Leaves from a middy's log
Date: 2023-09-28T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Adventure stories; Pirates -- Juvenile fiction; Voyages and travels -- Juvenile fiction; Seafaring life -- Juvenile fiction; Sailors -- Juvenile fiction; Escapes -- Juvenile fiction; Cuba -- Juvenile fiction; Mutiny -- Juvenile fiction; Youth -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Prisoners -- Juvenile fiction; Midshipmen -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: Leaves from a middy's log

Author: Arthur Lee Knight

Release date: September 28, 2023 [eBook #71750]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Thomas Nelson and Sons

Credits: Bob Taylor, hekula03 and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEAVES FROM A MIDDY'S LOG ***

LEAVES FROM A MIDDY’S LOG.

“In an agony of apprehension I knelt down at Charlie’s side.”

Page 33.

T. NELSON & SONS.

Leaves from a

Middy’s Log

BY

ARTHUR LEE KNIGHT

Author of “Adventures of a Midshipmite,” “The Rajah of Monkey Island,”
“The Cruise of the ‘Cormorant’.”
&c. &c.

THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
London, Edinburgh, and New York

1896

CONTENTS.

I. | A STRANGE ADVENTURE, | 9
II. | WE STORM THE FORT, | 26
III. | A FIGHT FOR LIFE, | 37
IV. | WE RETURN ON BOARD, | 43
V. | THE NAVAL BRIGADE LANDS, | 55
VI. | “COLD PIG” AND “SLING THE MONKEY,” | 62
VII. | NED AND THE MULE-DRIVER, | 68
VIII. | “PREPARE FOR CAVALRY!” | 78
IX. | WE HEAR STRANGE NEWS, | 86
X. | A PERILOUS ADVENTURE, | 96
XI. | JIM BEDDOES’ YARN, | 111
XII. | TAKEN PRISONER, | 124
XIII. | NED IS FLOGGED, | 137
XIV. | IN THE PIRATES’ CAVERN, | 146
XV. | A MARCH TO THE COAST, | 162
XVI. | IN IRONS, | 172
XVII. | ON BOARD THE PIRATE BRIG, | 177
XVIII. | THE PIRATES’ ISLAND, | 193
XIX. | IN THE CRATER CAVE, | 211
XX. | THE ESCAPE FROM THE CAVE, | 222
XXI. | HUNTED BY BLOODHOUNDS, | 236
XXII. | A FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND, | 244
XXIII. | A RACE FOR LIFE, | 255
XXIV. | DEATH OF MIGUEL, | 263
XXV. | WE ESCAPE TO SEA, | 271
XXVI. | CONCLUSION, | 279

LEAVES FROM A MIDDY’S LOG.

CHAPTER I.
A STRANGE ADVENTURE.

At the time when the adventures which I am about to relate took place, I, Jack Darcy, was serving as a midshipman on board H.M.S. Rattler, a smart frigate of fifty guns, commanded by Captain Graves, who was a very distinguished officer and much beloved by all who served under him. Our vessel was attached to the North American squadron, and consequently we often visited the West Indies and cruised in the Caribbean Sea. On this particular occasion we were lying at anchor in the commodious harbour of Havana, the capital of the beautiful and fertile island of Cuba, which its Spanish masters delight to call “the pearl of the Antilles.”

A few days after we had come to anchor in the harbour, I, in company with some of my brother-middies, obtained leave to go ashore and have a look at the city and its Spanish and Creole inhabitants. As the reader may suppose, we found plenty to interest and amuse us. The afternoon, however, turned out so hot that we made up our minds to return on board the ship earlier than we had intended; and with this in view, we sauntered down to the wharf under a burning tropical sun to seek for a shore-boat. In a few minutes, the placid waters of the harbour, glowing like molten gold under the fierce rays of an almost vertical sun, opened out before us, crowded with shipping of various nationalities, amid which our own beautiful, shapely frigate was clearly discernible with her lofty tapering spars and shining black hull, the latter relieved by the broad white streak across the portholes, from which the open-mouthed guns frowned menacingly.

“I say, Jack,” exclaimed one of my messmates, Charlie Balfour, as we were steering our way through the piles of merchandise that lay strewn on the wharves, “that looks uncommonly like the officers’ recall flying at the Rattler’s masthead. What can the meaning of it be?”

We glanced in the direction of our ship, and sure enough there flew the recall as a signal for every officer to return on board without delay.

As we gazed a flash issued from one of the forecastle ports, and the sullen boom of a signal-gun reverberated over the harbour and died away in multitudinous echoes amongst the hills behind the city.

“Perhaps the flagship is coming in,” I suggested.

“Impossible, my dear fellow,” answered Charlie, who was a particular friend of mine; “the admiral was at Halifax by last advices, and was likely to remain there.”

“We shall soon solve the mystery, anyhow,” I answered, pointing across the harbour, “for here comes my boat, the second cutter.”

A few minutes later, the craft in question glided alongside the wharf, cleverly steered by Ned Burton, the coxswain.

“What’s up now, Ned?” we shouted in chorus; “why has the first lieutenant hoisted the recall?”

The coxswain touched his hat as he answered, “There is a high old row up somewhere along the coast, gentlemen; and the long and the short of it is that the captain has ordered us round to Santiago—leastways that’s the yarn upon the lower deck.”

At this moment a group of our wardroom officers hurried down to the landing-stage, and we all sprang into the cutter, which was at once pushed off into deep water and headed for the ship. The ten lusty oarsmen gave way with a will, and sent the boat spinning along at an exhilarating pace, whilst Ned Burton carefully steered her through the maze of merchant shipping and fishing-craft that thronged the harbour. In a quarter of an hour we were alongside the Rattler, and found every one full of excitement, and a general preparation for weighing anchor going forward.

It seemed that the crew of an English merchant vessel, more than half of whom were foreigners, had mutinied upon the high seas, and after murdering the captain and the first mate, and pitching their bodies overboard, had taken charge of the ship, which had a very valuable general cargo. They had run her into the harbour of Santiago de Cuba, where, owing to the disturbed state of the island, they imagined that they could perhaps dispose of the cargo, and then either burn the ship and join the insurgents, or put to sea again and trust to the hazardous chance of not falling in with an English cruiser.

Fortunately, however, their diabolical schemes were nipped in the bud by the successful escape of Mr. Osborne, the surgeon of the vessel, whom the mutineers had kept in close confinement lest they should require his services. On the arrival of the ship at Santiago, the leading desperadoes went on shore to try to dispose of the cargo. During their absence, the surgeon managed to give the others the slip, and with considerable pluck swam to a small coasting-steamer which was anchored not far off. The skipper of this craft had easily been prevailed upon to steam off at once for Havana on the promise of a reward; and to the surgeon’s delight he was soon en route for the capital. On arriving at Havana, he at once reported himself to Captain Graves, who paid the skipper of the steamer handsomely for his co-operation; and after consulting with the Captain-General of Cuba, he ordered the Rattler to hold herself in readiness to proceed to Santiago.

As the sun sank to rest in a blaze of crimson glory which was reflected in ruddy hues on city and shipping, and on the tranquil waters of the harbour, we tripped our anchor and steamed slowly out to sea. At the same time, the innumerable bells of Havana rang out their confused and jangling summons to vespers from the church and convent towers, their tones mellowed by distance as they came sounding over the expansive bay. They seemed to be ringing out a farewell to us as we faded from view in the short evanescent twilight, which still glowed with some of the sunset’s rapidly-dissolving glories.

We middies were of course full of excitement at the idea of fresh adventures, and were burning to know what plans the captain had laid for capturing this daring band of mutineers, who had had the effrontery to murder their officers and seize the vessel on the high seas.

It soon became known that Captain Graves designed to capture these villains by means of a little strategy. He intended to enter Santiago de Cuba under easy steam, after nightfall, so as not to arouse suspicion on board the craft which had been thus cleverly seized, and which was called the Flying-fish. It would then perhaps be possible to seize the crew in their hammocks before any resistance could be offered. Mr. Osborne, who accompanied us, gave it as his opinion that, on learning of his escape, the mutineers would probably be seized with alarm, and betake themselves elsewhere. It was highly improbable, indeed, that they could know of the presence of a British man-of-war in Cuban waters; but still they would not unnaturally conjecture that some Spanish gunboats might be sent in chase of them, as soon as the facts of the mutiny and murders reached the ears of the Captain-General at Havana.

Fortunately for our scheme, there was no moon, though the stars shone down with the sparkling brilliancy so remarkable in tropical climes. The night, however, was sufficiently dark for our purpose; and toward the end of the middle watch, the Rattler, like a giant phantom-ship, glided almost imperceptibly into Santiago harbour, with forecastlemen stationed at the small bower anchor, and armed boats’ crews ready to go on any service at a moment’s notice.

The captain knew the Santiago de Cuba anchorage well, besides being provided with excellent charts; so the frigate was taken in at the dead of night without the slightest hesitation. Mr. Osborne declared that he distinguished the Flying-fish in about the same position in which he had left her; consequently we anchored as quietly as possible a few lengths distant from her, and at once proceeded to put our plan into execution.

The second cutter, the boat of which I was midshipman, was one of those told off for the enterprise, so I hurriedly got my side-arms, and mustered my crew preparatory to manning the boat. Mr. Giles, the master-at-arms, supported by some ship’s corporals and marines, was to go with me, taking handcuffs with him. Mr. Thompson, the gunnery lieutenant, was to command the party, and, in company with Mr. Osborne—who had provided himself with a revolver—was to go in the first cutter with my chum, Charlie Balfour. These two boats the captain considered quite sufficient for the duty, especially as a complete surprise was intended, and it was known that the mutineers were very imperfectly supplied with arms.

With muffled oars, and long steady strokes, we pulled away over the star-begemmed waters for the long low vessel, which with her clear-cut spars and rigging, and somewhat rakish appearance, more nearly resembled a pirate than a peaceful merchantman.

All seemed silent as death. Not a voice broke the stillness that reigned fore-and-aft. The crew were apparently wrapped in slumber.

The first cutter hooked on at the vessel’s starboard gangway, whilst we made fast to port, and quickly scrambled on board. The deck was deserted, and a deathlike stillness reigned throughout the ship.

I met Mr. Thompson and his party at the main-hatchway, and we proceeded to light some dark lanterns we had brought with us, and get our revolvers ready for use.

“Mr. Osborne has sprained his ankle in getting out of the boat,” whispered the gunnery lieutenant, “and he is in such pain that we left him in the cutter in charge of the bowmen. We can manage all right without him. Have you got the handcuffs ready, Mr. Giles?”

“All right, sir,” replied that officer in the same undertone, and he held up to view the instruments in question, and chuckled audibly.

“Now, men, keep perfect silence,” continued Mr. Thompson, “and we’ll surprise these fellows in their berths, and bundle them into the boats before they can say ‘Jack Robinson.’ Follow me down the main hatchway, and in the first place we’ll overhaul the cabins, for it’s there the rascals are sleeping, I expect.”

With cautious and stealthy steps—having divested ourselves of our shoes—we followed our leader below. At this moment we almost betrayed ourselves through a clumsy marine knocking his head against the ship’s bell, which hung at the foot of the ladder, and gave out a metallic ring that could have been distinctly heard by any wakeful person on the main-deck or in the cabins.

“Confound that bullet-headed lobster!” whispered Mr. Thompson fiercely. “I’ll crack his skull in earnest for him if he doesn’t look out.”

The man, who had overheard this remark, and was ruefully rubbing his head, slunk to the rear, and sheltered himself behind the stalwart form of the master-at-arms.

“There are several men asleep in hammocks,” continued the gunnery lieutenant, flashing his lantern as he spoke on the after part of the deck.—“Mr. Darcy, you must take some of your crew and seize the men that are in them. One of the corporals will go with you, and two marines to handcuff them. I’ll push on with Mr. Balfour and capture the mutineers that may be in the stateroom and the cabins, and you can join me there as soon as possible.”

With a rush Ned Burton and my cutter’s crew surrounded the unconscious sleepers, and hauled them with little ceremony out of their hammocks; and thus before the men could recover from their surprise, they were cleverly thrown down and handcuffed. Being half dressed, they were all ready to be taken on board the Rattler; and I was on the point of leaving them in charge of the marines, and pushing on after Mr. Thompson, when one of them, who appeared from his accent to be an American, broke out with an angry demand as to the reason why he and his comrades had been taken prisoners. I answered laconically that it was for murder and piracy upon the high seas; and without paying any attention to a furious rejoinder made by the fellow—who had a very unprepossessing appearance—I hurried aft with Ned Burton and the rest of the blue-jackets.

Having pushed open a door, I found myself in a very elegant stateroom dimly lighted by two swinging lamps, which hung over a table covered with the débris of what had apparently been a sumptuous meal. Decanters and glasses sparkled in the rich dim light, and fruit and sweetmeats were scattered about in profusion over a snowy cloth of remarkably fine linen. Casting a hurried glance around, I saw that the stateroom was handsomely and even luxuriously furnished; everywhere signs of elegant taste were visible. The bulkheads were painted grey and gold, and had a handsome moulding running around them. The ports were draped with dainty curtains, and pictures were suspended in every available space. A rich carpet covered the deck, and was dotted with gipsy tables covered with fancy china, stands for photographs, bowls of flowers, and bric-à-brac.

“A curious place for mutineers this,” said I audibly, not a little surprised at what I saw before me.

“Ay, they live like fighting-cocks, sir, there’s no question about that, and they seem to have had a good tuck-in last night,” observed my coxswain in a jocular tone. “Perhaps the gunnery lootenant will let us finish up the scraps by-and-by.”

I was on the point of replying to Ned Burton, when a tremendous hubbub and uproar commenced in the after-cabins opening from the stateroom, to which Mr. Thompson had evidently penetrated with his men. Angry shouts and furious oaths were heard, followed by the sound of blows, the crashing of glass and furniture, and, more appalling than anything else, the shrill screams of frightened women.

Recovering from our surprise, we were on the point of rushing to our chief’s aid, when to our dismay the doors were burst open, and the lieutenant and his men, with horror-struck countenances, tumbled pell-mell into the stateroom, closely followed by a number of excited-looking individuals arrayed only in their nightshirts, and wielding chairs, walking-sticks, and any weapons that had come conveniently to hand. In the distance, we caught a hasty glance of two female forms retiring to the recesses of their sleeping-cabins. From the hurried glance I had at their faces, they seemed pale with alarm and dissolved in tears.

Directly my eye rested on the men who were following our party out, I saw that some egregious mistake had been made; for they were gentlemanly and superior-looking men, and were evidently as much astonished at our appearance as we were at theirs.

Mr. Thompson immediately recovered his self-possession, and ordered all the blue-jackets to leave the cabin, and wait for him outside. He then advanced with every mark of concern to the man who appeared to be the captain of the vessel, and offered the most profuse apologies for the extraordinary blunder that had been made.

“As you can see, sir, by our uniforms,” he began, “we are British naval officers. Acting on information which we had every reason to believe genuine, we boarded your ship, imagining her to be an English merchant vessel brought in here a few days ago by a mutinous crew who had murdered their captain and the chief officer. I can only say that I regret exceedingly the inconvenience and annoyance you have been put to, and you must convey our most heartfelt apologies to the ladies, who, I trust, will be none the worse for their fright. Captain Graves will himself come on board and personally make his excuses to-morrow; and of course any damage that has been done will be paid for by our Government.”

The American captain—for such he was—could not forbear smiling as he listened to Mr. Thompson’s narration.

“Stranger, I forgive you for this night’s work,” said he, “though I must say it is rather uncomfortable to be roused out of a deep sleep and arrested by a lot of fire-eaters like you and your men. I calculate if the President heard of it, there’d be some dispatches passing between the White House and St. James’s that wouldn’t be quite civil in tone.”

Mr. Thompson again tendered his excuses, and prepared to withdraw; but the American skipper and his friends, who had hastily arrayed themselves in dressing-gowns, insisted on our taking a glass of wine with them to show there was no ill-feeling, which we did, though the gunnery lieutenant, I could see, was burning to retire from a scene in which he had played so ridiculous a part.

“I calculate I can give you a hint as to the craft you’re looking for,” remarked the skipper, as he quaffed his wine. “If I’m not mistaken, she left this anchorage yesterday morning and steered in a southerly direction. She is uncommonly like us in build, and much the same rig aloft, but I’d lay a wager of a thousand dollars we could knock her into fits, either running on a wind or close-hauled. If you capture her, lieutenant, just bring the old hooker in here and we’ll have a racing match.”

Mr. Thompson smiled and said he’d see about it, and we then made our adieus and retired.

“Now, Mr. Darcy,” exclaimed my superior, as soon as we were out of earshot, “what shall we do to that rascal Osborne, who misled us so? I vote we string him up to the mainyard-arm as a terrible warning to other crack-brained medicos. By the powers, there might have been a pretty kettle of fish to fry if those Americans hadn’t turned up trumps. I was just on the point of spitting that skipper on the end of my sword when the fray began, and it was only when the master-at-arms rushed into the cabin of one of the ladies, with a couple of marines, and the handcuffs ready for slipping on, that her loud shrieks proved to me that there was something wrong. The whole lot of them then turned out, women and all, and attacked us like a lot of furies. I believe one of my little fingers is broken.”

We found that Mr. Osborne had been conveyed on board the Rattler again, so for the present he escaped the storm of resentment that was brewing in the gallant gunnery lieutenant’s breast.

As I passed under the merchantman’s stern on the way back, I deciphered her name by the aid of a lantern, and read, “Snapping Turtle, of Boston;” so there was no doubt about her nationality.

Ned Burton told me that the Yankee sailors had been in an ungovernable rage till Mr. Giles had come out and released them. Even then they had poured out volleys of invective, and threats of what their Government would do to avenge the insult they had received. At last Ned, stung by their remarks, offered to fight the biggest man amongst them with his fists. This offer they declined, and immediately grew more amicable, exchanging tobacco and compliments before our blue-jackets were ordered off to man the boats.

So ended a truly ludicrous adventure, in which we all cut a sorry figure, and from which we retired, as it were, with our tails between our legs.

Long and loud were the peals of laughter that greeted us when we regained the Rattler’s quarter-deck, where we found most of the officers assembled to await our return, to whom we had to narrate the whole of the incidents of the night’s adventure. Our surgeon announced that Mr. Osborne was in his cot, and was suffering much from his sprained ankle; so Mr. Thompson mercifully left him alone, vowing he would have his revenge at a more suitable opportunity.

The next morning the American captain, his wife, and the rest of the party came off and breakfasted with Captain Graves by the latter’s express invitation; and from the peals of laughter that issued from within, it was evident that host and guests were in the highest good-humour. Afterwards the Americans briefly inspected the ship, and then rowed back to the Snapping Turtle; while we made every preparation for departing in search of the Flying-fish and her piratical crew.

After the ship’s company had had their dinner, the boatswain piped “Up anchor!” and half an hour later we were standing out to sea under a full head of steam.

CHAPTER II.
WE STORM THE FORT.

After a long and patient search, our vigilance was rewarded by the discovery of the Flying-fish, securely moored in an almost land-locked creek on the southern coast of Cuba. It was impossible for the Rattler to enter, on account of her draught; nor could she bring her guns to bear on the merchantman, for that craft was protected by an outlying spit of land, over which her spars alone were visible.

