ah! Shut up, Rooney," said Mrs Machowl, in a voice so sweet that the contrast between it and her language caused Edgar and Joe to laugh.

"Well, then," continued Edgar, "in many other curious ways gold was identified and delivered to its owners: thus, in one case, an incomplete seal, bearing part of the legs of a griffin, was found on a bag of two thousand sovereigns, and the owner, showing the seal with which he had stamped it, established his claim. Of course in all cases where bars of gold were found with the owners' names stamped on them, the property was at once handed over; but after all was done that could be done by means of the most painstaking inquiry, an immense amount of gold necessarily remained unclaimed."

"And I s'pose if it wasn't for us divers," said Maxwell, "the whole consarn would have remained a dead loss to mankind."

"True for ye," responded Rooney; "it's not often ye come out wid such a blaze of wisdom as that, David! It must be the puppy as has stirred ye up, boy, or, mayhap, the baccy!"

"Take care you don't stir me up, lad, else it may be worse for you," growled Maxwell.

"Och! I'm safe," returned the Irishman, carelessly; "I'd putt Molly betwain us, an' sure ye'd have to come over her dead body before ye'd git at me.—It wasn't you, was it, David," continued Rooney, with sudden earnestness, "that got knocked over by a blast at the works in Ringwall harbour two or three years ago?"

"No, it warn't me," responded Maxwell; "it was long Tom Skinclip. He was too tall for a diver—he was. They say he stood six futt four in his socks; moreover he was as thin as a shadow from a bad gas-lamp. He was workin' one day down in the 'arbour, layin' stones at the foundations of the noo breakwater, when they set off a blast about a hundred yards off from where he was workin', an' so powerful was the blast that it knocked him clean on his back. He got such a fright that he signalled violently to haul up, an' they did haul 'im up, expectin' to find one of his glasses broke, or his toobes bu'sted. There was nothin' wotsomedever the matter with 'im, but he wouldn't go down again that day. 'Owsever, he got over it, an' after that went down to work at a wreck somewhere in the eastern seas—not far from Ceylon, I'm told. When there 'e got another fright that well-nigh finished him, an' from that day he gave up divin' an' tuck to gardening, for which he was much better suited."

"What happened to him?" asked Edgar.

"I'm not rightly sure," answered Maxwell, refilling his pipe, "but I've bin told he had to go down one day in shallow water among sea-weed. It was a beautiful sort o' submarine garden, so to speak, an' long Tom Skinclip was so fond o' flowers an' gardens nat'rally, that he forgot hisself, an' went wanderin' about what he called the 'submarine groves' till they thought he must have gone mad. They could see him quite plain, you see, from the boat, an' they watched him while he wandered about. The sea-weed was up'ard of six feet high, tufted on the top with a sort o' thing you might a'most fancy was flowers. The colours, too, was bright. Among the branches o' this submarine forest, or grove, small lobsters, an' shrimps, an' other sorts o' shell-fish, were doin' dooty as birds—hoppin' from one branch to another, an' creepin' about in all directions.

"After a time long Tom Skinclip he sat down on a rock an' wiped the perspiration off his brow—at least he tried to do it, which set the men in the boat all off in roars of laughter, for, d'ee see, Skinclip was an absent sort of a feller, an' used to do strange things. No doubt when he sat down on the rock he felt warm, an' bein' a narvish sort o' chap, I make no question but he was a-sweatin' pretty hard, so, without thinkin', he up with his arm, quite nat'ral like, an' drawed it across where his brow would have bin if the helmet hadn't been on. It didn't seem to strike him as absurd, however, for he putt both hands on 'is knees, an' sat lookin' straight before 'im.