Under these circumstances there was no alternative but to send in some of the boats to cut her out; and the pinnace, the first and second cutters, and the jolly-boat were quickly got in readiness for the service. As far as we could see with our glasses, there was a battery on the heights above the creek; but as it was probably garrisoned by Spanish regulars, Captain Graves refrained from opening fire. We soon, however, saw the true nature of this work; for, as soon as the crew of the Flying-fish saw that we were going to push in with our boats, they abandoned their ship, and putting off to the shore, leisurely retreated into the fort, where we saw them get into readiness to open fire as soon as our flotilla should get within range. It was pretty evident that they were being encouraged in their resistance by bodies of insurgents, who had apparently seized the battery and killed or dispersed the Spanish garrison.

Mr. Thompson commanded the flotilla of boats, and took his station in the pinnace, which carried a nine-pounder Armstrong gun in the bows. He had previously sent for Charlie Balfour and myself, who were to go in the first and second cutters, and had given us an outline of the proposed operations.

“There is little doubt of our success, Mr. Darcy,” he had said laughingly; “but I must warn you and your brother-midshipman not to allow your men to waste their ammunition, and mind you attend strictly to any orders I may issue from the pinnace.”

“Jolly spree this will be, Jack; won’t it?” Charlie had sung out to me just as we were getting into our respective boats.

“The best lark we’ve had all the commission, I expect,” I had answered with boyish thoughtlessness.

We had reason to change our minds when we reached the shore and grappled with our determined foes.

At the last moment the captain sent a sub-lieutenant and the gunner to assist us in the cutters, and the boatswain and one of the middies shared the honours of the jolly-boat.

With a cheer we shoved off from the ship, fully expecting to see jets of flame dart from the embrasures of the fort, and hissing shot and shell come hurtling through the air in our direction. At first, however, all was silent in the battery. Not even a cheer or a shout was audible, and no defiant bunting flew from the flagstaff which occupied a prominent position on the sea-front.

Mr. Thompson immediately took the offensive, and with his nine-pounder opened a brisk and well-directed fire upon the mutineers and their allies. This had the effect of creating some confusion within the fort, as we were able to observe with our glasses; and this was still further increased when we began peppering them with rockets from the cutters. After a time, however, they steadied down and returned our fire with very indifferent aim from six guns, which appeared to be the armament of the work. The Rattler now brought some of her guns to bear, and her heavy shell told with great effect, making a breach in the sea-front and dismounting two of the guns even before we had reached the landing-place.

Under cover of this iron hailstorm we got our gallant fellows safely on shore, formed them up, and charged forward up the hill at the double. As yet not a man had fallen, though there had been some narrow escapes which seemed to me almost miraculous. As we swept up the slope to the assault, the enemy depressed the muzzles of their remaining guns, and met us with a galling salute of grape-shot. This discharge, at almost point-blank range, cut up our ranks a little. Undaunted, we gave a loud cheer and pressed on without a moment’s hesitation—Mr. Thompson waving his sword well in advance, and shouting words of encouragement.

The frigate was now obliged to suspend her fire, as was also the pinnace, which latter, in charge of the gunner, had taken up a position in the creek so as to cover our advance.

In the onward rush, Charlie and I found ourselves advancing side by side, though we could scarcely identify each other through the cloud of dun war-smoke that enveloped us as we approached the battery. Now and again the ruddy jets of flame darted angrily through the vapour, as the mutineers and insurgents plied their guns; and the hoarse roar of the artillery and the sharper rattle of the musketry made a terrible din in our ears as we pressed onwards.

As yet we had not fired a shot in return, as Mr. Thompson’s plan was to rush the fort and, if possible, carry it at the point of the bayonet in true British style.

“Well, Jack,” shouted Charlie, “what do you think of this for a nice little shindy?”

“It’s rather awful,” I replied; “not that I funk it in the least, but I can’t bear to see our brave fellows knocked over. Lobb, the captain of the mizzen-top, was killed by a round-shot just now, and you know he was rather a pal of mine.”

“I’m awfully sorry, I can tell you, old man,” said Charlie in sympathetic tones; “I didn’t know the poor fellow had lost the number of his mess. Lobb was such a general favourite that everybody on board the Rattler will miss him.”

“We’re close to the fort now,” I said, drawing my loaded revolver from my belt. “Let’s stick to each other, Charlie, and try to be first over the rampart!”

“We’ll make a dash for it at any rate!” shouted my friend excitedly. “Come along, Jack; try to think you’re winning a hurdle-race!”

Like an inrushing tide, determined to drive everything before it, our little naval brigade swept up to the attack, and with a ringing cheer threw itself, sword and revolver in hand, into the breach which the frigate had made with her shell.

A more diabolical set of men than those who clustered on the rampart to meet us I had never before seen. They were not in the least cowed by our determined attack, and met us with shouts of defiance and rage, some discharging pistols in our faces, and others pouring in volleys of musketry, which for a moment checked our advance.

But only for a moment!

Charlie and I did not succeed, much to our disappointment, in being the first to cross swords with the enemy. However, there was no time to think about such things at the moment, for our work was cut out for us, and a foe worthy of our steel, desperate and determined, was lining the earthworks to dispute our advance inch by inch and foot by foot. All our energies, and all our dogged British courage and persistence, were called into play at that supreme crisis in our fortunes; and well and valorously did our noble blue-jackets respond to our call.

As Charlie and I scrambled upwards, still mercifully unscathed, we caught sight of Mr. Thompson’s and the boatswain’s forms erect upon the rampart, looming huge through the smoke, and in a few seconds we had scrambled up beside them through a storm of bullets. Then was heard the sharp ringing clash of steel as we crossed swords with the desperadoes. As we had suspected, they had leagued themselves with a ferocious band of Creole insurgents, who no doubt anticipated sharing in the plunder of the Flying-fish.

Very soon after the mêlée commenced, I saw Charlie—who had got a little separated from me—seized by two of the mutineers, and, in spite of his violent struggles, thrown violently over the wall into the ditch. Much to the astonishment of an antagonist with whom I was crossing swords at the time, I disengaged myself from him and darted to the rear in search of my chum, much fearing that I should find him badly hurt. No doubt the piratical fellow I had been fighting with thought that I was fleeing from him in dismay; but fortunately he did not attempt to follow me. Nor did I meet with any obstruction by the way; for every moment our brave fellows were pressing forward and slowly but surely driving the enemy back, though the latter, to do them full justice, fought most tenaciously, and seemed little inclined to surrender.

It took me only a few seconds to rush down the embankment, and I at once caught sight of Charlie’s prostrate form extended motionless in the ditch. Close beside him lay the dead body of a seaman who had been shot through the head with a rifle-bullet just as we were about to rush the fort. In a moment I was at my friend’s side, half dreading that he might be dead too; for he lay motionless, with his white face upturned to the sky.

In vivid contrast to all the sounds of battle was the deathlike stillness of that gloomy ditch, where the two human forms lay inert and apparently lifeless.

In an agony of apprehension I knelt down at Charlie’s side, and called him loudly by his name, at the same time placing my hand upon his heart to feel whether it still throbbed with life. I fancied there was a faint pulsation, and this gave me hope; but I was alarmed to find that my friend’s head had been cut and was bleeding rather profusely. This I quickly bandaged with my pocket-handkerchief; and then, as there appeared to be no signs of returning consciousness, I looked about me to see if I could discover any water near. By great good-fortune, I found a little stream trickling down the hillside not fifty yards away. Overjoyed at this discovery, I ran quickly across the intervening space, took up some of the water in my cap, hurried back to Charlie’s side, and commenced bathing his temples with the refreshing liquid.

To my joy the effect was almost immediate, for after a few moments I noticed a little colour coming back into his cheeks, and a quivering of the eyelids. I wetted his lips, and chafed his cold hands with my warm ones.

“He’s coming round all right,” I muttered. “I must persevere for a few minutes.”

Presently my friend moved uneasily, and then opened his eyes, which rested upon me with a frightened expression.

“You’re all right, old chap,” I said reassuringly. “You fell over the embankment, and were stunned for a few minutes.”

“I recollect something about it now,” he replied faintly, making a futile attempt to raise his right hand to his head. “A fellow pitched me over—yes—an awfully strong chap—I’d like—”

“Don’t talk till you’re feeling a bit stronger,” I interrupted. “Try to take a drink of this water.”

My friend managed to swallow a mouthful or two, and the effect was almost instantaneous, for he presently sat up and looked about him.

“Damaged about the head,” he observed, his hand straying to the bandage; “but I don’t believe it’s anything very bad.”

“It’s just cut a little by a stone,” I said; “but I don’t believe you’ve got any bones broken, Charlie, or you wouldn’t be able to sit up like that.”

At this moment one of our surgeons who had accompanied the force came running up at full speed, carrying a case of instruments in one hand.

“I’ve only just caught sight of you fellows,” he exclaimed, as he arrived breathless on the scene. “What did you stow yourselves away in this ditch for, I should like to know?”

I hurriedly explained the position of affairs.

“Well, I must just overhaul you, Balfour,” said the surgeon, laying his case of instruments upon the ground, and turning to examine him. “I trust, however, that it’s only a case of cuts and bruises, which boys are pretty well accustomed to.”

“Have a look at that poor fellow first,” said Charlie, pointing to the body of the poor seaman which lay near him; “I’m afraid he’s much worse off than I am.”

The surgeon bent down and felt the pulse and heart of the poor fellow, more as a matter of form than anything else. The bullet-wound in his forehead told its own tale only too legibly, and that tale was: “Died for Queen and country.”

The surgeon now again turned his attention to Charlie, and soon announced, much to my joy, that there was no serious damage done.

“We’ll have you carried on board as soon as possible,” he said, “and you’ll be as right as a trivet in a few days, if you keep perfectly quiet in a cot.”

“Do you know if the scrimmage is over?” I asked the doctor.

“Our fellows were driving all before them when I last had a glimpse of them,” the medico replied.—“Hallo! who are these rascally-looking villains bearing down upon us?”

Turning in astonishment, I beheld four armed desperadoes swiftly approaching us from the rear.

CHAPTER III.
A FIGHT FOR LIFE.

It was a ticklish moment, but the surgeon was coolness itself.

“Stand steady, Darcy!” he cried to me in resolute tones, as he drew his sword from its sheath. “Empty your revolver amongst them, my boy, and be careful to take steady aim.”

I must confess that I felt a little flurried at this moment, though I tried hard to pull myself together, knowing how much depended upon my coolness and resolution. This attack by a detachment of the enemy was so sudden, and was made in such a determined manner, that it is small wonder that my presence of mind deserted me for a few moments.

Charlie tried in vain to rise, and then sank back in an exhausted state.

“Give me a weapon to defend myself with,” he said hoarsely; “I won’t be killed without a struggle, weak as I am.”

My friend’s faltering voice and pathetic request helped to recall my wits, and braced up my nerves like a powerful tonic. I darted to the dead blue-jacket’s side, and gained possession of his rifle and cutlass. The latter I handed to Charlie with the remark, “We’ll defend you, old chap, but you may as well have this bit of steel in your fist.” Then I glanced hurriedly at our approaching foes. They were only twenty yards distant. Every moment was precious indeed. There had been no time for me to obtain cartridges from the dead man’s pouch, but I now hastily opened the breech of the rifle and discovered, to my delight, that it was loaded. Without a moment’s hesitation I dropped on one knee, levelled the piece, and took careful aim at one of the leading desperadoes.

A jet of flame issued from the muzzle of the rifle as I pressed the trigger, and then a little puff of sulphurous smoke. At almost the same moment the man at whom I had aimed sprang several feet from the ground in a sort of convulsive bound, and then fell heavily to the earth a lifeless corpse.

Unfortunately the surgeon had no pistols with him.

“Well done, my boy!” he cried, as he saw the effect of my shot; “that’s reduced the odds against us, at any rate.”

“Do give us a hand, Jack,” cried Charlie, making a fresh but equally futile attempt to struggle to his feet. “I’m sure I can do something to help.”

“Just you shut up, Charlie!” I said angrily; “you’re only balking me at the moment when—”

I broke off short, for a bullet from a pistol whizzed so close to my head that it almost grazed my temple.

Two of our antagonists, who possessed pistols, had opened fire upon us at almost point-blank range. It was fortunate for us that they were so poorly supplied with firearms. Had it been otherwise, our chances of success would have been slender indeed.

The surgeon stood unscathed, his bright sword-blade flashing in the sunlight. He was a Scotsman, tall, lithe, muscular, and a very good fencer. I felt sure that he would make very short work of an indifferent swordsman, however powerful an individual the latter might be. For all we knew, however, the unprepossessing men who were bearing down upon us might be adepts at wielding the cutlasses which they were waving defiantly in the air as they bounded along.

“Blaze away with your revolver, my lad!” shouted the doctor. “Don’t let them all come to close quarters.”

I had already taken aim with my Colt, trusting to make another gap in the little detachment before it rushed in upon us. Sharply the report rang out, the surgeon gave an exultant shout, and as two villanous-looking fellows charged in upon us with glaring eyeballs and features distorted with rage, I caught a hasty glance of the man I had covered with my pistol writhing on the ground and uttering horrible imprecations. I afterwards discovered that I had shot him in the right shoulder, and had thus effectually debarred him from taking part in the conflict.

The odds were thus made even, but I felt that even man for man we had our work cut out for us, for both our antagonists, though rather below middle size, were square-built, powerful-looking fellows. Their brawny, sunburnt throats and chests were bare, and the rolled-up sleeves of their loose jackets displayed muscles and sinews of which any athlete might have been proud.

I had again levelled my revolver, hoping to get in another shot; but before I could take proper aim or press the trigger, my invaluable little weapon was struck from my hand by a blow from the cutlass of the man who had singled me out for attack. Most fortunately my hand escaped injury, for I was quite sure that my opponent had fully intended to sever it from my arm at the wrist. Stepping back a pace, I hurriedly shifted my sword from my left hand to my right, and brought it to the first guard, keeping my eyes warily fixed upon the dark, cruel orbs of my savage-looking antagonist. It flashed like lightning through my brain that, by great good luck, I was not pitted against an expert swordsman, for I saw him again raise his cutlass in order to deliver a swashing blow instead of making a straight and direct lunge at my heart.

“I’ll have him now!” I muttered, feeling all the self-confidence of a youngster who had not reached his seventeenth year; and with great promptitude I shortened my sword and drove the sharp point straight at his breast, just as he had unwarily left it exposed by raising his brawny arm to cut me down. I ought to have got that point home. By all the laws of fence my antagonist’s life was at my disposal, and he should have been stretched upon the sward at my feet; but as ill luck would have it—we always attribute our misfortunes to ill luck, don’t we?—I slipped on a patch of wet grass, and fell prostrate at the very feet of my foe, my nose coming into violent contact with a hard mound of earth.

Although this contretemps was most unexpected, and the shock considerable, I had presence of mind enough to keep a firm grip of my sword. One does not lightly part with a firm and trusty friend.

But oh, how well I remember, even at this distance of time, the awful thought passing swiftly through my brain, “I’m helplessly in the power of my antagonist, and he’ll assuredly kill me.”

A boy, however, does not give in while there’s a chance left, slight and remote as it may be, and even as the thought recorded above flashed through my mind I struggled to rise. As I turned my head I saw, to my horror, that my foe, with a cruel and exultant smile on his lips, was on the point of running me through with a downward stabbing blow. It was impossible to avoid this thrust in my helpless position, and I felt an icy feeling of despair at my heart. Then the sharp crack of a revolver—to my intense astonishment—cleft the air, and the next moment the fellow who had been so intent upon finishing me off fell across me with a terrific thud, and I lost consciousness from the violence of the shock.

CHAPTER IV.
WE RETURN ON BOARD.

It was not long before I recovered my senses. When I did so, I found that I was stretched upon the ground, and that the surgeon was bending over me bathing my temples with water.

“That’s right, youngster!” he cried encouragingly; “I knew you wouldn’t take long to come round, though Balfour declared you were shamming just to excite our sympathy.”

Memory returned in a flash.

I sat up without assistance, and gazed about me with great curiosity.

Close to me, and reclining against a convenient hillock, was my friend Charlie. He still looked ghastly pale, and his bandaged head seemed to add to the impression; but he was evidently better, and there was life in his handsome dark eyes. At his feet lay my revolver and the cutlass I had given him. Stretched on the ground at the distance of some yards were the bodies of our late enemies, now powerless for evil.

“That chap must have taken your wind jolly well, Jack,” said my friend, pointing to one of the corpses; “but you may thank your stars that he didn’t take your life. By Jove, he went for you like a wild beast!”

“How did it happen?” I asked in a rather bewildered manner. “Who shot him, and where did the pistol come from?”

“Balfour will never tell you,” remarked the surgeon, whose name was Grant; “he’s much too modest a fellow. The truly brave and the truly great are not given to blowing their own trumpets. I’m afraid I’m just the opposite, and blow a tremendous blast on mine whenever an opportunity offers. Not having been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I have to—”

“Blow upon a silver trumpet,” interrupted Charlie rather rudely.

“Ah, I see you’re recovering rapidly,” said Dr. Grant good-naturedly, giving me at the same time a sly wink.

“But do you mean to say that Charlie shot him!” I exclaimed excitedly; “he had no firearms.”

“Ah, that’s where the story comes in,” said the surgeon with a laugh. “Balfour saw that you were about to be spitted upon yonder fellow’s sword, and also saw that I was engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand conflict with the other villain, and was powerless to render you any assistance; so what does he do but crawl out and gain possession of the revolver which had been dashed from your hand at the first shock of conflict—as Sir Walter Scott would have said. To his delight he found that there was still one cylinder loaded; but there was not a second to lose, for your end was at hand. The deadly shot was fired, and so truly sped the bullet to its billet that the fellow for whom it was destined fell dead without so much as a cry or a groan. It was a masterpiece. I’ve no hesitation in saying so, upon my word.”

“Charlie,” I cried emphatically, “you’re the best chum I ever had, and I owe my life to you!”

“What nonsense!” exclaimed Charlie. “Do you suppose I was going to sit still and see you stuck like a pig? Not if I know it, old chap.”

“And he was almost too weak to crawl,” I said, turning to Dr. Grant. “It was splendid of him!” and my eyes filled with tears.

“We may all thank God for our narrow escape,” said the surgeon; “at one time I thought I had myself caught a Tartar.”

At this moment the air was rent with loud halloos and triumphant shouts, and we saw the officers and men of our little naval brigade pouring down over the embankment of the fort.

In five minutes they were around us, listening to our story and detailing their own.

“The beggars have fled in all directions into the interior,” said Mr. Thompson in conclusion. “We’ve spiked their guns, and taken a number of prisoners, arms, and ammunition.”

“That’s very creditable and satisfactory as far as it goes,” said Dr. Grant, rather dryly; “but the principal question to my mind is, what has become of the valuable cargo which is known to have been on board the Flying-fish when the mutineers seized her?”

“Why, what a croaker you are!” exclaimed the lieutenant laughingly. “I should say that the so-called valuable cargo is at the present moment safely in the hold of the Flying-fish.”

“I very much doubt it,” said the surgeon laconically; “but we won’t argue the point now, as I am anxious to get the wounded on board the Rattler with as little delay as possible, and I daresay you won’t be sorry to get rid of your prisoners.”

The lieutenant looked thoughtful as he marched off with his men, and it occurred to me that he was wondering whether the merchantman had been entirely abandoned by her crew, and whether or not Captain Graves had sent a boat to ascertain the fact during our absence on shore.

Charlie was put on a stretcher and carried carefully down to the place of embarkation, but I was now sufficiently recovered to walk with the occasional assistance of the surgeon’s arm. In half an hour we were all safely on board the Rattler again, and Mr. Thompson at once went to make his official report to the captain. I accompanied my friend below, and saw him snugly ensconced in a cot in the sick-bay.

The operations ashore had taken place rather late in the afternoon, and the sun had already begun to sink in the west when we returned on board the frigate. I had now quite recovered from the effects of my adventure, and was ravenously hungry and thirsty; so after administering some beef-tea to Charlie, I repaired to the gunroom to get some tea, during which meal I had to relate over and over again to those of my messmates who had been debarred from joining the expedition the story of our hairbreadth escape.

“We had a mild kind of excitement while the landing-party was ashore,” observed one of my brother-middies, as he looked disconsolately into a nearly empty pot of marmalade.

“What was that?” I asked, hacking away viciously at a huge loaf. “I suppose you had a rat hunt in the bread-room with the commander’s dog and the ship’s cat.”

“It would have been a case of ‘the dog that worried the cat that killed the rat,’ I should say, if we had gone in for that sort of sport,” answered my messmate laughingly.—“Steward, bring me a pot of strawberry jam.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense any longer,” I said impatiently, “or you’ll take all my appetite away; honour bright.”

“Darcy’s off his feed, you fellows!” shouted my teasing brother-middy, whose name was Fitzgerald; “and I can positively count his ribs through his waistcoat.—Steward, bring a soup-tureen of oatmeal porridge in this direction and a few gallons of buttermilk, for there’s a young gentleman here at the last gasp for want of nourishment.”

The steward at this moment entered the mess with the pot of strawberry jam which had been ordered; but before he could deposit it upon the table in front of Fitzgerald, I had snatched it from the tray and placed it by the side of my own plate. Then seizing a large table-spoon, and without even looking at the rightful owner of the preserve, I made a pretence of digging out an enormous spoonful of it for my own special gratification.

“O you greedy beggar!” shouted Fitzgerald, starting up and trying to snatch his property from me. “Even if you were more like a skeleton than you are, you’ve no business to grub away at another fellow’s jam like that.”

But I put one firm hand upon the jam-pot, and waved him away with the other which held the spoon.

“Spin your yarn and eat your jam, or hold your tongue and see it go into my capacious maw,” I said, grinning at him. “You pay your money and take your choice, old man.”

Fitzgerald laughed. “I’d like awfully to punch your head, Darcy, but unluckily fighting isn’t allowed in the mess. The yarn is short, I’m thankful to say, and so you won’t have much time to stow away my jam in that horrid ‘capacious maw’ of yours. Well, as the story is wrung out of me, I must tell you that whilst you were on shore pretending to scrimmage with the mutineers and their allies, we manned the remaining boats, and under the commander’s orders boarded the Flying-fish. I was in the gig, and was on the tiptoe of expectation, wondering whether we should meet with resistance, or find the ship entirely deserted. The commander told us that he hoped at any rate to gain possession of the valuable cargo which was supposed to have fallen into the hands of the mutineers, and which was reported to be worth many thousands of pounds. Imagine our disgust, then, when we clambered up the side and found that the ship was nothing more nor less than an empty and deserted hulk. Every bit of the cargo that was of any value had been removed ashore, and the only living beings we found on board were the second mate and the boatswain, and they had been securely put in irons long before the Flying-fish had entered the creek. Of course, we immediately released the poor fellows, and found them half dead from exhaustion and semi-starvation. It was they, of course, who told us about the cargo having been taken out of the ship, and they added that they were positive that in some way the mutineers had heard that a British cruiser was on the look-out for them, most probably through their insurgent friends ashore.”

“No doubt that was it,” I said, “and they took the precaution of hiding their ill-gotten gains away in some inaccessible place up country well-known to the rebels.”

“My pot of strawberry jam, please,” said Fitzgerald austerely, and holding out his hand in what I considered rather a peremptory manner.

“I’ve a good mind to levy blackmail,” I cried, flourishing my big spoon; “but on second thoughts I’ll be magnanimous, and hand it over intact. It’s awfully good-natured of me!”

Fitzgerald was still more “awfully good-natured,” for after helping himself in what I considered a very lavish manner, he handed me over the crock with a lordly air and the very unnecessary remark, “Help yourself, old chap, but leave us a scraping at the bottom.”

It was my first watch that night, and I was pacing the deck in a somewhat dreamy state, and longing for midnight to arrive that I might be enabled to turn in, when I saw the gunner, Mr. Triggs, ascend the main hatchway, walk to the starboard entry-port, and gaze out upon the moonlit waters of the roadstead.

“Well, Mr. Triggs, how are you this evening?” I said, accosting him. “None the worse for the shindy on shore, I hope?”

“Not a bit, thank you, Mr. Darcy. Didn’t get a scratch, I’m thankful to say; and now I’m only hoping that I may have the good luck to see a bit more service ashore.”

“I’m afraid we won’t get the chance again in a hurry,” I answered. “It isn’t every day that crews mutiny on the high seas.”

“Ah, you haven’t heard the news then,” said the gunner with a chuckle. “It isn’t often I score off you like that.”

“What news?” I asked excitedly. “Do tell me, Mr. Triggs.”

“Well, I don’t know, I’m sure, if I oughtn’t to keep it to myself,” answered the gunner, trying to look very solemn. “Maybe ’twould be strong meat for babes, so to speak.”

“You’re positively insulting, Mr. Triggs! The midshipmen of the Rattler will hold a drumhead court-martial on you to-morrow if I’m not mistaken, and you may depend upon it the sentence will be a severe one.”

“I’m beginning to shake in my shoes at the very prospect of such a thing,” said the gunner, with a laugh; “and as I’m a married man with a family, I think I ought to be excused if I cave in.”

“Confide in me, and the matter shall go no further,” I exclaimed, with a patronizing air.

“I think I must have a couple of whiffs before I turn in,” said the gunner, proceeding to light his pipe. “’Tis against orders, I’m aware, but I rely on you, Mr. Darcy, not to split upon me to the officer of the watch.”

“You may smoke till you’re black in the face,” I rejoined irreverently, “so long as you heave ahead and tell me what I want to know.”

“You midshipmen are a terribly impatient lot of mortals—”

“That’s better than being prosy and tedious,” I interrupted. “Steam ahead full speed, Mr. Triggs, and keep a look-out for shoals.”

“So impatient that you’d try the temper of the quietest cow that ever chewed the cud,” continued the gunner emphatically; “and as to repartee, I’m jiggered if I think an Irish car-driver wouldn’t be out of the running with the dullest of you. Well, I’ll relieve your curiosity, Mr. Darcy, and the yarn is just this. Mr. Osborne, the surgeon of the Flying-fish, told our assistant-surgeon, who had been a-doctoring of his foot, that the captain had been questioning him about the value of the cargo that the mutineers had seized, and had mentioned that it was his intention to endeavour to track the rascals down and recover the booty. On the top of that I had a message late in the evening from the gunnery lieutenant that an armed expedition up country was in contemplation, and requesting me to keep a weather eye lifting on stores and ammunition and such like.”

“What perfectly splendid news!” I cried excitedly; “but I wonder if I’ve the remotest chance of being appointed to the force.”

“You were knocked about a bit in the scrimmage ashore, weren’t you?” asked the gunner.

“Yes; but I’m not incapacitated for duty,” I said, “or I shouldn’t be keeping watch now. It was my chum Charlie Balfour who was seriously hurt, poor fellow.”

“I believe it’s considered a bit feverish up country, Mr. Darcy, and that may put a stopper on any midshipmen going; but I’m sure I heartily wish you good-luck, and your chum a speedy recovery.” And so saying, Mr. Triggs knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and went below to turn in.

What exciting dreams I had that night!

CHAPTER V.
THE NAVAL BRIGADE LANDS.

When I went on deck the following morning, I found that the steam-pinnace had towed the Flying-fish to an anchorage in the roadstead not many cable lengths from the Rattler. I at once observed the strong resemblance she bore to the Snapping Turtle, and I no longer felt surprise at the mistake Mr. Osborne had made at Santiago de Cuba.

Mr. Thompson was standing by the taffrail narrowly observing her through a telescope.

“I should like to see a race between her and the Snapping Turtle, sir,” I said to him. “I’m not surprised the Yankee skipper was so keen on it, for they’re wonderfully alike in build and rig.”

“Indeed they are,” answered the lieutenant; “one might almost call them twin-vessels. The main difference is that the American’s masts rake more.”

“It’s a curious thing about the cargo having been all taken out of the Flying-fish, sir; and by all accounts it’s a valuable one.”

The gunnery lieutenant turned and looked at me keenly.

“You young rascal,” he said, “you’re trying to pump me; but you do it in such a clumsy way that I can’t help seeing through you.”

I felt rather confused.

“Well, sir,” I said, “I do hope that I may be allowed to go on the expedition up country if it is true that a force is to be landed.”

“It will be no secret in an hour’s time, Darcy, so I may as well tell you that to-morrow morning a naval brigade is to be landed in order to hunt down the mutineers and rebels; and I think there is a very fair chance of your being able to go. The captain, I believe, has permission from the captain-general to take any steps he may think necessary to bring the delinquents to justice.”

I begged the gunnery lieutenant, who had always shown me great kindness, to try to get me appointed to the expedition, and he promised to use his influence in that direction. I then ran off to the sick-bay to see my friend Charlie and tell him the news, which I felt sure he had not as yet heard. I found him much better; and the surgeon, who was just leaving the sick-bay as I entered, told me that I need have no fear as to his recovery.

This was very good news; but I found that I had been forestalled as news-carrier by Dr. Grant, and that Charlie was as well informed on the subject of the expedition as I was myself.

“It’s jolly hard lines that I can’t go, old chap,” he said to me; “but the surgeon says I must be on the broad of my back and nurse this wretched old head of mine for some time to come. Pleasant prospect, eh?”

“I’m very sorry indeed,” I answered; “and you must try to console yourself with the fact that you’ve still a head screwed tight and fast on your shoulders. Poor Lobb had his taken off by a round-shot.”

“Oh, I’m as grateful as anything, of course, Jack; not only on my own account, but because as an out-and-out patriot I have the best interests of my country at heart. What an irreparable loss it would have been to Great Britain if my brains had bespattered the battle-field! National mourning for a fortnight, eh, and messages to my bereaved relatives from the Queen and the other members of the royal family, to say nothing of minute guns, half-mast flags, and a tomb near Nelson’s in the crypt of St. Paul’s? By Jove! it makes me quite excited to think of it.”

“Has Grant ordered you any soothing draught?” I asked, hunting about with pretended anxiety amongst a whole brigade of medicine-bottles that stood upon a table at my elbow.

“Yes; Mother Gimcrack’s soothing syrup!” said my chum with a laugh. “Good for teething babes; and do you know, Jack”—this very solemnly—“I lost two or three of my front teeth in that nasty somersault I took yesterday. My beauty is gone for ever and ever!”

I had noticed the disfigurement my friend referred to, but had not alluded to it for fear of hurting his feelings.

“There is always a silver lining to the cloud,” continued Charlie more cheerfully. “That rascal of a gunroom steward won’t be able to palm off on me any longer his wofully tough salt horse and brickbat biscuit. No; he’ll have to feed me on a special diet of Brand’s beef jelly, Benger’s food, turtle soup, and jams of all sorts, varied occasionally by oysters (real natives of course), tipsy cake, and fruit jellies. Not a bad idea, eh? I’ll give you a tuck-in now and again, Jack, as you’re a good chum to me!”

“Thanks, awfully!” I said; “but I’m certain the steward would rather go to the expense of buying you a new set of teeth from a London dentist, than feed you up on all the delicacies of the season for the rest of the commission. Now I’m certain you oughtn’t to talk any more, Charlie, so I’m going to make myself scarce; and you must try to sleep till dinner-time, when I shall come and see you again.”

Half an hour later the Rattler was a scene of great excitement, for orders had gone forth that immediate preparations were to be made for landing a powerful naval brigade. I was very quickly caught up in the whirl of excitement, for Ned Burton, the coxswain of my boat, came hurrying to me to say that he had received orders from the first lieutenant to get the second cutter in readiness to assist in landing men, stores, and ammunition.

“It’s to be a picked force, sir,” said the seaman in conclusion, “and I’m glad to say that we’re both detailed for service.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” I answered, “for I was half afraid that midshipmen would be excluded. When do we land, Ned?”

“I think in the evening, sir, so as to be ready for a start in the morning. We can’t take no field-guns, more’s the pity, for they say the country is a sight too hilly for anything but mountain guns.”

“How about the commissariat, ammunition, tents, and so forth?” I asked; “we shall require transport animals of some kind.”

“I believe the Spanish Government is going to let us have a lot of mules that are accustomed to that sort of work,” said my coxswain.

“Oh, we shall pig it out somehow, I dare say,” I exclaimed with a laugh, “and it would be rather fun to rough it a bit.”

That evening we occupied the fort in force. The dead had been buried at an early hour in the morning, and so there was little or no trace of the struggle that had taken place so recently, except in the fort itself, where the dismounted and spiked guns told their own tale. In all we numbered one hundred officers and men, well supplied with all that was necessary for a short campaign. At the time of my story, machine-guns had not been invented, and that underhand weapon of warfare, the torpedo, was unknown. A few of the former would have been extremely serviceable to our brigade on this occasion; but still we were extremely well armed in accordance with the ideas of that day, each man being supplied with a breech-loading rifle, a cutlass which could be used as a sword-bayonet if necessary, and a revolver. An ammunition-pouch, a blanket, a water-bottle, and a pair of leggings for each man completed the equipment, nothing being showy, but everything extremely serviceable.

As before, Mr. Thompson was appointed to command the brigade, as he had had a great deal of experience in shore-going expeditions in a previous commission on the west coast of Africa. Two lieutenants, the captain of marines, Dr. Grant, four sub-lieutenants, the gunner, Fitzgerald, and myself made up the list of officers; and about seventy picked blue-jackets and twenty marines composed the rank-and-file. No commanding officer could have wished for finer men. Not only was their physique splendid, but they were tried, trustworthy fellows who had all seen service on previous occasions, and could be relied on to do their duty in the direst emergency.

Tenacious bull-dogs! that’s what they were. It would be impossible to describe them better in a couple of words.

CHAPTER VI.
“COLD PIG” AND “SLING THE MONKEY.”

I was effectually roused from my slumbers on the following morning by the shrill bugle-calls which the drummer seemed to take a delight in blowing as near the gunroom tent as possible. On murderous thoughts intent, and clad in very scanty apparel, Fitzgerald and I made a desperate sortie, one carrying a huge bath-sponge saturated with water, and the other a well-knotted towel.

“What a lark!” exclaimed Fitzgerald, capering about with delight; “cold pig for the drummer, and a lambasting afterwards to warm him up and prevent any possibility of his catching cold whilst so far away from his mammy’s protecting care!”

Dawn had scarcely broken, and it was almost dark outside the tent and rather unpleasantly chilly. The bugle-calls had ceased, but we thought we distinguished the drummer some yards away just upon the point of raising his instrument of torture to his lips again.

“I’ll put a stopper on his little game,” said Fitzgerald hastily to me. “Ready! present! fire!” and he hurled the heavy sponge with admirable aim straight at the dusky little figure; whilst I darted forward with a sort of Red Indian war-whoop, waving the knotted towel over my head.

The sponge landed with a splosh full upon the head of the individual it was intended for, and the latter staggered and gave a shout of dismay and disgust as the highly-unpleasant projectile came into contact with him.

“Good shot!” I cried exultingly. The next moment I recoiled in horror, and Fitzgerald turned deadly pale, for we recognized in our unlucky victim the short but sturdy Mr. Triggs, the gunner, who, being a very early riser, had taken it into his head to emerge from his tent and endeavour to make out the Rattler through a pair of night-glasses. How would he take our explanation that we had mistaken him for the drummer-boy tooting on a bugle?

Before we had time to think or apologize for our mistake, the sponge was sent hurtling back through the air by the muscular arm of Mr. Triggs. I was relieved to see that it was aimed at the real delinquent, Fitzgerald, and not at me.

“O you mischievous middies!” shouted the gunner, running towards us; “you’re always up to some tomfoolery or other!”

Fitzgerald saw the sponge flying towards him, and tried to dodge it, but as ill luck would have it trod with his bare foot upon a sharp stone. The pain was so great that it brought him to the ground; but in trying to save himself he threw out his arms and they unfortunately encountered me, and I felt myself seized in a grip which there was no shaking off. In a moment we were both sprawling upon the ground, arms and legs inextricably mixed up in a sort of “limb hotch-potch.”

The gunner, chuckling with delight at our misadventure, now came running up, his hair and face dripping from the effects of his lately-inflicted “cold pig.”

“If I don’t pay you youngsters out, my name ain’t Timothy Triggs!” he exclaimed; “and ’tis a grand opportunity I’ve got,” and so saying he snatched the knotted towel out of my hand, and began belabouring us both with it with remarkable muscular energy.

“Stop, stop, stop!” I yelled; “we mistook you for the drummer, and are awfully sorry, Mr. Triggs!”

Whack, whack, whack! The blows fell with wonderful regularity and with marvellous impartiality, first on Fitzgerald and then on me.

All this time the gunner was chuckling with suppressed laughter, for he was thoroughly enjoying the joke, being at heart a most good-natured man.

“You can just imagine you’re playing ‘sling the monkey,’” he exclaimed; “’tis a right good game and no mistake!”

Fitzgerald and I, however, had by this time managed to disentangle our arms and legs, and we were on our feet again in a moment. We did not at all appreciate this novel kind of “sling the monkey.”

“Is that the enemy coming over the hill?” I exclaimed in an alarmed voice, and pointing away to the rising ground which, beyond the confines of the fort, rose steep and dark against the primrose-tinted sky.

Mr. Triggs promptly turned his head to look, and in an instant I had snatched the towel from his hand.

“Cut and run, Fitz!” I cried; “I thought I’d gammon him,” and so saying I fled precipitately in the direction of the gunroom tent, my brother-middy hobbling after me as fast as his wounded foot would allow.

Mr. Triggs, however, did not attempt to give chase, feeling, I suppose, that his skylarking days—now that he was on the shady side of fifty—were over. So the worthy warrant-officer contented himself with keeping up a hot and strong running fire of anathemas upon us as long as we remained in sight.

“The bath-sponge, Fitz, the bath-sponge!” I gasped out, as I ran panting into the tent and flung myself upon the ground, which formed the only flooring.

“By Jove! I forgot all about it,” said my hobbling messmate; “I hope old Triggs won’t appropriate it.”

At that moment the real drummer-boy passed our tent whistling a merry air.

I promptly stopped him.

“Do you mind seeing, like a good fellow, if there’s a bath-sponge lying just over there by that tent?” I said.