"He hadn't sat long in this way when they see'd a huge fish—about two futt long—comin' slowly through the grove behind 'im. It was one o' them creeters o' the deep as seems to have had its head born five or six sizes too big for its tail—with eyes an' mouth to match. It had also two great horns above its eyes, an' a cravat or frill o' bristles round its neck. Its round eyes and half-open mouth gave it the appearance o' bein' always more or less in a state of astonishment. P'r'aps it was— at the fact of its havin' bin born at all! Anyhow, it swum'd slowly along till it cotched sight o' Skinclip, when it went at him, an' looked at the back of his helmet in great astonishment, an' appeared to smell it, but evidently it could make nothin' of it. Then it looked all down his back with an equal want of appreciation. Arter that it came round to the front, and looked straight in at Skinclip's bull's-eye! They do say it was a sight to see the start he gave!

"He jump up as smart a'most as if he'd bin in the open air, an' they obsarved, when he turned round, that a huge lobster of some unbeknown species was holdin' on to his trousers with all its claws like a limpet! The fish—or ripslang, as one of the men called it, who said he knowed it well—turned out to be a pugnaceous creetur, for no sooner did it see Skinclip's great eyes lookin' at it in horror, than it set up its frill of spikes, threw for'ard the long horns, an' went slap at the bull's-eye fit to drive it in. Skinclip he putt down his head, an' the ripslang made five or six charges at the helmet without much effect. Then it changed its tactics, turned on its side, wriggled under the helmet, an' looked in at Skinclip with one of its glarin' eyes close to the glass. At the same time the lobster gave him a tree-mendious tug behind. This was more than Skinclip could stand. They see'd him jump round, seize the life-line, an' give it four deadly pulls, but his comrades paid no attention to it. The lobster gave him another tug, an' the ripslang prepared for another charge. It seemed to have got some extra spikes set up in its wrath, for its whole body was bristlin' more or less by this time.

"Again Skinclip tugged like a maniac at the line. The ripslang charged; the lobster tugged; the poor feller stepped back hastily, got his heels entangled in sea-weed, and went down head first into the grove!

"The men got alarmed by this time, so they pulled him up as fast as they could, an' got him inboard in a few minutes; but they do say," added Maxwell, with emphasis, "that that ripslang leaped right out o' the water arter him, an' the lobster held on so that they had to chop its claws off with a hatchet to make it let go. They supped off it the game night, and long Tom Skinclip, who owned an over strong appetite, had a bad fit of indisgestion in consikence."



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

MORE ABOUT THE SEA.

Once more we beg our reader to accompany us to sea—out into the thick darkness, over the wild waves, far from the abodes of man.

There, one night in December, a powerful steamer did battle with a tempest. The wind was against her, and, as a matter of course, also the sea. The first howled among her rigging with what might have been styled vicious violence. The seas hit her bows with a fury that caused her to stagger, and, bursting right over her bulwarks at times, swept the decks from stem to stern, but nothing could altogether stop her onward progress. The sleepless monster in the hold, with a heart of fervent heat, and scalding breath of intense energy, and muscles of iron mould, and an indomitable—yet to man submissive—will, wrought on night and day unweariedly, driving the floating palace straight and steadily on her course—homeward-bound.

Down in the cabin, in one of the side berths lay a female form. Opposite to it, in a similar berth, lay another female form. Both forms were very limp. The faces attached to the forms were pale yellow, edged here and there with green.

"My dear," sighed one of the forms, "this is dreadful!"

After a long silence, as though much time were required for the inhalation of sufficient air for the purpose, the other form replied:—

"Yes, Laura, dear, it is dreadful."

"'Ave a cup of tea, ladies?" said the stewardess, opening the door just then, and appearing at an acute angle with the doorway, holding a cup in each hand.

Miss Pritty shuddered and covered her head with the bed-clothes. Aileen made the form of "no, thanks," with her lips, and shut her eyes.

"Do 'ave a cup," said the stewardess, persuasively.

The cups appeared at that moment inclined to "'ave" a little game of hide-and-seek, which the stewardess nimbly prevented by suddenly forming an obtuse angle with the floor, and following that action up with a plunge to starboard, and a heel to port, that was suggestive—at least to a landsman—of an intention to baptise Miss Pritty with hot tea, and thereafter take a "header" through the cabin window into the boiling sea! She did neither, however, but, muttered something about "'ow she do roll, to be sure," and, seeing that her mission was hopeless, left the cabin with a balked stagger and a sudden rush, which was appropriately followed up by the door shutting itself with a terrific bang, as though it should say, "You might have known as much, goose! Why did you open me?"