“All right, sir, I’ll have a look,” answered the drummer-boy, good-naturedly, and off he went.

In a minute or two he returned with it.

“Here you are, sir. Been playing Aunt Sally with it, I suppose?”

“No, Uncle Triggs,” I said laughingly. “You’ve had an awfully narrow escape, bugler, only you don’t know it. I should strongly advise you not to come near the gunroom tent in the early morning, for Mr. Fitzgerald there always gets a violent attack of homicidal mania about that time.”

An hour later the tents were struck and we had started on our march up country to the tune of “Rule Britannia,” played with tremendous energy by our fife-and-drum band.

Little did I anticipate what was before me—such adventures as even in my wildest dreams had not occurred to my mind.

CHAPTER VII.
NED AND THE MULE-DRIVER.

We had two sets of native auxiliaries. One consisted of a fine lot of Spanish baggage-mules, strong hardy beasts, thoroughly acclimatized, and remarkably sure-footed; and the other a little bevy of guides, interpreters, and spies, without whose aid we could have accomplished little or nothing, for we were entirely ignorant of the country we were about to traverse, and our knowledge of Spanish was confined to about a dozen words or so.

The spies, some of whom were negroes and the others half-castes, assured us that they had tracked the mutineers for some distance, and were well acquainted with the route they had taken, which was a beaten track leading straight into the interior. These swarthy fellows also asserted that a body of insurgents had accompanied the lawless crew of the Flying-fish in their retreat. We questioned them as to any knowledge they might have acquired with regard to the whereabouts of the valuable cargo which it was the object of our expedition to recover. About that they declared that they knew nothing whatever, although they confessed to having heard rumours that large bodies of men were passing and repassing between the shores of the creek and the spurs of the inland hills during the whole of the day before the Rattler’s arrival upon the scene.

“’Tis a good thing we’ve no field-guns and limber-waggons with us,” said Ned Burton to me as we marched along; “they’d have delayed us terribly, and prevented our making forced marches.”

“You think we’ll soon come up with them then?” said I. “For my own part I hope the fun won’t be over too soon. If we returned victorious in a couple of days, the fellows left on board would be sure to jeer at us, and say we had only gone for a sort of picnic into the mountains.”

“Ah, ’twill take more than a couple of days even under the most favourable circumstances,” answered Ned. “I take it these merchant-service fellows haven’t got marching-legs, so to speak, and are perhaps encumbered with wounded men, but still they’ve got a pretty fair start, you see, and that ain’t a thing to be sneezed at.”

“The difficulty will be to find where they have hidden away the booty,” I said; “no doubt the insurgents have put them up to a wrinkle or two, knowing every inch of the country as they do.”

“Doesn’t the Rattler look jolly?” exclaimed an enthusiastic voice at my elbow.

I turned and beheld Fitzgerald, who still had a slight limp as a legacy from the morning’s fracas.

“Poor old ‘hop-and-go-one,’ what’s he trying to say?” I asked in a jocose tone, and clapping him on the shoulder rather harder than was altogether necessary.

“‘Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?’” demanded Fitzgerald, tapping his sword-hilt with his left hand, and trying hard but very unsuccessfully not to laugh.

“‘I do bite my thumb, sir,’” I answered promptly, and trying to put on a swashbuckler air; “but I need not say that I should infinitely prefer to bite yours or even Mr. Triggs’s.”

“Then old ‘hop-and-go-one’ and old ‘hop-o’-my thumb’ would be sworn chums for ever and ever,” laughed Fitzgerald; “but at this moment I don’t want to fall out with you, honour bright! I want you to look back at that magnificent view, and the dear old Rattler in the middle of it. I never saw a more lovely picture!”

Fitz was an artist of no mean capacity, and I strongly suspected that he had at that moment a paint-box and brushes in his pocket. Hand-cameras would have enchanted him, but they had not then been invented.

It certainly was a lovely view, and I felt grateful to my brother-middy for calling my attention to it.

We had been winding gradually along the summit of a low range of hills, on the outermost spur of which was situated the fort we had just evacuated. The gradient was upwards, though in no place steep, and we had now reached a somewhat extensive plateau covered with short springy sward. From this point of vantage we had a full and extensive view of the winding tortuous creek; the hills, clad with palm groves, which enclosed it; and the broad blue sea beyond, glittering in the sunshine, and here and there barred with purple cloud-shadows. For the primrose streaks of colour in the sky had melted away as if by magic, and the glorious sun had recalled a sleeping world to life. In the roadstead our beautiful frigate lay calmly and serenely at anchor, her guns frowning from the portholes, and her shapely hull and taut spars and rigging reflected with extraordinary fidelity in the waters which appeared to sleep in the warm rays of the sun. Astern lay the Flying-fish, which, though a well-built vessel, lacked the trim appearance and impressiveness of the British man-of-war. Above, the blue vault of heaven stretched away into limitless infinity, its tint of deepest azure only broken here and there by a few sluggishly-moving clouds and the white wings of innumerable sea-gulls.

As we gazed admiringly at our floating home we saw the proud white ensign slowly ascend to her gaff, drooping listlessly in the stagnant air; and the distant strains of “God save the Queen” came faintly to our ears through the still, clear atmosphere of a Cuban early morning.

“Eight bells!” I cried. “If we were on board the old hooker, Fitz, we should be just sitting down to eat salt-junk and swill gunroom catlap.”

“Instead of which we’re out upon the war-path,” said Fitzgerald, “and, like Fenimore Cooper’s Indian braves, are dying to scalp the enemy.”

A halt was called just at this moment on account of a stampede amongst some of the baggage-mules.

The gunnery lieutenant, who was very anxious to push on and find traces of the enemy, was exceedingly angry at this unlooked-for delay.

“Mr. Darcy,” he sang out to me, “ascertain at once the cause of that stampede among the mules; and if it was due in any way to the cruelty of the Spanish drivers, have the delinquents brought before me, and I’ll give them a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry.”

I touched my cap and ran off to the rear to make inquiries, expecting endless difficulties in having to conduct an investigation with native mule-drivers who were most probably as ignorant of the English language as I was of Spanish.

Meanwhile about a dozen of the mules were careering about wildly in the neighbouring ravines, pursued by their shouting and screaming owners. Some of the frightened animals had already rid themselves of their burdens, and the ground was strewn with bags of biscuit, preserved provisions, and cases of ammunition.

The worthy Mr. Triggs proved to be a friend in need to me, for on reaching the spot where the main body of the baggage-animals was collected, I found him firmly holding a swarthy Cuban by the scruff of the neck and administering to another portion of his body some hearty kicks.

“This is the rascal that caused all the mischief with the mules, Mr. Darcy,” he exclaimed in rather breathless tones as I ran up. “The cruel brute broke several sticks over the back of a poor mule that had gone dead lame, and the wretched animal was in such pain and so frightened that it broke away, and seems to have infected a lot of the others with its terror.”

I promptly seized the culprit by one arm.

“You come along with me,” I said; “our chief is going to have you tried by a drumhead court-martial, and perhaps shot, according to the regulations of war.”

I do not know if the wretch understood what I was saying, but he commenced to struggle and shout defiantly in his native tongue.

Mr. Triggs, however, seized him by the other arm in an iron grip, and, in spite of his writhings and kickings, we hurried him forward to the spot where the gunnery lieutenant was standing awaiting events.

The gunner related to his superior in a few words how he had caught the culprit in the very act of brutally ill-treating a helpless lame mule.

“Is there an interpreter there?” demanded Mr. Thompson.

A respectable-looking elderly Spaniard stepped forward and took off his sombrero with a sweeping bow.

“Be good enough to tell this fellow that he is a heartless cowardly brute,” said the lieutenant sternly, and pointing to the still defiant-looking mule-driver; “ask him what he means by such conduct.”

The Spaniard interpreted the officer’s words, but the culprit obstinately and sullenly refused to answer a word.

“Where is the stick with which he belaboured the poor mule?” demanded the gunnery lieutenant.

“Here it is, sir,” said Ned Burton, coming up at that moment with a long, business-like cane in his hand.

“We’ll now give him a taste of what the poor mule felt,” said the lieutenant. “A couple of you smart blue-jackets tie the fellow up to that stump of a tree.”

The culprit resisted with all his strength, and attempted to bite, scratch, and kick; but the two brawny seamen made short work of his struggles, and soon had him securely lashed to the tree.

“One dozen,” said Mr. Thompson, nodding to Ned Burton significantly.

My coxswain touched his cap, grinned, and rolled up his sleeve in a workmanlike manner.

“Trust me to polish him off!” I heard him mutter to himself; “I can’t abide them furriners that wreaks their bad temper on dumb animals that can’t ’it you back agin—smother me if I can!”

As soon as the fellow’s flogging was over, he was turned out of the camp and told that his services were no longer required. Then, the scattered mules having been secured again, we once more set out on our march towards the interior.

The sun had now attained to a considerable altitude in the heavens, and as there was an absence of wind, even upon the heights, the heat and glare became intense. Not a single grumble was heard, however, the men being much too gay and light-hearted to care whether they were baked like salamanders or not. Our spirits were kept up by the novelty and excitement of active service on shore and the assurances of the guides that ere long we should reach the outskirts of a forest, which it would be necessary to traverse, and where plenty of shade would shield us from the sun’s overpowering rays.

“Give me old Father Sol and an open country,” observed Ned Burton to me, “in preference to jungle and the shade of trees. I’d sooner chance a sunstroke than the ambush of a skulking enemy!”

“You think they may lie in wait for us,” I said. “If they do we shall give them a drubbing.”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” said my coxswain. “These Cubans, I believe, are as wily as sarpents; and as to drubbing them and their mutinous pals, it’s just a question of whether they’ve the sperrit to meet us in the open or not. If they have, well, we shall just eat ’em up. Trust the Rattler boys for an out-and-out shindy, Mr. Darcy.”

I was on the point of replying to my coxswain, when my attention was entirely absorbed by the sudden apparition of a large and compact cloud of horsemen emerging from behind some steep scarped rocks immediately in front, and some four or five hundred yards distant from the head of our column. They appeared to be about to charge us.

“Cavalry, as I’m a living sinner!” exclaimed Ned, slipping a cartridge into his rifle. “I’m jiggered if that don’t beat everything!”

It was certainly strange to find that the enemy had already secured some mounted allies. It looked as if we should find this expedition no child’s play—in fact, a great deal more like catching a Tartar.

“Prepare for cavalry!” thundered the gunnery lieutenant. “Keep steady, men, and we’ll soon send them to the right about.”

The horsemen were evidently provided with carbines, for as they wheeled up into position they fired a wild volley at us, and then dashed forward at full gallop straight in our direction.

CHAPTER VIII.
“PREPARE FOR CAVALRY!”

The Rattler’s officers had reason to be proud of their little brigade of seamen and marines. In this sudden emergency they were calm, cool, and self-reliant. Their discipline and the celerity of their movements were beyond praise. It was a severe test, and they came out of it with flying colours.

As the enemy’s irregular cavalry came thundering down towards us over the broken ground, we formed square, and, with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets, stood ready to receive them. There was no time to get the baggage-animals and native drivers into the centre of the square, and so they were forced to remain huddled together in the rear—a squad of marines being told off to guard them to the best of their ability.

The horsemen seemed nothing daunted by our steadiness and military formation, but swept on at a gallop. Two of their steeds, however, stumbled badly on the rough ground and threw their riders, after which they rushed away in the direction from which they had come like mad creatures.

I was all excitement at the idea of this unexpected brush with the enemy, and drew my loaded revolver from my belt. Ned Burton was standing up just in front of me in the square, looking the essence of determination and tenacious valour. The outer ranks were kneeling. The rays of the tropical sun flashed on the serried lines of bayonets and glinted on the less polished rifle barrels.

On came the cavalry with desperate bravery. Even on that rocky ground they raised a cloud of dust. The horsemen had slung their carbines and drawn their sabres, the blades of which flashed ominously over their heads like the gleams of sheet lightning.

“Give the swabs a volley,” muttered Ned Burton, “and we’ll empty some of their saddles for ’em.”

At that very moment the order to fire was given.

Little tongues of flame and puffs of grey smoke darted from the muzzles of the rifles defending one side of the square, and the crash of a volley of musketry rang out into the air with almost deafening effect. Amid it all I seemed to hear distinctly the thunder of the chargers’ hoofs.

“Give them another volley!” shouted the gunnery lieutenant; and darting about, hither and thither, amid the blinding, choking smoke, we juniors repeated his order.

It was too late.

They were dashing horsemen these irregular cavaliers of the enemy, for our steady, well-directed fire did not check them or smash up their formation as we had expected. Though many of their saddles had been emptied, a cheer of defiance arose from their ranks as they dashed on into the curtain of smoke which enveloped us, and which the sluggish air seemed powerless to disperse. When they were almost upon us, their wings wheeled to right and left and hurled themselves upon the two side faces of the square, while the centre squadron dashed in upon the ranks where Ned Burton and I were standing awaiting the onset.

“No more cartridges; it’s steel to steel!” said my coxswain grimly, as he gripped his rifle firmly and prepared for the shock.

In another moment it came. Through the slowly-dispersing vaporous smoke I saw the towering forms of the snorting chargers and the fierce-looking, swarthy faces of their riders. Shouts of defiance and rage arose on all sides, together with the angry clash of steel as sabre and bayonet contended for the mastery, though these sounds were almost drowned in the sharp stinging reports of the revolvers brought into use at close quarters by the officers.

One naturally hesitates to speak of one’s own acts on an occasion of this sort for fear of being thought egotistical; but being bound to describe what actually occurred, I cannot avoid stating that I saved my coxswain’s life on the occasion of this cavalry charge, and I am very thankful that I had it in my power to do him that service.

It was a simple matter. Just at the point where Ned was standing and forming part of the hedge of steel, the full brunt of the cavalry charge seemed to fall, and for a few seconds I really almost feared that the face of the square would be driven in. Certainly there was a little disorder for a moment, and a swaying motion in the ranks which told its own tale. However, it was only for a moment; for it is just at these critical times that the tenacity of the British bull-dog comes into play.

Amidst the hurly-burly of the mêlée I caught sight of Ned Burton hard pressed by two horsemen. He seemed to have been brought to his knees almost under the hoofs of one of the horses, while the two horsemen were bending forward in their saddles and aiming terrific blows at his head with their sabres. Ned was endeavouring to the best of his ability to protect himself, but there was no doubt that he was in great jeopardy.

My revolver was fortunately still loaded with three cartridges, and I immediately took steady aim at the horseman nearest to Ned. No bullet ever went truer, for it pierced the man’s heart, and he fell from the saddle without even a groan and lay dead at my coxswain’s feet. His steed, recognizing that there was no longer a restraining hand on the bridle, took to his heels, and, with distended nostrils and wildly tossed mane, galloped away from the battle-field.

Almost at the moment that I had accomplished this feat, the charger of the other horseman was shot dead by one of our seamen, and his rider was thrown to the ground with some violence. I instantly rushed forward, seized the man, and demanded his surrender. Not liking the look of my revolver, the barrel of which was within a couple of inches of his temples, the fellow sullenly acquiesced, and I had him disarmed and sent into the square under an escort. Ned had nearly been crushed by the falling horse, but had fortunately escaped with a few bruises.

The square remained unbroken. On three of its faces the squadrons of horsemen had dashed like little whirlwinds, but in no case had an entrance been forced. A fierce hand-to-hand struggle had taken place for a few moments, but on every side our men were triumphant. The cavalry charge was fairly repulsed, and as the horsemen beat a hasty retreat they were terribly harassed by the withering fire of our riflemen. We had not gone unscathed, however, for one of our sub-lieutenants and a marine had been killed, and we had one man seriously and three slightly wounded. In the volley from their carbines the enemy had wasted their ammunition sadly, for not a single shot took effect, all the casualties having occurred during the hand-to-hand struggle. The enemy, we found, had suffered severely, having lost eleven men killed outright and seven horses, whilst we found upon the field eighteen wounded men, of whom five or six were mortally injured. We had also secured half a dozen prisoners, all of whom were Cuban insurgents. Needless to say, we questioned these fellows closely; but they obstinately kept their lips sealed and would divulge no secrets, though we tried to impress upon them how foolish they were to league themselves with such disreputable scoundrels as the mutineers of the Flying-fish.

The spot where this skirmish took place was not more than four miles distant from the creek where we had landed, although any view of the latter was shut out by an intervening ridge. We could see the distant blue ocean stretching away to the horizon line, and dotted here and there with the sails of passing vessels, but the Rattler and the Flying-fish were invisible.

We at once told off a party to convey the wounded back to the shores of the creek, that they might be taken on board the frigate as quickly as possible. Mr. Triggs was placed in charge of this detachment, which included the prisoners, and had orders to rejoin the main body as expeditiously as he could, so that there might be no delay.

A fatigue party was also told off to bury the dead—a mournful duty which brings forcibly to one’s mind the horrors of warring with one’s fellow-creatures.

Fitzgerald and I felt this most acutely, for we had lost a very dear messmate, and it was part of our sad task to assist to lay him in his narrow grave in this foreign land far from his home and kindred.

“It will break his mother’s heart,” said a mournful voice near us, as we began to fill up the poor fellow’s last resting-place with the sand which we had dug out.

I turned and saw that it was Dr. Grant who had spoken.

“You know her?” I said interrogatively.

The surgeon nodded assent. Then he quoted,—

“We laid him in the sleep that comes to all,

And left him to his rest and his renown.”

CHAPTER IX.
WE HEAR STRANGE NEWS.

An hour later we were bivouacking on a tree-shaded plateau, not far from the outskirts of the forest of which the native guides had spoken. We all required rest, and it had become absolutely necessary to refresh the inner man, marching and fighting having somewhat exhausting effects on the systems of even the strongest men. We had also to await the arrival of Mr. Triggs and his escort, before pushing on into the depths of the jungle. Meanwhile, the gunnery lieutenant sent out spies, with orders to try to ascertain the line of retreat taken by the flying cavalry, and to obtain any other news they could pick up regarding the whereabouts of other bodies of the enemy. The baggage-animals were resting under the shade of a clump of trees—if a constant warfare with swarms of teasing flies can be called rest. Sentries with loaded rifles were posted at various points of vantage in order to guard against any surprise by the enemy.

As soon as tiffin had been disposed of, the officers lit their pipes or cigars, trusting that the tobacco smoke would drive away the insect pests, which seemed unusually plentiful in the vicinity of the jungle. We midshipmen were not allowed to smoke, and suffered a good deal in consequence.

“This jungle will be a nasty place to march through,” said the captain of marines to Mr. Thompson. “Can’t we avoid it in any way by making a detour?”

“We shall have to traverse it,” answered the gunnery lieutenant; “but it isn’t so bad as you might think. A broad track has been cut through it, and where this route runs the majority of the trees have been felled. The forest itself is not very dense in any part—at least, so the guides assure me.”

“I hope these guides are trustworthy fellows,” observed Dr. Grant as he lit a cigar. “They look to me the greatest villains unhung.”

“Perhaps they’re treacherous scoundrels,” said Fitzgerald, who had been bandaging his injured foot, an operation in which the flies seemed to take a lively interest. “We shall have to take care that they don’t lead us into an ambush.”