"Laura, dear," said Aileen, "did you hear what the captain said to some one just now in the cabin, when the door was open?"

"N-no," replied Miss Pritty, faintly.

"I distinctly heard some one ask how fast we were going, but I could not make out his reply."

"Oh!" exclaimed the other, brightening for a brief moment; "yes, I did hear him. He said we were going six knots. Now I do not understand what that means."

"Did you mean that?" asked Aileen, turning her eyes languidly on her friend, while a faint smile flickered on her mouth.

"Mean what?" said Miss Pritty, in evident surprise.

"No, I see you didn't. Well, a knot means, I believe, a nautical mile."

"A notticle mile, Aileen; what is that?"

"A nautical mile; dear me, how stupid you are, Laura!"

"Oh! I understand. But, really, the noise of that screw makes it difficult to hear distinctly. And, after all, it is no wonder if I am stupid, for what between eating nothing but pickles for six weeks, and this dreadful—there! Oh! It comes ag—"

Poor Miss Pritty stopped abruptly, and made a desperate effort to think of home. Aileen, albeit full of sympathy, turned her face to the wall, and lay with closed eyes.

After a time the latter looked slowly round.

"Are you asleep, Laura?"

Miss Pritty gave a sharp semi-hysterical laugh at the bare idea of such an impossible condition.

"Well, I was going to say," resumed Aileen, "that we cannot be very far from land now, and when we do get there—"

"Happy day!" murmured Miss Pritty.

"We intend," continued Aileen, "to go straight home—I—I mean to our old home, sell everything at once, and go to live in a cottage—quite a tiny cottage—by the sea somewhere. Now, I want you to come and visit us the very day we get into our cottage. I know you would like it— would like being with me, wouldn't you?"

"Like it? I should delight in it of all things."

"I knew you would. Well, I was going to say that it would be such a kindness to dear papa too, for you know he will naturally be very low-spirited when we make the change—for it is a great change, Laura, greater perhaps than you, who have never been very rich, can imagine, and I doubt my capacity to be a good comforter to him though I have all the will."

Two little spots of red appeared for the first time for many weeks on Miss Pritty's cheeks, as she said in a tone of enthusiasm:—

"What! You not a good comforter? I've a good mind to refuse your invitation, since you dare to insinuate that I could in any degree supplement you in such a matter."

"Well, then, we won't make any more insinuations," returned Aileen, with a sad smile; "but you'll come—that's settled. You know, dear, that we had lost everything, but ever since our jewel-case was found by—by—"

"By Edgar," said Miss Pritty; "why don't you go on?"

"Yes, by Mr Berrington," continued Aileen, "ever since that, papa has been very hopeful. I don't know exactly what his mind runs on, but I can see that he is making heaps of plans in regard to the future, and oh! You can't think how glad and how thankful I am for the change. The state of dull, heartbreaking, weary depression that he fell into just after getting the news of our failure was beginning to undermine his health. I could see that plainly, and felt quite wretched about him. But now he is comparatively cheerful, and so gentle too. Do you know, I have been thinking a good deal lately of the psalmist's saying, 'it is good for me that I have been afflicted;' and, in the midst of it all, our Heavenly Father remembered mercy, for it was He who sent our jewel-box, as if to prevent the burden from being too heavy for papa."

Miss Pritty's kind face beamed agreement with these sentiments.

"Now," continued Aileen, "these jewels are, it seems, worth a great deal of money—much more than I had any idea of—for there are among them a number of very fine diamond rings and brooches. In fact, papa told me that he believed the whole were worth between eight and nine thousand pounds. This, you know, is a sum which will at least raise us above want, (poor Miss Pritty, well did she know that!)—though of course it will not enable us to live very luxuriously. How fortunate it was that these pirates—"

"Oh!" screamed Miss Pritty, suddenly, as she drew the clothes over her head.