“Don’t croak, youngster,” said Mr. Thompson; “we’re paying them too well for that sort of thing to happen.”

“One thing I feel pretty well sure of,” said the marine officer, “and that is, that if we follow up the enemy too closely, we shall miss finding the cargo altogether.”

“What do you mean?” demanded the lieutenant.

“Why, that the booty is hidden away securely in caves in some inaccessible place, and that the enemy will do their best to entice us away from the spot,—the plover’s strategy when she sees people entering a field to search for her eggs.”

“Your theory may be quite correct,” remarked the lieutenant, “but my primary object is to arrest these mutineers and have them punished. Doubtless we shall make them confess where the cargo has been stowed away.”

“And meanwhile the insurgents will go and make a clean sweep of the whole concern,” laughed the surgeon. “Of course they are all in the secret.”

“Here come some of the spies,” said Mr. Thompson, knocking the ashes out of his pipe and recharging it. “Now, perhaps, we shall hear some news.”

Two swarthy fellows came running to the spot where we were sitting. They seemed breathless and excited, and their appearance not unnaturally raised our curiosity to the highest pitch.

“Well,” said the lieutenant, “what have you got to say for yourselves?”

“Hab found ’em, sah,” one of the spies gasped out; “dey de oder side ob de jongle, just awaiting to be killed by Englishmans.”

“How many of them?” demanded Mr. Thompson eagerly.

“Two, tree hundred; can’t say exactly, sah. All ob dem are der, but not de horsemen.”

“Are they intrenched?” asked the captain of marines.

“Wal, no, I tink not, sah, if you mean eating der lonshon.”

“The man’s an idiot!” exclaimed the lieutenant angrily.—“How far is the enemy from here?” he demanded, turning to the other spy.

“Tirty mile, I say.—What you tink, ole Moses?” addressing his confederate.

“I tink him twenty-sheven—no, tirty-tree—no, by gum, I can’t count him in dis fashion,” slapping his forehead despairingly with one brown hand.

Mr. Thompson stamped his foot angrily upon the ground.

“These fellows would try the patience of Job,” he said, turning to us. “I wish that polite old Spanish interpreter was to the fore; he might get some sense out of them.”

“It is quite impossible they can have gone twenty or thirty miles and back,” laughed the captain of marines. “Don’t you see the utter absurdity of it all, old man?”

“Of course I do; but you can’t get any sense out of pigheaded numskulls.”

“How you go twenty mile and back, Johnny?” I asked the spies. “You no have time for him by any chance.”

Both men opened wide their mouths as if they were about to swallow a couple of mince-pies at a gulp. This was their mode of laughing decorously.

“We no see dem, sah,” one of them answered at length; “but in de jongle away der we met one ole shentleman, one shentleman ob colour, dat we hab known in Santiago tree year ago, and he tell us all about de enemy cos he meet him on de way like.”

“This is hopeless,” said the lieutenant in despair. “It is a consolation at any rate to know that the other spies are not quite so crack-brained as these.”

At this moment Mr. Triggs and his detachment returned, and the former reported that all had gone well with the wounded and the prisoners, who had been safely conveyed on board the Rattler.

As it was not advisable to delay any longer, and as the remaining spies had not come in, we resumed our march under the direction of the guides, who were really competent men. The torrid heat was now tempered by a cool refreshing sea-breeze, but in half an hour we had entered the forest and were under the grateful shade of the giant trees.

We found ourselves on a rough cart-track, seamed with ruts, which wound its tortuous way through the jungle-depths; but as the trees obstructing the route had been felled and removed, the way was fairly clear, though here and there a few rotting trunks lay by the wayside in the last stages of decay. There was little or no underwood, and therefore no cover for a lurking enemy—a fact we were very grateful for. Nevertheless our armed scouts and advance-guard never relaxed their watchfulness; and we were all on the alert more or less, having our rifles and revolvers loaded and ready for use.

We saw numerous monkeys springing about from tree to tree. Parrots and macaws flitted about hither and thither, the sun’s rays, which fell through the vistas in the trees, glinting on their plumage with beautiful effect.

Quaint and innumerable insects filled the air with their drowsy hum; the agile little lizards darted about amid the stones and rocks which rather plentifully strewed the ground; and the ants were working away methodically and with wondrous energy at their pyramidal dwellings.

Mr. Triggs came to my side as we marched along.

“I’ve got a message from Mr. Balfour for you, sir,” he said.

“What is it?” I asked; “he is going on all right, I hope.”

“Oh, yes, there’s nothing wrong with his health. Bless you, a midshipman has nine lives like a cat, and can never come to much harm! This is what he told me, and very emphatic he was about it, that I was to take you under my special charge because he wasn’t with the force to look after you himself.”

“I’ll punch Charlie’s head directly I get back to the ship,” I said with a laugh; “he wants taking down a peg or two and no mistake!”

“I told him how badly you and Mr. Fitzgerald served me over that sponge and towel business,” said the gunner with a chuckle, “and I thought he’d make himself ill with laughing, for he’s not over-strong yet.”

“Well, it was enough to make a cat laugh to see you getting ‘cold pig,’ Mr. Triggs, so I’m not surprised that Charlie went into fits over it!”

“Ah, that’s just where you make the mistake, Mr. Darcy, and I can flap my wings and crow a bit. The fact of the matter is that Mr. Balfour laughed at the way I laid into you and Mr. Fitzgerald with the towel, not at your achievement with the sponge. He’s a sensible young gentleman is Mr. Balfour; I’ve always thought so.”

I was about to make some severe remark on my friend’s treachery, when Fitzgerald came running up.

“The gunnery lieutenant wants you, Mr. Triggs,” he said.

The gunner hurried off.

“Would you like to go scouting, Darcy?” asked my brother-middy.

“Of course I should, old chap; why do you ask?”

“Well, I don’t know really,” said my messmate teasingly; “something to say, I suppose.”

“Don’t chaff a fellow,” I cried, “but let the cat out of the bag as quickly as you can.”

“‘Let slip the dogs of war’ would be a more appropriate expression,” said Fitzgerald. “I’m going to try to make a drawing of the brigade marching through a Cuban forest, and I’ll put you in the foreground with a drawn sword in your hand and a disdainful look upon your noble brow.” And so saying he drew a sketch-book out of his pocket.

But at this moment I saw Mr. Thompson beckoning to me, so giving Fitz a sly dig in the ribs with the hilt of my sword, I ran off in the gunnery lieutenant’s direction as fast as I could put my feet to the ground.

“Some more spies have come in, Mr. Darcy, and they report that there is a small party of the enemy encamped in a ravine about two miles from here. The spies think there are caves in the neighbourhood, and that this body of mutineers or insurgents may be guarding the booty. It’s rather an inaccessible place, and the spies themselves only came upon it by accident. Mr. Triggs is going to take command of a scouting party, and will reconnoitre the enemy’s position. If necessary he will attack it, and then rejoin the main body in the evening at a camping-ground well known to all the guides, and where we shall bivouac for the night. I wish you to join this force as second in command, for I know that I can trust you to do your duty.”

My joy was unbounded. I was not only delighted at the prospect of an adventure, but was proud to find that my commanding officer had confidence in me.

The brigade was halted, and a small force of twenty picked men was told off for Mr. Triggs’s expedition. Amongst them I was glad to find Ned Burton.

One of the spies who had brought the news was selected as guide, and away we went in the highest spirits, every one in the main body wishing us good-luck and a speedy reunion.

CHAPTER X.
A PERILOUS ADVENTURE.

Under the guidance of the native spy, whose name was Sancho, we left the rude cart-road we had been following, and bearing to the left descended a gentle slope rather thickly studded with trees. In two minutes we had lost sight of the main body, and felt that we were entirely dependent upon our own resources, and about to embark upon what might turn out to be a perilous adventure. I was in the highest spirits, for I perfectly revelled in this sort of independent enterprise. There was a mystery; a chance of discovering hidden booty; a tangled skein to be unravelled. That was quite enough for an adventurous boy of my age.

“We’re in luck,” said Mr. Triggs as we marched along; “don’t you think so, Mr. Darcy?”

“Oh, it’s splendid fun!” I cried enthusiastically; “I’m simply dying to come to close quarters with these freebooters and seize the loot they’ve stowed away in the caves. Can’t we double, Mr. Triggs? We’d get there so much sooner, and I’m sure the men are just as ready to run all the way as I am!”

“If I wasn’t on the shady side of fifty, perhaps I should too,” responded the gunner with a laugh.

“What nonsense, Mr. Triggs! Why, you’ve got the reputation of being one of the strongest men on board the Rattler!”

“Oh, come, come; draw it mild!” exclaimed the gunner deprecatingly, but nevertheless looking very pleased with the compliment. “And then you mustn’t forget, Mr. Darcy, that our orders are to reconnoitre.”

“And to attack if necessary,” I added triumphantly. “Why, you can’t suppose, Mr. Triggs, that these rascally fellows won’t get wind of what we’re up to; that they won’t see us; that they won’t defend their ill-gotten booty with desperate bravery; that they won’t——”

“Stop, stop, for heaven’s sake!” cried the gunner; “how you young gentlemen let your imaginations run away with you! You remind me of mill-wheels in a spate; they are kept spinning round at such a rate as to risk putting the machinery out of gear.”

“Not a bad simile, Mr. Triggs. Bad luck to those who put a spoke in, say I! They’re the fellows who put the machinery out of gear.”

The ground began to fall away more steeply, and rocks cropped up more abundantly. The trees seemed more stunted, and as if huddled together for shelter, and underwood began to make its appearance, growing quite thickly in some places. We appeared to be approaching the side of a steep valley, from the distant depths of which I seemed to hear the subdued thunder of a cascade. A pair of eagles soared above our heads; and far away, peering here and there from amid the clouds, the purple-tinted mountains of the interior were discernible.

Our conversation had ceased, for our eyes and ears had to be on the alert.

Every moment the scenery became more savage and more picturesque, the rush of waters from the valley and its offshoots more distinctly audible, and the slopes we were descending more steep, slippery, and rock-encumbered.

The swarthy Sancho, however, glided on before us, and led the way without a moment’s hesitation. He was a lithe, well-built fellow of about forty, and looked wiry and active. He carried in his right hand a sharp cutlass, with which he occasionally cut down a creeper or some underwood that obstructed the way. There was no path. We followed him blindly, putting entire trust in him for the time being.

“Well, this is a queer, wild sort of a place,” I heard Ned Burton say to one of his mates; “just the sort of diggings one would expect to come across bandits and buccaneers in, and them sort of gentry.”

“I hope we’ll find some good Havana tobacco amongst the spoils, that’s all I’ve got to say,” answered his comrade. “I left my pouch behind aboard the old hooker, worse luck, and don’t want to have to borrow from my pals when perhaps they’re short themselves.”

“Shilling cigars will be your ticket, mate, I reckon,” said Ned with a laugh. “You may depend the skipper of the Flying-fish had some weeds of that quality aboard, if only to sell again when he got back to the old country.”

“Poor chap! he’s lost the number of his mess and no mistake. Hallo! what in thunder is the matter with the guide?”

He might well ask. We were all horrified to hear Sancho give vent to a loud cry of terror, and see him wildly slash at something on the ground with his cutlass. Then he dropped his weapon upon the ground, and gave a heartrending shriek of agony. In an instant we had sprung to his side.

The poor fellow’s face was convulsed with mingled pain and horror, and he would have fallen to the ground had not Ned Burton supported him.

“He suffers from epilepsy, I’m afraid,” exclaimed the gunner as he ran up. “I wish the surgeon was here.”

But Ned pointed to the ground with a horrified expression upon his face which spoke volumes.

I followed his gesture with my eyes, and they immediately lit upon two writhing portions of a very deadly-looking snake. The guide had cut the venomous reptile in two, but not before the latter had buried its poisonous fangs in the almost unprotected leg of its victim.

A shudder ran through every one’s frame, for sailors have a natural horror of serpents, poisonous or otherwise. Nevertheless Ned Burton offered to suck the wound, and endeavour to save the poor victim’s life. This, however, Mr. Triggs would not permit.

We laid the unfortunate man carefully upon the ground; but he was already almost in a state of coma, so virulent was the poison and so rapid in its effects. Ned gently rolled up the leg of the thin white linen trousers the victim was wearing; and on the right leg, a little way above the ankle, a small puncture revealed itself, which was evidently the mark of the snake’s fang. The whole limb was terribly swollen as high as the knee, and the foot was in the same state.

I cannot dwell upon this episode; even now it makes me shudder to think of it. Suffice it to say that in five minutes the man was stone dead. This unfortunate occurrence threw a gloom over our party. Every one spoke in hushed whispers, and it was in a very depressed mood that we set about digging a rough shallow grave for the poor fellow’s remains, under the shade of a spreading wild cotton-tree.

“And now,” said Mr. Triggs, when the last sad offices were over, “we’re in a pretty good fix, for we’ve lost our guide, and don’t know which way to steer our course.”

“Let’s keep straight on in the direction we were going when the accident happened,” I suggested; “we can’t go far wrong.”

“We must either do that or make tracks for the main body of our shipmates,” observed Ned Burton. “It seems to me there ain’t no middle course, so to speak.”

The gunner mused for some time with his eyes fixed upon the ground. He appeared to be in a brown study, and oblivious of what was going on around him. Most of the men had lit their pipes and were conversing in low tones. Ned and I discussed the situation earnestly and in all its bearings, and came to the conclusion that it would be a thousand pities to abandon the expedition. All our adventurous instincts scouted such a proposition.

I went up to the gunner and laid my hand upon his arm.

“Ned and I both think we ought to push on at all hazards,” I said. “I hope you agree with us, Mr. Triggs.”

“Yes, yes, I do, my boy. I’ve weighed the pros and cons as clearly as I can in my own mind, and you bet your life Tim Triggs isn’t the man to turn back and give the enemy a wide berth so long as he can steer a true course without a pilot. We’ve no chart, and are pretty well adrift about our bearings; but let’s forge ahead, and see if we can’t spot a landmark of some kind.”

“That’s the sort, sir,” said Ned approvingly, “if you’ll excuse the liberty I take in giving my opinion. Let’s push on and follow our noses. I wouldn’t mind betting a month’s pay we smell the rascals out, and give ’em a thundering good hammering too.”

The other men murmured approval of their shipmate’s sentiments.

“You’re the right sort of fellows to have at one’s back,” said the gunner heartily. “Let’s get under way at once, and I’ll do my best to be your pilot.”

And so saying he put himself at the head of the little detachment and led the way onwards in the direction we had been following when the guide was with us. As there was no path, however, and we had not the remotest idea how long the native had intended to keep on in the same line of march, the reader will perceive that we had a very good chance of missing the object of our search altogether.

Our progress was slow, owing to the underwood, which grew denser every moment, and also to the obstructive rocks which seemed “confusedly hurled” about in all directions. Here and there, too, we encountered the vast trunk and branches of some giant of the forest laid low by the last hurricane that had swept howling over the mountain tops.

“One thing is certain enough,” observed Ned to me, “the mutineers and their pals didn’t bring the cargo along this route. ’Twould have been quite impossible.”

I pointed down into the deep, well-wooded valley beneath.

“We shall discover their path by-and-by,” I said. “I’ve no doubt it follows the mountain stream on its way to the sea.”

“Maybe,” answered my coxswain; “and the best thing we can do is to make the thieving swabs carry back to the Flying-fish all the loot they laid their hands upon.”

The word was now passed round by the gunner that strict silence was to be kept, and that we were to make the least possible noise in marching.

The latter order was extremely difficult to carry out, especially as in one or two places the men had to use their cutlasses to hew a way for themselves through a tangle of pendulous creepers and forest sub-growth. It was impossible to keep any sort of formation, and we had to straggle on as best we could. Had a watchful and cunning enemy been lying in ambush anywhere upon our line of march, he would undoubtedly have stood a very good chance of wiping us off the face of the earth.

The atmosphere grew close and oppressive as we descended into the valley, and the tree-tops were scarcely stirred by the almost stagnant air. Even the birds and insects seemed affected by the sultriness, and their varied cries and droning hums were hushed into quietude. Ominous-looking purple clouds were gathering over the summits of some of the distant mountains and seemed to presage a thunderstorm.

Suddenly I caught sight of a thin spiral column of blue smoke ascending from the valley beneath and dissipating itself in the blue ether overhead. I silently pointed it out to the gunner.

As we were on a fairly open piece of ground at the time, the latter halted us by a warning gesture with his hand.

“That looks as if it came from an encampment, Mr. Darcy,” he whispered; “or do you think it might be caused by charcoal-burners?”

“I’m inclined to think it comes from a camp of the mutineers,” I answered in the same low tone; “for it does not look more than half a mile distant, and I should say we have already come a mile and a half.”

“But why should they be so anxious to betray their whereabouts? that’s what bothers me,” remarked the gunner.

“You must bear one thing in mind,” I said, “and that is, that this particular body of mutineers or insurgents probably deem themselves quite safe from pursuit, hidden away in this valley. They’re keeping watch over the booty, whilst the main body is engaged in drawing our brigade off as far as possible into the mountainous interior. It’s a clever plan, I must say, but it’s fallen to our lot to foil it.”

The gunner did not answer for some minutes, but seemed buried in thought. He was a very cautious man, and though brave as a lion in fight, he was anything but headstrong in conceiving plans of action.

He was aroused from his reverie by the sound of voices ascending from the valley. They appeared to come from the site of the fire as nearly as we could tell.

We all exchanged expressive glances, and Mr. Triggs examined his revolver to see if it was properly loaded.

“I don’t want to do anything rash,” said the gunner to me, “because that may only lead us into trouble. I think I’ll creep forward and reconnoitre, taking Ned Burton with me. If we discover a camp of the mutineers, why, of course, our duty will be clear; and if they turn out to be only charcoal-burners, no doubt we shall get some valuable information out of them.”

I laid my hand impetuously on Mr. Triggs’s arm.

“Let me go with you and reconnoitre!” I begged in imploring tones. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse, and do everything you tell me—indeed I will.”

The gunner smiled grimly.

“I don’t like to refuse you, Mr. Darcy, but who will take command of the men left behind?”

“Jim Beddoes, of course, the captain of the fore-top,” I answered. “He’s a first-class petty-officer, and has got his headpiece screwed on the right way.”

“Well, I’d trust Jim, of course,” said the gunner, glancing at the individual in question, who grinned and touched his hat.

“Well, that’s settled then!” I cried in the highest delight, and I beckoned to Ned Burton to fall out of the ranks and join us, which he did with great alacrity.

“You’ll keep a bright look-out, Beddoes,” said the gunner. “We shan’t be gone more than half an hour or so, I take it. The men mustn’t leave this spot, but they may sit down and rest so long as you keep four sentries posted.”

“Ay, ay, sir; I’ll keep my weather eye lifting, and see that nothing goes wrong.”

Ned, in lieu of his rifle, took a small tomahawk with him wherewith to mark the trees as we went along, and then we crept forward through the forest in the direction of the pillar of blue smoke. We had discarded our side-arms before starting, as we decided that they would only encumber us. Our loaded revolvers we kept in our belts, more as a matter of precaution than anything else, for we did not anticipate exchanging shots with any one.