"What's the matter?" exclaimed Aileen; "are you going to be—"

"Oh! No, no, no," said Miss Pritty, peeping out again; "how could you bring these dreadful creatures to my remembrance so abruptly? I had quite forgotten them for the time. Why, oh why did you banish from my mind that sweet idea of a charming cottage by the sea, and all its little unluxurious elegancies, and call up in its place the h-h-horrors of that village-nest—pig-sty—of the dreadful buccaneers? But it can't be helped now," added Miss Pritty, with a resigned shudder, "and we have the greatest reason to be thankful that their hope of a good ransom made them treat us as well as they did;—but go on, dear, you were saying that it was fortunate that these p-pirates—"

"That they did not sell the jewels or take any of them out of the box, or send them into the other prow which was sunk in deep water, where the divers could not have gone down to recover them."

"Very true," assented Miss Pritty.

At this point the cabin door again burst open, and the amiable stewardess appeared, bearing two cups of fresh tea, which she watched with the eyes of a tigress and the smile of an angel, while her body kept assuming sudden, and one would have thought impossible, attitudes.

"Now, ladies, do try some tea. Really you must. I insist on it. Why, you'll both die if you don't."

Impressed with the force of this reasoning, both ladies made an effort, and got up on their respective elbows. They smiled incredulously at each other, and then, becoming suddenly grave, fell flat down on their backs, and remained so for some time without speaking.

"Now, try again; do try, it will do you so much good—really."

Thus adjured they tried again and succeeded. Aileen took one sip of tea, spilt much of the rest in thrusting it hurriedly into the ready hands of the all but ubiquitous stewardess, and fell over with her face to the wall. Miss Pritty looked at her tea for a few seconds, earnestly. The stewardess, not being quite ubiquitous, failed to catch the cup as it was wildly held towards her. Miss Pritty therefore capsized the whole affair over her bed-clothes, and fell back with a deadly groan.

The stewardess did not lose temper. She was used to such things. If Miss Pritty had capsized her intellect over the bed-clothes, the stewardess would only have smiled, and wiped it up with a napkin.

"You'll be better soon, Miss," said the amiable woman, as she retired with the debris.

The self-acting door shut her out with a bang of contemptuous mockery, and the poor ladies were once more left alone in their misery.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

TAKING THE TIDE AT THE EBB.

When things in this world reach their lowest ebb, it is generally understood or expected that the tide will turn, somehow, and rise. Not unfrequently the understanding and the expectation are disappointed. Still, there are sufficiently numerous instances of the fulfilment of both, to warrant the hope which is usually entertained by men and women whose tide has reached its lowest.

Mr Hazlit was naturally of a sanguine temperament. He entertained, we had almost said, majestic views on many points. Esteeming himself "a beggar" on three hundred a year—the remains of the wreck of his vast fortune—he resolved to commence business again. Being a man of strict probity and punctuality in all business matters, and being much respected and sympathised with by his numerous business friends, he experienced little difficulty in doing so. Success attended his efforts; the tide began to rise.

Seated in a miniature parlour, before a snug fire, in his cottage by the sea, with one of the prettiest girls in all England by his side, knitting him a pair of inimitable socks, the "beggar" opened his mouth slowly and spake.

"Aileen," said he, "I've been a fool!"

Had Mr Hazlit said so to some of his cynical male friends they might have tacitly admitted the fact, and softened the admission with a smile. As it was, his auditor replied:—

"No, papa, you have not."

"Yes, my love, I have. But I do not intend to prove the point or dispute it. There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the ebb, leads on to fortune."

Aileen suspended her knitting and looked at her sire with some surprise, for, being a very matter-of-fact unpoetical man, this misquotation almost alarmed her.

"'Taken at the flood,' is it not, papa?"

"It may be so in Shakespeare's experience. I say the ebb. When first I was reduced to beggary—"

"You never were that, papa. We have never yet had to beg."