The undergrowth grew less dense as we advanced, and we were able to proceed rapidly and silently, always keeping the pillar of smoke directly ahead. The side of the valley we were descending was steep, and in places almost precipitous; but we kept our footing in a marvellous manner notwithstanding. We could hear the rushing of the stream very distinctly as it swirled around the boulders that obstructed the way, or leaped over some cliff-like rock into a deep abyss below. It was now evidently not far distant. Now and again we heard a subdued shout from some one beneath us, but ordinary voices could not now be distinguished above the roar of the torrent.

Ned assiduously marked our path by chipping at the trees; but presently all need for this precaution vanished, for we found ourselves upon a regular beaten path leading down into the depths of the valley.

The gunner halted for a moment, and lifted a warning finger to enjoin silence and secrecy upon us. Then he resumed the route with stealthy but rapid footsteps. My heart was beating so with suppressed excitement that I could not help fancying that my companions must hear its prodigious thumps. I glanced at Ned. As was natural in a man who had passed through numberless perils, he looked quite unconcerned, but his bronzed face wore its usual determined expression.

The path, at first stony and precipitous, at length wound its way onward at a gentler gradient, and seemed to be nearing the base of the hilly slopes which flanked the savage ravine. The timber here was magnificent, some of the stately trees towering up with their spreading branches to an altitude of a hundred and fifty feet. Lizards ran about in all directions; dragon-flies darted hither and thither; and far above our heads birds of gaudy plumage flitted from tree to tree.

We came at length to a place where four narrow beaten tracks met, and the gunner halted for a moment and peered about him.

“I vote for keeping straight on,” I whispered hurriedly.

Mr. Triggs nodded, and glided on as before.

I ought to have mentioned that we had for some time lost sight of the pillar of smoke which had been a beacon to us for so long. This was owing to the enormous size of the trees in this part of the valley.

Suddenly, as we were passing close to a collection of cliff-like boulders which frowned down upon the narrow pathway on our right hand, about a dozen men sprang out upon us with such extraordinary activity and determination that we were taken completely by surprise, for, as the reader may suppose, we had not the faintest notion that any one was lurking in the vicinity of the path.

At the first alarm I need not say that our hands flew instinctively to our revolvers; but in much less time than it takes me to write it our assailants had flung themselves on us, secured our arms, and borne us to the ground, especial care being taken to keep an iron grip on our throats, to prevent our calling for assistance. I struggled vehemently to free myself; but the more I struggled the tighter grew the grip on my throat, and at last I was obliged to desist for fear of being strangled. I heard the gunner and Ned Burton struggling desperately also, although they had not been able to use their revolvers; but both being men of unusual strength, it was some little time before they were eventually secured.

With great dexterity our captors blindfolded and gagged us, passed lashings around our arms, and dragged us away with them—whither, we had no means of ascertaining.

CHAPTER XI.
JIM BEDDOES’ YARN.

I was just about took flat aback when it was borne in upon me what had happened; but I must set about spinning my yarn in a ship-shape fashion, I s’pose, or shore-going folks won’t get a grip of my meanin’, so to speak. Well, gentlemen all, and ladies too, I hope—for, bless you! I know well enough, through having chicks of my own, that sisters reads their brothers’ books when they can get a hold of ’em—you all of you know, through having read Mr. Darcy’s yarn, that he, the gunner, and my messmate, Ned Burton—as fine a chap as ever ran aloft or took his trick at the helm, though that’s neither here nor there—went off together to reconnoitre the enemy’s position. I may say they went off in fine sperrits, and with the intention of returning in half an hour or so, barring accidents. Why the whole lot of us couldn’t have marched straight ahead, attacked the thieving swabs that were in the valley and given ’em hokey-pokey, beats me, I can tell you! Show me my enemy, and let me go for him without any palavering or beating about the bush, that’s what I say. No amount of warrant-officers—boatswains, gunners, or carpenters—would make me change my mind about that, not if I lived to the age of Methusalem! There’s no knowing what prize-money may do for a fellow, and if ever I retires into private life, I reckon I’ll have a British man-o’-war going into action for a crest and “Wire in” for the motto. Two words is enough for me so long as they mean a lot.

I ain’t much of a hand with a pen, it strikes me; for I’m drifting off with the tide goodness knows where, and it’s likely enough I shall broach-to altogether in a jiffy.

Come, pull yourself together, man, and show the young laddies and lasses that your brain-box ain’t exactly a wacuum, so to speak—a figurehead like them senseless things a-stuck about in Portsmouth dockyard.

When the gunner went off with his two pals, he pertickly says to me, “Stand easy a bit, Beddoes, if you please”—he was always a very perlite cove was old Triggs; beg pardon, Mr. Triggs, I should say—“stand easy, Beddoes,” he says, “or sit about, but don’t for the life o’ you forget to have four men a-doing sentry-go all the time.” He was a cautious man, you see, the gunner. He took stock of everything, and that was just the ruination of him in this case. I take it the Admiralty would give him the sack if they could find him, but there ain’t much chance of that now, worse luck!

I’m main sorry for Mr. Darcy, who was a smart young midshipman, and always had a good word for us blue-jackets; and as for Ned, well, we was like brothers, and there’s no need to say more.

I posted the sentries right enough, and made them load their rifles with ball-cartridge. “The first thieving swab of an ugly nigger you sees within twenty yards of this bivouac, put a bullet through him,” says I; and I meant it too, mind you, for I’ve been mixed up in this sort of warfare before, and don’t stand upon ceremony. I’d stake my grog for the rest of the commission that the old gunner was too blooming wary, and not quick enough with his shooting-irons; and you may take my word for it, that’s how he got nobbled so easily. Ceremony may be all very well for ambassadors or consuls, and fellows of that kidney; but for fighting men it’s sheer rot, and a reg’lar waste of time. I’ve seen it proved over and over again, though I don’t want to be boastful.

We lit up our pipes, and smoked away like chimneys for a time, for we was a bit tired after all the marching we had had over broken ground and the scrimmage with the cavalry fellows. Likewise we took a good pull at our water-bottles, for the heat was tremenjous, and our duds were that wet with the perspiration you’d a thought we’d been wading through a river. We yarned away, too, about the ups and downs of campaigning life and so forth, but didn’t talk much above a whisper, for we didn’t know what artful eavesdroppers there might be about; and as I says to my mates, “If pitchers have ears, why shouldn’t the trees, to say nothing of the jack-toads what’s crawling on ’em, as you may see for yourselves with half an eye?”

When half an hour or so had passed, as I thought, I hauls out my ticker to see how many bells had struck, and found it was pretty nearly an hour since the gunner and the others had started. “Here’s a rum go,” I says to my mates; “’tain’t ship-shape that they’re not back within the hour, and it strikes me we ought to go and look for ’em, for they may be in a quandary of some sort.” With that we knocks the ashes out of our pipes, and listens with all our ears; but not a blessed sound could we hear of any kind, barring the screams of monkeys and the screeching of parrots. The sentries had heard nothing suspicious, but had seen the smoke rising up from the valley till within the last half-hour, when it had suddenly stopped. They had not heard any human voices for a good long spell. Some o’ my mates was for getting under way, and starting at once to search for the party, and some was for obeying orders and remaining hove-to where we were.

Well, it was a bit of a fix for me, for I’d never been in command of a shore-going party afore; though you’ll understand that through being captain of the fore-top, and likewise of a gun at the after main-deck quarters, I wasn’t all at sea as to giving orders and the like. After turning the matter over in my mind for a spell, says I to my mates, “Look here, my bully boys, it isn’t quite plain sailing for us; but I tell you what we’ll do”—and I drew my ticker out agin—“we’ll give ’em another quarter of an hour, and if they haven’t hove in sight by that time, by thunder we’ll go in search of ’em! You see, mates, they may have broached-to, or run on a reef, and through no fault o’ theirn be prevented from hoisting signals of distress or firing minute-guns. Some of you will say that a seaman’s dooty is to obey orders, and that’s right enough, mates; but I reckon there are other dooties too that can’t be chucked away into the scuppers, as it were. One must larn where to draw the line. Do you suppose we’d have hammered them Danes—as plucky chaps as ever stepped in shoe-leather, I’ve been told—if Nelson hadn’t clapped his glass to his blind eye at Copenhagen, and swore till he was black in the face that he couldn’t see the admiral’s signal to haul out of the battle? In course we wouldn’t. That’s a case in point, as them blooming lawyers say.”

I began to run short of breath here, for I’m no more good at speechifying than I am at writing; and as I was mighty dry, and there was no grog to the fore, I took a good long swill at my water-bottle. But, mind you, my way of putting things brought every mother’s son to my side in the argyment, and that’s what I’d been working up to. As I said a spell ago, my motto is “Wire in,” and I sticks to it through thick and thin; but then I likes my mates to be all of the same mind, and game to back me up and carry it through.

Well, it was agreed unanimous. “Carry on, Jim,” said one of my topmates; “give ’em fifteen minutes more by that old turnip o’ yourn, and then if they haven’t turned up, it’s up anchor and shape a departure course in the wake of Ned and his ‘cheap and chippy chopper.’”

I didn’t like my ticker, which had been my grandfather’s and my father’s before me, spoken of in this disreverent sort of way, I can tell you; but I was so pleased at the men all agreeing to see me through that I took no notice at the time.

I didn’t show it, of course, but I was really alarmed when the fifteen minutes had gone by and there was no sign of Mr. Triggs and his companions. If the gunner had been a reg’lar fire-eater, or fond of rash adventures, I could have understood his absence; but that an out-and-out cautious and extra-politeful bloke like him should have got too far from his supports, and perhaps into a serious quandary—well, you’ll agree that it wasn’t altogether ship-shape.

It didn’t take us long to get under way, I can assure you; and you may bet your bottom dollar we kept our loaded rifles to the fore and our cutlasses handy. It was as easy as A B C to follow the marks of Ned’s “chippy chopper,” for the trees were blazed in reg’lar Red Indian fashion—a spell between each. By-and-by, however, we came slick upon a path leading down into the valley, and this took us aback a bit, and we halted for a few moments to hold a confab. The blazing of the trees had ceased—that was borne in upon me at once, and of course I twigged the reason for it. It was decided to keep straight on down the hill; but I directed my mates to advance with caution and make as little noise as possible. I felt a sort of uncanny feeling creeping over me, as if ghosts were about in the jungle; but I’m not an atom creepy about them gentry as a rule, mind you. We saw nothing and heard nothing, and every moment I got more and more alarmed. If only a musket-shot had rung out, or I could have heard the old gunner singing out for help, my mind would have been a good deal easier, for my dooty would have been as plain as a boarding-pike, so to speak. It was the strange silence that worrited me and kept my pulses going like the throb of the pinnace’s steam-engines.

However, ’tis a long lane that has no turning, and at length we came to a place where four paths met. This was more puzzling than ever, especially as Ned hadn’t blazed any trees. We kept straight on, as we judged by the overgrown state of the side-paths that they hadn’t been used for some time. In about five minutes, as near as I can judge, we came on a place where there was piles of rocks lying about all over the shop, just for all the world as if there’d been a score or two of earthquakes the day before. You might have knocked me down with a feather—and I’m fourteen stone if I’m an ounce, mind you—when we got about a cable’s length further on; for to my horror I saw the marks of a scuffle upon the ground, and worse than all, I picked up a gilt button that I felt sure had been wrenched off Mr. Darcy’s jacket. As you may suppose, we all came to a dead halt and began examining the ground closely. There had been a tremenjous struggle, that was evident at the first glance, and there was no need for any prophet to tell me what had happened. Our poor shipmates had been trapped in some way; and it gave me quite a turn to think that their dead bodies might be lying stiff and stark behind those very rocks that we were alongside of.

We thought we might venture to kick up a bobbery now, particularly as we were a fairly strong body of armed men, and could give a pretty good account of any enemy that ventured to interfere with us. You see we just had a faint hope that Mr. Triggs and his companions might be somewhere within earshot, and that our giving ’em a hail might back ’em up a bit if they was prisoners. However, we heard not a sound of any kind, friendly or otherwise. “Sarch the rocks, mates,” says I, trying to speak stern, though, Lord love yer, I felt for all the world as if I was agoin’ to choke.

We left two men to do sentry-go, and set to work to overhaul them rocks and all the ground and underwood which was near ’em; but not a blessed sign of anything could we find except the marks of feet, and in places these were plentiful enough, but ’tis a most tremenjous difficult thing to track any one in a forest where there’s always a lot of dead leaves and such like muck about.

Well, I’d be afraid, and that’s the truth, to say how many hours we spent over that there hopeless job of searching for our lost shipmates. We scoured the forest in all directions, made our way into the valley to look for the enemy’s camp, but found nothing but a burned-out fire; and overhauled the surrounding cliffs—and there was a pretty few of ’em, mind you—in hopes of lighting upon some of the blooming caves we’d heard so much talk about. It just was talk, and nothing else—that I’ll take my affidavy to. Where were those swabs o’ mutineers and the confounded Creole niggers that we’d been sent after? and where was their hidden cargo? Shiver my timbers, if I wouldn’t have slugged the lot of ’em if I could have got the chance. I don’t like fallin’ out with people as a rule, specially strangers; but when it comes to their kidnappin’ your own shipmates, and p’raps cutting their throats, or giving ’em foul play of some sort or another, why then my monkey gits up, I can tell you, and I’d think it child’s play to corpse the lot of ’em if they came within reach of my cutlass.

When the sun began to go down, I knew well enough that we must knock off and make tracks for the camping-ground that Mr. Thompson had spoken of. The alarm must be given as quickly as possible, so that the whole force might turn-to and join in the search; but then a fresh difficulty came to the fore, for we’d lost our guide, and hadn’t the remotest idea of the bearings of this here bivouac. However, I don’t want to make a long yarn out of this part of the business, so I’ll only tell you that we made a sternboard, so to speak, and found our way back with uncommon difficulty to the rough cart-track we had quitted early in the afternoon. Here, of course, we got on the spoor of the brigade, and had no difficulty in tracking ’em to their camping-ground. ’Twas a weary march, and we were footsore and a bit done up when we got there, which was after dark; and we ran a narrow shave of being shot down by our own sentries.

Well, naterally there was a tremenjous sensation amongst all hands when they heard our terrible story. The gunnery lootenant was almost beside himself, and vowed vengeance on them dastardly rebels when he caught them. He wanted to set off at once, but on coming to think it over calmly, he saw that ’twas wellnigh impossible till the morning. In the first place, every mother’s son was tired out by the long stretch they’d had in full marching order; and, secondly, it was that dark—there being no moon—that it would have been wellnigh impossible to find our way through the forest, to say nothing of the chances it would give them thundering swabs of mutineers and niggers to go for us under cover of the darkness. They couldn’t have drubbed us, of course, but through their sarpentine cunning they might have harassed us like old winky.

The orders was passed round therefore to start in the morning, at the first break of dawn.

Through the adventures what follered it seemed to me as I ought to make some alterations in this here gimcrack of a log; but when I consults the gunnery orficer—“You just leave it as it is, Jim Beddoes,” says he; “’tis more interestin’,” he says. Well, ’tis a new thing to me that anything I should have written, being no scholard, should be interestin’; but, there, I’ve had my say. The yarn is spun, such as it is, and I can only say in conclusion, and with many apologies for takin’ of the liberty, “My dooty to you, and wishing you all good-luck.”

CHAPTER XII.
TAKEN PRISONER.

When I found myself blindfolded, gagged, and securely bound by the ruffians who had sprung upon me, my heart sank within me, for I fully thought that my fate was sealed. And what an awful fate it might be I hardly dared to contemplate. I had heard, of course—and the remembrance recurred to me now with additional force—that the mutineers of the Flying-fish, had cruelly and in cold blood murdered their captain and chief mate, and thrown their bodies to the sharks. Men who had committed such a deed of infamy were capable of anything—even of torturing us.

Till I was completely exhausted, I fought desperately with these fiends, and so, as I mentioned before, did the gunner and Ned Burton. I must say this much for our captors, that they carried out the affair with amazing cleverness, coolness, and audacity; for our seizure was accomplished in such a manner as to ensure secrecy and obviate any necessity for using weapons.

I really felt more dead than alive when I was ruthlessly dragged away from the spot where the struggle had taken place. I can assure the reader that it is no joke to be knocked about and roughly handled by four active, muscular rascals who have received orders to secure you at any cost.

Feeling bruised, giddy, and faint therefore, I had to submit to the indignity of being dragged away like a dead pig, convinced that an awful fate most surely awaited me and my unfortunate companions.

What would I not have given to see the brave Jim Beddoes and his trusty men rushing down like a whirlwind upon these audacious scoundrels, and making them fly in all directions. It was terribly tantalizing to think of the well-armed little detachment of stanch friends actually within hail, if we could only have managed to shout to them for assistance. I felt extremely sorry for Mr. Triggs, for I knew what his feelings must have been, and how he must have blamed himself for having led us into danger.

In spite of my weak and terribly anxious state, I could not help wondering how the foe had got wind of our approach, and been able to make such elaborate preparations for our capture.

For about ten minutes these ruthless fellows dragged us at their heels, and then came to a sudden halt, and I heard them exchanging remarks in a language which sounded to me like bad Spanish. I concluded, therefore, that none of the mutineers of the Flying-fish were amongst them, which struck me as a peculiar circumstance. Whilst revolving this in my mind, I felt that some one was carefully examining the bandage over my eyes, as if to ascertain whether I could see or not. The next moment I was hurried forward by the united exertions of several men, and felt myself being borne through what felt like a plantation of young trees or shrubs; and shortly afterwards realized the very disagreeable fact that I was being impelled down a flight of rude, slippery steps, on which I had considerable difficulty in keeping my footing. If it had not been for the iron grip of my jailers, I should have been precipitated from the top to the bottom. To my bewildered mind this rude staircase seemed interminable, and at every step my spirits sank lower and lower, and at length, when we appeared to reach the bottom, they were pretty well at zero.

A burst of coarse laughter here fell upon my ears, and some snatches of a Spanish song, mingled with which, like a humming accompaniment, was the sound of falling water.

I made a great effort to pull myself together and manfully face my fate whatever it might be; but my nerves, I must confess, had been terribly shaken, and my success was only very partial.

I was determined, however, that I would not flinch from death if our murder had been determined upon, as I felt that it would be casting a dishonour upon our nation not to meet even that terrible fate with calm courage—hard, very hard as it seemed, to be cut off at such an early age, when life was at its brightest epoch.

Having now arrived at the bottom of the steps, I was forced along a smooth sandy floor; my conductors laughing and joking among themselves in an uproarious manner, evidently in the highest spirits, and not afraid of being overheard.

The truth flashed across me in a moment. I was in a cave, deep down under the surface of the ground!

The bandage over my eyes was now removed and the gag taken from my mouth; but the lashings which secured my arms were, I need hardly say, not interfered with. With very unnecessary force, and before I had had time to look around me, I was pushed down into a corner of the cave, and two swarthy, cut-throat-looking rascals with loaded pistols in their hands were told off to guard me securely. The first thing these fellows did was to rob me of my silver watch and chain, and the small amount of money I had about me.