"Of course, of course," said Mr Hazlit, with a motion of his hand to forbid further interruption. "When I say 'beggary,' you know what I mean. I certainly do not mean that I carry a wallet and a staff, and wear ragged garments, and knock at backdoors. Well, when I was reduced to beggary, I had reached the lowest ebb. At that time I was led—mark me, I was led—to 'take the tide.' I took it, and have been rising with the flood to fortune ever since. And yet, strange to say, though I am now rich in a way I never before dreamed of, I have still an insane thirst for earthly gold. What was the passage, dear, that you quoted to me as being your text for the day?"

"'Owe no man anything,'" replied Aileen.

"Yes, it is curious. I have never mentioned the subject to you, my child, but some months ago—when, as I have said, the tide was very low—I was led to consider that passage, and under the influence of it I went to my creditors and delivered up to them your box of jewels. You are aware, no doubt, that having passed through the insolvency court, and given up all that I possessed, I became legally free. This box was recovered from the deep, and restored to me after my effects had been given up to my creditors, so that I might have retained it. But I felt that this would have been unjust. I respect the law which, after a man has given up all he possesses, sets him free to begin life again with some degree of hope, but I cannot avoid coming to the conclusion that moral duties cannot be abrogated by human laws. I take advantage of the law to prevent inhuman creditors from grinding me to death, but I refuse to take advantage of the law so as to escape from the clear duty that I ought to pay these creditors—gradually and according to my ability—to the uttermost farthing. Having been led to act on this opinion, I gave up the box of jewels. To my surprise, my creditors refused to take them. They returned them to me as a gift. I accepted the gift as a trust. On the proceeds, as you see, we manage to live comfortably, and I am now conducting a fairly successful business in the old line—on a small scale."

Mr Hazlit smiled sadly as he uttered the last words.

"And the debts, papa, which you told me once were so heavy, do you mean to pay them all?" asked Aileen, anxiously.

"I do," replied her father, earnestly; "by slow degrees it may be, but to the last farthing if I live. I shall try to owe no man anything."

A glad smile lit up Aileen's face as she was on the point of throwing her arms round her father's neck, when the door opened, and a small domestic—their only one besides the cook—put a letter into the hands of her young mistress.

Aileen's countenance assumed a troubled look a she handed it to her father.

"It is for you, papa."

Mr Hazlit's visage also assumed an expression of anxiety as he opened and read the letter. It ran thus:—

"Deer Sur,—i thinks it unkomon 'ard that a man shood 'ave is beed sold under im wen anuther man oas im munny, speshally wen is wifes ill—praps a-dyin—the Law has washt yoo sur, but it do seam 'ard on me, if yoo cood spair ony a pownd or two id taik it kind.—Yoors to komand, John Timms."

"This is very much to the point," said Mr Hazlit, with a faint smile, handing the letter to Aileen. "It is, as you see, from our old green-grocer, who must indeed be in great trouble when he, who used to be so particularly civil, could write in that strain to me. Now, Aileen, I want your opinion on a certain point. In consequence of your economical ways, my love, I find myself in a position to give fifty pounds this half-year towards the liquidation of my debts."

The merchant paused, smiled, and absolutely looked a little confused. The idea of commencing to liquidate many thousands of pounds by means of fifty was so inexpressibly ridiculous, that he half expected to hear his own respectful child laugh at him. But Aileen did not laugh. With her large earnest eyes she looked at him, and the unuttered language of her pursed, grave, little mouth was "Well, go on."

"The liquidation of my debts," repeated Mr Hazlit, firmly. "The sum is indeed a small one—a paltry one—compared with the amount of these debts, but the passage which we have been considering appears to me to leave no option, save to begin at once, even on the smallest possible scale. Now, my love, duty requires that I should at once begin to liquidate. Observe, the law of the land requires nothing. It has set me free, but the law of God requires that I should pay, at once, as I am able. Conscience echoes the law, and says, 'pay.' What, therefore, am I to do?"