It was an impressive and weird tableau which met my gaze as soon as my eyes had got accustomed to the semi-gloom of the dimly-lighted cavern, the feeble illumination of which evidently came from natural fissures in the rocky roof, many of them being half-choked with vegetation.

This cave, in which I found myself a most unwilling prisoner, was vast in size and unequal in shape; but I could not see its whole extent from the spot where I lay. The sound of falling water was loud and continuous, and I fancied that there must be a cascade—invisible to me—falling through an orifice in the roof into a pool beneath. Notwithstanding this fact, the cavern appeared to me to be very dry.

My first impulse, of course, was to look for Mr. Triggs and Ned Burton. The former I could not see, and concluded that he had been placed in one of the invisible portions of the cave; but my coxswain was sitting leaning against the rough wall on the opposite side of our subterranean prison, a very angry and perturbed expression upon his bronzed face. Three armed men closely watched his every movement. Our eyes met, but we did not dare even to make a sign to each other for fear of the consequences.

As near as I could tell, there were about a score of Creole desperadoes grouped about in the cave. They were all well-armed, truculent-looking ruffians, and were, to my intense astonishment, arrayed in a sort of semi-nautical costume, consisting of a striped jersey, white-duck trousers, and sombrero hats, whilst some of them sported gay-coloured kerchiefs knotted around the throat. They were all young men, with the exception of one individual, who at this moment was seated upon a barrel smoking a cigar. He was a man of about fifty, with a fine physique and clearly-cut features; but the expression of his face was cruel, stern, and unbending. He wore a moustache and beard, the latter streaked with grey; and between his eyes some perpendicular lines had been deeply impressed. The dress of this chief—for so I deemed him to be—differed somewhat from that of his followers, as he wore a silk shirt fastened with elaborate studs and with a turn-down collar affixed to it, and a thin blue flannel pea-jacket with plain gilt buttons. He wore no hat, and his hair was curly, dark, and thick, except at the temples, where it was a little worn and tinged with grey. His weapons consisted of a handsome sword and a pair of beautifully-chased silver-mounted pistols; whilst a short cavalry carbine—evidently of the very best make—was reclining against the barrel on which he was seated. At his feet lay a large, fierce-looking Cuban bloodhound, possessed of muscular limbs and cruel-looking fangs. I could not resist shuddering when I looked at this animal, for I felt sure that at a sign from its master it would make short work of any one who had displeased him.

When my eyes first lighted upon this chieftain, of anything but prepossessing looks, I found that he was examining with great curiosity the weapons which had been taken from us by his followers, and his mind seemed specially exercised by the mechanism of the service-revolvers. I remember distinctly that although I was at the time fully expecting to be led away somewhere to be summarily executed, yet I felt nervous at the careless way the chief was handling weapons which were loaded in all their cylinders, and with the working of which he could have but a very slight acquaintance, if any.

There was a very large assortment of arms stored in every nook and cranny, and hung around the cavern’s rude walls, consisting chiefly of various kinds of swords, scimitars, and daggers. There was also a trophy of pistols and tomahawks, and another of boarding-pikes; whilst a goodly number of rifles and muskets were ranged in rough stands occupying two sides of the cave. The area of the latter appeared to be, as nearly as I could judge, fifty feet in length by thirty in width; but these measurements did not include, of course, those portions which were invisible to me. I could detect no exit from the spot where I lay except the rude steps by which we had descended, but I felt convinced that there was an outlet elsewhere.

Two or three of the chief’s followers were engaged in handing our appropriated weapons to him, and giving him—at least so I presumed—an account of our capture. The remainder of the gang were grouped about in various attitudes in different parts of the cave: some sprawling on mats or blankets spread carelessly on the sandy floor, and engaged in smoking and playing cards; others eating and drinking with ferocious appetites; whilst a few more industrious ones were polishing their weapons, or mending tattered clothes and boots, singing or whistling to themselves the while. I could see no signs of a fire or of cooking utensils, or, indeed, of any provisions. The men who were eating appeared to be devouring sausages and coarse bread, which they drew from their capacious pockets, and a strong and very disagreeable odour of garlic pervaded the close stagnant atmosphere of the cave. I was terribly thirsty, and the rushing sound of the waters of the invisible cascade very much aggravated the feeling. I longed to bury my burning lips in the sparkling clear pool that lay, I felt sure, beneath it.

Then the remembrance of the story of the valuable cargo of the Flying-fish flashed across my memory. According to the reports of the spies and guides, all this valuable booty which the mutineers had seized upon was stowed away in caves well known to their insurgent allies. Well, here was a cave big enough in all conscience to hold the cargo of an ordinary merchantman; but where in the name of all that was wonderful was this much-talked-of loot? I could see no traces of it, and I felt sure that my eye embraced the main portion of the giant cave. Stay! there might be other and smaller caverns opening from this one, in which the spoils might have been stowed for greater safety. I felt sure that this was the solution of the mystery, and longed to go on a voyage of exploration.

Oh that distressing feeling of burning thirst! I at length summoned up enough courage to say in an imploring tone to one of my guardians, “Agua, agua!”

To my surprise the fellow fetched a pannikin of water and held it to my parched lips.

Oh how delicious, how cooling, how like nectar was that heavenly draught!

I was obliged to stop at length with a sigh of gratitude, and murmur “Gracias.”

A slight feeling of hope animated me after this incident, for it struck me that if our instant execution had been decided upon, the very scantiest consideration would have been shown for our wants—indeed that they would not have been considered in any one particular.

That we had fallen into the hands of consummate scoundrels went without saying, of course. A glance at the cruel, repellent visage of the chief, or at those of his swarthy, stick-at-nothing myrmidons, was sufficient to settle that question.

Who were these mysterious individuals?

The more I looked at them, the more I felt convinced that they were not Creole insurgents. At any rate, they were not the same men whose fort we had stormed and whose forces we had dispersed only a day or two previously. Neither did they resemble—except in their olive-coloured complexions—the dashing irregular cavalry which had met with the same disastrous fate. The men into whose clutches we had fallen were much more of the sailor type, and this impression was not given by the cut of their clothes alone. It was also betrayed by the cut of their jibs, as sailors express it—that is, by their physiognomies having an unmistakable nautical stamp upon them.

Had the Cuban insurgents any vessels under their orders—privateers or cruisers of any kind? I could not answer the question, though I was aware of the fact that the Spanish navy in the West Indies was deplorably weak.

Ned Burton was emboldened by my successful application for water to ask for some too. It seemed to me that his guards went rather grudgingly to fulfil his request. However, I don’t suppose Ned much minded that, so long as he got the water. The enormous quantity he drank without so much as winking actually provoked laughter among the swarthy gang who were watching him.

The rope lashings which bound my arms together were exceedingly painful, and seemed like the cruel fangs of animals gnawing into the flesh. I only knew about half a dozen Spanish words, but I utilized these as well as I could in an endeavour to persuade my guards to relax the tightness of my bonds. Having been successful in one instance, I hoped to be in another. Vain hope! The only result of my appeal was a violent kick from one of the sullen sentinels, which made me heartily wish that I had held my peace.

A burst of ribald laughter rang through the gloomy cavern, echoing on the rocky roof, and drowning for the moment the roar of the cascade.

I saw an angry frown gather upon Ned Burton’s brow, and a flush mount into his cheeks, and felt sure that he was itching to feel his fingers around the throat of my assailant. It would have gone hard with the latter if my brawny coxswain had been free from his lashings. As it was, he had to chafe under the heavy yoke of enforced inactivity, and I had to do the same.

It must have been shortly after this that, in spite of my strange surroundings, I fell fast asleep, and was lost in the world of happy dreams.

It was the sleep of exhaustion, of tired-out nerves, of a bewildered brain. Nature, kindly dame, comes to our rescue on these occasions; and deeply grateful ought we to be to her for her loving care of us.

I do not know at all how long I had been slumbering in the arms of Morpheus, when I was awakened by a hideous uproar—by a perfect babel of angry, excited shouts and vindictive yells.

With my head in a whirl, and scarcely realizing where I was, I strove to rise to my feet. At that instant, however, I felt the cold muzzle of a pistol pressed against my temples, and heard a torrent of angry invective from one of my sentinels.

CHAPTER XIII.
NED IS FLOGGED.

The cold barrel of the pistol quickly brought me to myself; but I felt strangely bewildered. The glare of many torches was in my eyes, and was reflected on the irregular roof and walls of the giant cave with a strange and weird effect. These flickering rays of light also glinted with an almost dazzling brightness on the muskets and other weapons that lay about, and fell in a more subdued fashion on the fierce-looking visages of about a score of the inmates of the cavern, who had unconsciously assumed highly-dramatic attitudes. All had sprung to their feet, and some had drawn pistols from their belts, whilst others waved the bright blades of swords over their heads.

The chief did not appear to be present, as far as I could tell in the confusion, nor did I see his savage-looking dog; but one individual, whose face seemed strangely familiar to me, was standing somewhat apart from the others. He was talking loudly in a high-pitched voice, and seemed to be in a very excited state of mind, using a great deal of gesticulation, and pouring forth what sounded uncommonly like the language of menace.

Where had I previously seen that swarthy, unprepossessing face, those cruel eyes, that tall ungainly form?

As I racked my brains in an effort to solve the mystery, the angry and energetic orator suddenly paused in his copious flow of invective, and in a dramatic manner pointed straight at Ned Burton.

At the same moment every eye and every weapon was turned upon my coxswain in a terribly ominous manner.

The truth flashed across me in an instant, and made me feel sick at heart.

This angry orator, this passionate denouncer, was none other than the cruel mule-driver who, on the way up from the sea-coast, had been flogged by Ned, in accordance with the instructions of the gunnery lieutenant.

Could any meeting have been more unfortunate?

My coxswain’s conduct during this trying ordeal was beyond all praise. That he recognized the man I had not the smallest doubt. He could not have failed to do so.

By the flickering light of the torches, which were jammed into rude sockets in the wall, I could see that Ned was sitting on the floor of the cave in the exact spot where I had seen him before, and watched by the lynx eyes of three armed desperadoes. He looked quite unconcerned at the angry tirade of his accuser; but I noticed that he kept his eyes steadily fixed upon those of the mule-driver, and that the latter seemed rather uneasy under this steadfast gaze. I could not help feeling alarmed as to the outcome of this episode and its accompanying disorder, for I felt convinced that Ned’s enemy was exaggerating the details of his story in the hopes of taking an ample revenge for his fancied wrongs.

I looked about for Mr. Triggs, but could not see him anywhere. It was evident that my former supposition was correct, and that he was confined in another portion of the cavern. The worthy gunner could have been of no possible use to us in this emergency, but I felt that it would have been a comfort to see him, and to feel assured of his presence and sympathy.

As I was gazing in a sort of fascinated way at the strange scene, a hush fell as if by magic on the excited assembly, a loud resonant voice rang throughout the cavern, and I saw the chief’s form appearing in the distance. He had evidently been absent for some little time, and was unaware of the advent of the mule-driver.

His followers fell back abashed as he strode forward imperiously into the centre of the cavern, closely followed by the big bloodhound. I fancied that the autocrat’s eyes flashed angrily, and that there was an unusual flush mantling on his olive-tinted cheek.

There was now a dead silence, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the rush and plash of the cascade. Even this appeared to annoy the chieftain, for he called one of his followers to his side and gave him some directions in sharp, curt tones. The man saluted, and quickly disappeared around a corner of the cavern. After a minute or two had elapsed the sound of the falling water abruptly ceased. The stream had evidently been turned into another channel.

The chief now called up and interrogated the mule-driver, who had meanwhile slunk aside as if afraid of the reception he was likely to meet with from the perturbed leader of the gang.

How earnestly I wished at that moment that I had been acquainted with even a smattering of the Spanish language! Even Ned was a better scholar in this respect than I was, and I noticed that he bent forward eagerly to listen.

The mule-driver was evidently only too ready to be questioned, for he immediately stepped forward and launched out once more into the tale of his wrongs. The chief moodily listened, with bent brows and fingers toying idly with the butts of his silver-mounted pistols. Once or twice he glanced vindictively at my coxswain, but during the greater part of the rehearsal kept his sombre eyes fixed stonily on the cavern floor.

As for Ned, not a muscle of his face moved whilst the acting of this little drama was being carried out. His clear brown eyes were fixed intently on the speaker, though from time to time they rested for a moment on the strongly-marked features of the listening chieftain. I do not think I have mentioned before that my coxswain was a good-looking fellow of the best sailor type. His age at this time must have been about thirty-four or thirty-five, and though he was only of medium height, his build was that of a very active and athletic man. Beards were not in vogue in the navy at the time of my story, and as Ned had no personal fancy for whiskers, his face remained clean-shaven.

The mule-driver gradually worked himself up into a passion as he progressed in his second recital, and at the end thereof had recourse to a very dramatic proceeding; for as he wound up his long-winded peroration with many emphatic words, he tore off a light cotton jacket he was wearing, and exposed to view his bare shoulders, on which several weals were distinctly visible.

This action had the desired effect, as no doubt the wily mule-driver had foreseen. The inmates of the cave rose en masse to their feet in an excited manner, and shouted and yelled like a lot of maniacs. But, as had happened before, the chief did not at all approve of this hubbub, and promptly and indignantly quelled it. Doubtless he was afraid of his followers’ cries being heard outside the cave by unfriendly ears.

A sickly dread took possession of me. What was to be the next act in the drama? As to that, I was not long left in suspense.

The chief, as soon as quiet reigned again, summoned to his side the mule-driver and four of his own satellites. The result was a conference which did not last very long. At its conclusion the mule-driver looked perfectly radiant, not with genuine pleasure, but with gratified malice. He cut various capers on the sandy floor of the cave, and snapped his bony, yellow fingers at Ned Burton. Indeed, I do not know to what extremities he might not have gone if the chief had not sternly called him to order.

At a signal from that autocrat, six of his followers advanced quickly and in a determined manner towards Ned Burton, exchanging jocose remarks as they did so.

The seaman looked perfectly impassive. He might have been a statue sculptured out of marble for all the notice he took of what was going on around him.

In a moment these six ruffians had seized Ned and forcibly raised him to his feet, their victim offering no resistance, though I fancied I saw the corners of his firmly-cut lips quiver for a moment.

My heart began to beat tempestuously. What were these malevolent-looking rascals about to do to my coxswain? Their looks boded him no good; that much was certain.

Meanwhile the mule-driver had disappeared from the scene. He now, however, came skipping back into view in a jaunty manner, carrying in his hands a long, cruel-looking cane.

Then the awful truth flashed across me—Ned was to be flogged!

I think I lost my head for a few moments, and it is difficult for me to record my actions with any exactitude. I only know that in spite of the lashings which confined my arms, I bounded to my feet and attempted to rush madly forward to my coxswain’s rescue. I believe I raved, and stormed, and entreated mercy, all in the same breath. The only thing I do most distinctly remember was seeing Ned’s handsome pale face turned in my direction with an imploring expression upon it. It was this which brought me to myself, and showed me the utter futility of my Quixotic attempt at interference.

It was the feeling of devotion which I had for my coxswain, of course, that prompted the action; but fortunately I realized in time that any rash effort on my part might do him more harm than good.

I was about to stagger back to my corner, sick at heart, when one of the sentinels who had been detailed to watch me, and was enraged at my attempt to elude him, rushed up and knocked me down with a heavy blow from the butt-end of a pistol.

Thank God! I became unconscious, and therefore did not witness the cruel flogging to which Ned was subjected.

CHAPTER XIV.
IN THE PIRATES’ CAVERN.

Some considerable time must have passed before my senses returned to me. When I opened my eyes again in a scared way, wondering whether or not I was in the midst of an extremely disagreeable dream, I found myself lying on my back on the floor of the cavern; which latter seemed strangely dim and dark, rendering it very difficult to distinguish anything. My head ached terribly, and I think I groaned aloud as the remembrance of late events came crowding into my mind.

“Hush!” was suddenly uttered in low friendly tones coming out of the semi-darkness around me; “be as quiet as possible, and I’ll try to give you some water.”

With astonishment and relief I recognized the voice of Mr. Triggs.

What was he doing here, and where were all our captors gone? The cave seemed buried in silence as well as in gloom.

I endeavoured to raise myself, and quickly realized that my arms were still confined by the cruel rope lashings. Like arrows through my temples shot agonizing neuralgic pains. Was my brain on fire? It felt uncommonly like it. My throat and lips, too, were dry and parched with feverish thirst, and my tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth.

And now the gunner’s friendly face came peering through the darkness as he bent over me.

“Keep up your pecker, Mr. Darcy,” he said soothingly; “’tain’t no use giving way. There is a pannikin of water here close to your head, and I want you to screw yourself round a bit and try to get a drink from it. I can’t assist you, worse luck, for my arms are bound too.”

Water! The very notion brought back with a rush the vitality which was at such a low ebb in my system. I was dying for a drink of water.

It seemed to cost me little or no effort now to raise myself, and I turned over upon my side and recognized the pannikin of which the gunner had spoken. Crawling over the short space which separated me from it, I plunged my face into the cool refreshing liquid and lapped greedily like a dog.

It was fresh life to me as far as actual strength of body was concerned, but it did not abate the pains in my head, which were still intense.

The gunner was kneeling near me. I could now distinguish objects more distinctly, but the only source of illumination in the cave, as far as I could see, was one flickering sputtering torch, and this was dimly flaring away at the farthest extremity of the great rock-chamber. The ghostly light fell weirdly on Mr. Triggs’s strongly-marked features and crouching figure. I noticed that he was looking pale, worn, and anxious. When he saw me glance at him, however, he tried to smile encouragingly.

My eyes roamed around the great deserted cavern with a puzzled expression. Surely it was all a dream! Where was the gang of shouting and yelling desperadoes, the chief, the mule-driver? Ha! where was my brave and faithful coxswain, Ned Burton? When I had last seen him—

The gunner divined my thoughts.

“I must explain everything hurriedly,” he said in a low rapid voice, “for at any moment that swab of a chief and his men may return. First with regard to Ned Burton. I’m thankful to say the brave fellow lies sleeping over yonder in the dark shadow of that projecting corner. Don’t you see him?”

I glanced hurriedly at the spot indicated by Mr. Triggs, and now that my eyes had got more accustomed to the peculiar light, managed to discern a dark, huddled-up, human form.

“But were not those cruel brutes going to flog him?” I falteringly asked; “or was it only the beginning of a dreadful dream?”

“They did flog him, poor chap,” answered the gunner, in tones which shook with emotion; “but Ned bore it like a man. Not a sound escaped his lips during the punishment, and he did not faint. I’ve been to him and given him some water, and he is now happily asleep. Of course his back is in a terrible state, but he declares it will be all right in a few days. I feel sure, however, that he is very much exhausted.”

“What a mercy that he can sleep!” I said. “But tell me, Mr. Triggs, what has become of our captors?”

“They were hastily summoned away by a messenger,” answered the gunner, “a man who seemed breathless and nearly exhausted, as if he had run for a very long distance without stopping to rest. The whole gang then hurriedly seized their weapons, extinguished all the torches except the one you see there, and rushed tumultuously out of the cave by an entrance which was visible to me where I lay. Half a dozen men, however, remain on guard just outside, and may enter the cave at any moment. They have not done so yet, however, and are, I think, in too excited a state to pay much attention to us, besides—”

“Then can’t we escape?” I asked impetuously. “Is there no other exit—the way we came in, for instance?”