Mr Hazlit propounded this question with such an abrupt gaze as well as tone of interrogation, that the little pursed mouth relaxed into a little smile as it said, "I suppose you must divide the sum proportionally among your creditors, or something of that sort."

"Just so," said Mr Hazlit, nodding approval. "Now," he continued, with much gravity, "if I were to make the necessary calculation—which, I may remark, would be a question in proportion running into what I may be allowed to style infinitesimal fractions—I would probably find out that the proportion payable to one would be a shilling, to another half a sovereign, to another a pound or so, while to many would accrue so small a fraction of a farthing that no suitable coin of this realm could be found wherewith to pay it. If I were to go with, say two shillings, and offer them to my good friend Granby as part payment of my debt to him, the probability is that he would laugh in my face and invite me to dinner in order that we might celebrate the event over a bottle of very old port. Don't you think so?"

Aileen laughed, and said that she did think so.

"Well, then," continued her father, "what, in these circumstances, says common sense?"

Aileen's mouth became grave again, and her eyes very earnest as she said quickly—

"Pay off the green-grocer!"

Mr Hazlit nodded approval. "You are right. Mr Timms' account amounts to twenty pounds. To offer twenty pounds to Mr Granby—to whom I owe some eight thousand, more or less—would be a poor practical joke. To give it to Mr Timms will evidently be the saving of his business at a time when it appears to have reached a crisis. Put on your bonnet and shawl, dear, and we will go about this matter without delay."

Aileen was one of those girls who possessed the rare and delectable capacity to "throw on" her bonnet and shawl. One glance in the mirror sufficed to convince her that these articles, although thrown on, had fallen into their appropriate places neatly. It could scarcely have been otherwise. Her bonnet and shawl took kindly to her, like all other things in nature—animate and otherwise. She reappeared before her sedate father had quite finished drawing on his gloves.

Mr John Timms dwelt in a back lane which wriggled out of a back street as if it were anxious to find something still further back into which to back itself. He had been in better circumstances and in a better part of the town when Mr Hazlit had employed him. At the time of the rich merchant's failure, the house of Timms had been in a shaky condition. That failure was the removal of its last prop; it fell, and Timms retired, as we have seen, into the commercial background. Here, however, he did not find relief. Being a trustful man he was cheated until he became untrustful. His wife became ill owing to bad air and low diet. His six children became unavoidably neglected and riotous, and his business, started on the wreck of the old one, again came to the brink of failure. It was in these circumstances that he sat down, under the impulse of a fit of desperation, and penned the celebrated letter to his old customer.

When Mr Hazlit and his daughter had, with great difficulty, discovered Mr Timms' residence and approached the door, they were checked on the threshold by the sound of men apparently in a state of violent altercation within.

"Git out wid ye, an' look sharp, you spalpeen," cried one of the voices.

"Oh, pray don't—don't fight!" cried a weak female voice.

"No, I won't git out till I'm paid, or carry your bed away with me," cried a man's voice, fiercely.

"You won't, eh! Arrah then—hup!"

The last sound, which is not describable, was immediately followed by the sudden appearance of a man, who flew down the passage as if from a projectile, and went headlong into the kennel. He was followed closely by Rooney Machowl, who dealt the man as he rose a sounding slap on the right cheek, which would certainly have tumbled him over again had it not been followed by an equally sounding slap on the left cheek, which "brought him up all standing."

Catching sight at that moment of Mr Hazlit and Aileen, Rooney stopped short and stood confused.

"Murder!" shrieked the injured man.

"Hooray! Here's a lark!" screamed a small street-boy.

"Go it! Plice! A skrimmage!" yelled another street-boy in an ecstasy of delight, which immediately drew to the spot the nucleus of a crowd.

Mr Hazlit was a man of promptitude. He was also a large man, as we have elsewhere said, and by no means devoid of courage. Dropping his daughter's arm he suddenly seized the ill-used and noisy man by the neck, and thrust him almost as violently back into the green-grocer's house as Rooney had kicked him out of it. He then said, "Go in," to the amazed Rooney, and dragging his no less astonished child in along with him, shut and locked the door.