The gunner shook his head dolefully.

“Whilst our arms are bound we’re helpless,” he answered; “if they were only free, we’d make a dash for liberty. I’ve hurriedly examined the flight of steps by which we entered, and I’ve found that the opening to the outer air is securely closed by an iron door. You may depend upon it that every possible precaution against our escaping has been taken by these villains, for they’ve got their wits about ’em.”

“I expect that Beddoes and the rest of the detachment are on their trail,” I said, “and that is what caused them such alarm. Perhaps we shall be rescued sooner than we think.”

“I hardly think so,” said the gunner dubiously, “for I’m certain that the messenger had travelled a long distance.”

“Then perhaps the main body have got an inkling that something has gone wrong,” I suggested; “Beddoes may have sent a message to Mr. Thompson asking him to push up his forces.”

“There hasn’t been time for all that, Mr. Darcy, when you come to think of it. I shouldn’t say it was more than nine o’clock now, if so much. No, ’tis a mysterious business altogether, and I can’t make head or tail of it, and that’s the truth.”

“You don’t think, Mr. Triggs, that they mean to murder us?”

“Make your mind easy about that, lad. The ghastly deed would have been done before this, I reckon, if they had resolved upon foul play. What their little game is I can’t for the life of me say. ’Tis a plot I’d like to unravel, I can tell you, but I’m all in the dark—all in the dark.”

“I don’t believe that they’re insurgents at all,” I said; “they look for all the world like a gang of—”

“Mum’s the word!” interrupted Mr. Triggs, scrambling nimbly to his feet; “I hear the swabs coming back.” And so saying he took to his heels, and in a moment had disappeared around a projecting part of the cavern wall.

I heard the subdued buzz of many voices speaking in the distance, and felt a cold shiver go down my back. Then came the sound of many shuffling footfalls, the clang of weapons, and the louder tones of an excited troop of men. The guard that had been stationed outside rushed in to see that their prisoners were safe, and finding that we were in our respective corners, ran out again to meet their returning comrades. A few seconds later the whole gang came straggling into the cavern, threw themselves on the ground, and began talking rapidly in what I believed was a patois peculiar to themselves. The chief did not appear to be with them.

A few minutes later I was thankful to see some preparations made for supper, for I was ravenously hungry, and should have eaten heartily of a monkey pie or devilled crocodile at that moment. No fire was lit, but from some recess in the cave various comestibles were brought forth and placed on upturned cases and barrels. A few more torches had been lit, and though they were not enough to illuminate the cave properly, I could see distinctly what was going forward.

At this moment the chief, carrying his carbine over his shoulder, stalked in, followed closely by his immense dog, the latter—for some reason best known to himself—snarling and showing his long white fangs, whilst saliva dropped continuously from his heavy jowls. I had a mortal dread of this savage-looking animal, for I felt instinctively that if ever by good-fortune we should be enabled to make our escape from our present captors, the bloodhound would be put upon our trail to hunt us down. The reflection was a very disturbing one, and I strove to banish it, but in vain. Certainly no plan of escape seemed feasible, but a British midshipman is sanguine even when things look irretrievably dark, and, like the immortal Mr. Micawber, trusts that eventually something favourable will turn up.

The chief strode into the centre of the cavern and flung himself down on a pile of goatskins, his dog taking up a position at his feet, and keeping its eyes fixed upon those of its master. Its snarling now ceased, much to the relief of my overwrought nerves.

A man hurried forward to bring the leader some refreshment, and I was astonished to recognize in this servitor the mule-driver who had been the cause of Ned’s flogging. The reason I was astonished was that this fellow had completely changed his costume, and now wore the same nautical dress as the chief’s immediate followers.

I divined the truth at once. The cunning rascal had been told off to spy upon the movements of the naval brigade, and had enlisted as a camp-follower for that very purpose. On being relieved of his duties he had doubtless found some means of following us—himself unseen—and had been the actual moving spirit in the underhand arrangements for our capture; for he evidently owed allegiance to the chief, and was perfectly familiar with the life of the cavern.

Fresh sentries had been told off to guard us, and one or two of these fellows went off to procure us some food. By this time I was nearly fainting for want of nourishment. I glanced across to Ned’s corner, and fancied that he had been awoke by the noise in the cave, but I could not tell for certain.

Some sausage and coarse bread was brought to me on an earthenware platter, and my arms were unbound that I might eat, the sentries sitting down close to me with loaded pistols in their hands. As the reader may suppose, I ate ravenously and without stopping to consider what the sausage was made of; but I was very disappointed to see that Ned Burton was not disposing of his supper also. I quickly guessed the reason of this, however. It was evident that we were not all to be allowed to take our meals at the same time for fear of our making some desperate attempt at escape whilst our arms were free. Perhaps on the whole this was a wise precaution.

When my hunger was satisfied I took another pull at the water pannikin, and began to feel more myself again. Inferior as the food was, it instilled new life into my veins and raised my spirits wonderfully. My head still ached painfully, and the muscles of my arms were terribly stiff and sore; but I felt convinced that no serious harm had accrued from the blow I had received on the head, and that was something to be very thankful for.

I should have liked to prolong my meal as much as possible so as to allow of the muscles and sinews of my arms regaining some of their ordinary elasticity; but I was afraid that my doing so would still further postpone my coxswain’s supper hour, so I finished off as quickly as possible, and submitted quietly to the indignity of having my arms bound again.

I had the great satisfaction a minute or two later of seeing Ned peg into his prison allowance as if he had not had anything to eat for a month. It was really a great relief to me, for I could not help feeling anxious as to the effect of the severe flogging he had so lately received at the hands of the mule-driver, for severe no doubt it had been. I could not see Ned’s face at all distinctly, as he was so much in the deep shadow, but I augured favourably from his apparently prodigious appetite.

My brief conversation with Mr. Triggs recurred to my memory as I lay ruminating upon the floor of the cave. The gunner had pooh-poohed the idea that the chief had effected our capture with the notion of making away with us, founding his belief on the length of time that had elapsed since we had been taken prisoners. It appeared to me doubtful whether much importance could be attached to that. I knew that the gunner was considered a man of sound judgment; but it also occurred to me that he had already made one fatal mistake in endeavouring to make a reconnaissance in a hostile country with an inadequate force, and he might even now be making mistake number two, and deceiving himself egregiously.

Yet it seemed the most plausible explanation of our capture, that a demand for a heavy ransom would be made to the Spanish or the British Government—that is, supposing that the chief and his followers were simple bandits and nothing more; and for all I knew to the contrary, they might be. But then it occurred to me that even if a ransom were paid and we were released, the subsequent extermination of the whole band by the Spanish troops and an English naval brigade would be a comparatively easy matter. Would bandits allow themselves to run this terrible risk? Had their stronghold been situated in the midst of inaccessible mountains far from the haunts of man, the case would have been different; but this cave—

My ruminations were suddenly cut short at this point by the loud baying of the Cuban bloodhound, which had arisen from its crouching position and was alternately sniffing the air and glancing at its master. The next moment a messenger arrived in a breathless condition and handed a note to the chief.

The latter took the missive without uttering a word, tore it open, and quickly mastered the contents. Then he gave one or two short sharp words of command, in response to which all his followers leapt to their feet and busied themselves in preparations for an immediate departure.

I was thunderstruck at this sudden resolve on the part of the chief, and wondered what it portended. I calculated that it must now be somewhere about midnight, though I could not tell for certain.

My thoughts were suddenly turned into a still more disagreeable channel; for the chief stalked up to me, in company with his ferocious four-footed satellite, and made the latter deliberately smell me all over. This repellent couple then crossed over and went through the same performance with Ned Burton. Then they disappeared around a corner of the cavern, doubtless in search of Mr. Triggs. I am ashamed to say that I felt in mortal terror when that fierce-looking dog came and poked his great jowl and snout against me, as if in search of a nice tender place in which to bury his fangs. There could be no doubt as to the reason of this strange procedure. The dog was to be familiarized with our scent, so that in the event of his being put upon our trail he would follow it up with more bloodthirsty zest.

It gave one a “creepy” feeling to think of it!

The chief now came hurriedly striding back into the main part of the cavern again, and pointing first at me and then at Ned Burton, issued some order in his usual domineering manner.

Immediately we were seized, lifted upon our feet, and blindfolded.

It was evident that we were going to set off on a journey somewhere, and my heart sank within me at the thought; for not only was my poor head still racked with pain, but I felt terribly fatigued as well, and almost overcome with a strong desire to sleep.

In rasping tones the chief marshalled his men and enjoined silence upon them. Every voice was hushed, but I could clearly distinguish the heavy breathing of my bête noire, the Cuban bloodhound, as it followed its master about.

One hope animated me at this moment, and that was that the chief was about to beat a retreat in consequence of the advance of the naval brigade, and therefore that there was a chance of our being succoured ere long.

“Jim Beddoes must have given the alarm before this,” I muttered to myself, “and we shall soon be free again.”

We moved off almost at once, and I quite expected, from what Mr. Triggs had said, that we should immediately emerge into the open air; but to my surprise this was not so. No fresh air of heaven fanned my heated brows, and I did not stumble over stones and inequalities in the ground. I was impelled forward at a rapid pace, but it was quite evident that we were still underground. It was equally evident to me that we were following some narrow, dark, and tortuous passage. The flickering light of torches penetrated, to a certain extent, the bandage over my eyes, and I was gifted with a keen sense of smell, which revealed to me the fact that I was breathing the noxious atmosphere of an ill-ventilated subterranean tunnel charged with mephitic vapours. The footfalls of the men, as they trooped along, sounded hollow and unreal, as also did the occasional ring or clang of their weapons. Now and again the sound of water dripping over rocks smote upon my ears, and I heard the rush and gurgle of a stream—no doubt the one that had fed the cavern cascade—as it forced its way through some underground aqueduct of nature’s own making.

It was terribly tantalizing to be blindfolded.

The way seemed to me interminable. Once or twice I began to feel my head swim round; but I managed to pull myself together with a great effort, hoping every moment that we should emerge from the subterranean passage and be enabled to breathe pure air.

The idea occurred to me that it might be difficult, indeed, to discover the main entrance to the cavern if it was by such an approach as this, and one could hardly blame Jim Beddoes for not having discovered our prison. I felt sure that the gunner had been mistaken in thinking that he saw the mouth of the cave from where he lay, and I concluded that he had probably been deceived by the descent of the flood of light from some orifice overhead.

At length I began to breathe more freely. The mephitic vapours were gradually giving place to a purer atmosphere. It was like new life to me, and the feeling of faintness passed away. Still we seemed to wind along the tortuous tunnel. Still the measured tramp, and the reverberating echoes upon the rocky vault.

A low word of command issued by the chief; a halt; a whispered conference which appeared to last some time; a few hurried footfalls, and then a sound of some heavy obstruction being rolled back. I felt a sudden rush of cold night air. With what ecstatic delight did I draw it into my lungs, and feel it playing over my face and hair. My nerves were instantly braced up, and my head ached with less intensity.

Another order came from the chief, still in a low tone, as if he were fearful of being overheard.

Once more we moved forward, and then a strange thing happened. I was bent almost double by the men who were conducting me, and pushed through what seemed to be a small square orifice in the rocks.

CHAPTER XV.
A MARCH TO THE COAST.

I was in the open air. Of course I knew that at once.

There was very little delay. Another whispered conference, and we moved on again. The ground was now broken and rough, and from the woodland scents which were wafted to my nostrils I came to the conclusion that we were in the depths of one of the Cuban forests. Occasionally, too, I stumbled, in spite of my guards’ precautions, over rocks and tree-roots.

No one spoke. The route was one evidently well known to the chief and his myrmidons, for they seemed to me to glide on unerringly. At times we climbed the sides of low hills, but as a rule we followed a downward gradient. I felt sure that there was no path, and that we were simply striking a bee-line across country. As there was no moon, some of the men carried torches. Judging from the smell, I should say they were made of some resinous wood.

It occurred to me that our captors were running a great risk in thus marching across country by the light of torches; but I concluded that they knew their own business best.

One thing was certain—the affair was a very urgent one.

There was a mystery about the whole business which puzzled me much. To unravel it seemed impossible.

I cannot tell how far we travelled on this dreary journey, but I think a couple of hours or so must have elapsed when I was astonished to hear the distant sound of waves breaking upon a rocky shore.

We were approaching the sea.

My mind immediately became filled with gloomy forebodings, for I conjectured that our captors were about to embark in some vessel and take us away from the island of Cuba altogether.

This was a terrible thought, and one that in my most dejected hour had never occurred to me. All trace of us might be lost if once we were forcibly removed from Spanish soil. And whither were these villains going to take us?

Whilst I was oppressed with these sombre thoughts, a little incident occurred which cheered me somewhat. The bandage which was around my eyes had slipped a little, and I was enabled to see to a certain extent what was going on around me. It was very dark, but the flare of the torches enabled me to see objects close at hand. As far as I could tell, we had just emerged from the forest, and were now following a stony track leading down to the sea-coast. The latter was not visible in the intense gloom that prevailed; but every moment the roar of the waves became more distinctly audible, and the briny breath of the ocean came sweeping up on the wings of the night breeze.

At the head of the party, I could just discern the chief, who was evidently acting as guide; and I could also see the gunner and Ned Burton, who were only a few paces in front of me. My coxswain, I thought, seemed to walk with some difficulty, and I attributed this to the effects of the flogging he had received.

In about ten minutes’ time we were near enough to the sea to enable me to make out the white surf of the breakers as they dashed on some outlying rocks that seemed to act as a natural breakwater to the little bay we were approaching. The booming noise of the waves breaking upon the beach was mild compared to the roar caused by this buffeting of the great boulders. The storm clouds we had observed in the sky during the afternoon had all vanished, and the celestial star-gems, flashing and twinkling, shone down brilliantly from their setting of dark lapis lazuli. Not a vapour obscured the clear radiance of heaven’s vaulted dome, with its ghostly light from a myriad distant worlds.

Was that a dark-hulled, rakish-looking vessel I saw riding upon the sombre waters of the bay?

It looked uncommonly like it, but the faint starlight was so deceptive, and the glare of the torches so distracting, that I really could not tell for certain. That it was a genuine little bay we were fast descending into seemed beyond all question, for I could now make out the dark irregular line of the coast as it reared itself against the starlit sky.

My thoughts were now concentrated upon the vessel I thought I had seen anchored in the bay. Had she been a genuine trader, she would surely have had a light burning as a signal to other vessels to give her a wide berth.

Ah, there she was! Yes, I saw her indistinctly, it is true; but still that hasty glance was enough to satisfy a sailor’s keen eye.

What was this mysterious craft?

There was no time to ruminate further on this head, for we had now arrived upon the beach, which was composed of patches of firm sand and shingle, interspersed here and there with a few slab rocks, and terminated at either end by low but precipitous dark cliffs.

I peered about me intently, fully expecting to see boats drawn up on the beach, and attendant crews waiting close at hand. Nothing of the kind, however, was visible.

“The chief will send up a rocket,” I muttered to myself, “and then boats will be dispatched from the vessel in the bay.”

How earnestly I hoped that the bandage over my eyes would not be examined by any of my meddlesome jailers! I considered it of great importance that I should continue to see, even to a limited extent, what was going on.

My conjecture as to the firing of a rocket was falsified. No such fiery messenger clove through the darkness, nor did we halt for a moment. Without uttering a word, the chief led the way along the beach in the direction of the cliffs at the northern extremity of the bay. I glanced again and again at the dusky outline of the vessel, fully expecting to see the flashing of lights, or to detect the sound of voices. All, however, remained still, silent, and dark, as if every one on board was buried in slumber. Once, indeed, I thought a signal rocket had soared up into the air from her upper deck, but it turned out to be a bright and beautiful meteor which shot across the sky just above her masts.

As we neared the cliffs, I saw that there were many lofty detached rocks on the sands close to them, and others jutting out into the sea in every direction. On these latter the waves were breaking in showers of foaming spray. It was not at all rough, but the tide was evidently flowing.

Suddenly my eye fell upon a natural archway amid some of the loftiest rocks, and as I gazed the chief disappeared through it, followed closely by the leading files. The next moment I had passed through the aperture myself; and so surprised was I at the scene that burst upon my view that I almost gave vent to a cry of astonishment.

Fortunately I restrained myself just in time, or the consequences might have been fatal to my seeing anything more.

We were advancing along the shores of a miniature almost land-locked cove, the beach of which was composed of extraordinarily fine white sand, quite free from pebbles and rocks. Drawn up on the strand were two black boats, the crews of which were lounging about close at hand. The instant, however, that we appeared upon the scene, these men were on the alert, and began making preparations for launching the boats. A slight tall man, however, who was enveloped in a Spanish cloak, detached himself from the crowd, and advanced to meet us with hasty strides. I was alarmed to see that he had in close attendance on him a Cuban bloodhound, of much the same aspect and dimensions as the one with which I had already made acquaintance. As this individual approached, we were ordered by the chief to halt, and the latter took the stranger aside and held a private conference with him. The two dogs took the opportunity to greet each other, and judging by their whimpers of delight seemed to be very old friends.

The cove was very sheltered, and its waters lay in almost a stark calm, reflecting as in a gigantic mirror the gorgeous stars which strewed the firmament. Now and again a fish rose to the surface amid a burst of phosphorescent light which disturbed its tranquillity. The beach was somewhat steep and the sand firm. A better landing-place for boats could not have been found in the island of Cuba, I am certain.

As far as I could tell in the dim light—the torches had now been extinguished—the boats were of a good size, but certainly not capable of embarking us all.

The conference the chief had been holding with his mysterious friend had now terminated, and the latter issued some order to the boats’ crews, the effect of which was that the two craft were run down the steep beach with great speed into the water. Three or four men jumped into each and seized their oars. Then the chief gave his satellites the word of command, and before I knew where I was I found myself forcibly seized by four men, carried down to the water’s edge, and then unceremoniously bundled into the stern-sheets of one of the boats. Anxiously I peered out to see what would become of my fellow-prisoners, and was relieved to see that they had both been placed in the other boat.

It made me despondent indeed to find that my fears were realized, and that we were to be forcibly removed from Cuba; but had I—through some nefarious scheme of the chief—been separated from my shipmates altogether, the blow would naturally have been far more severe.

The chief got into the boat in which I had been placed, and my bête noire came and threw himself down close to me, his fangs being within an inch or so of my face. Feeling his hot breath quite distinctly, I tried to shift my position, but I found that I was effectually wedged in by my jailers. The remaining dog got into the other boat.

To my surprise, a number of the men who had accompanied us from the cavern remained on shore, evidently having received orders of some kind from their chieftain. I thought it possible that the boats might be going to return for them after we had been safely disposed of on board the vessel.

In an instant, and in dead silence, the two craft were pushed off into deep water, and their noses were turned in the direction of the open sea. The oars were muffled, and gave out little or no sound; but the blades appeared to be plunging in and out of liquid fire, so full of phosphorescent light were the star-begemmed waters of the little cove.

I had little doubt that we were being taken on board the vessel I had seen in the larger bay, and this conjecture proved quite correct. In spite of the tide being against us, we spun along at a very rapid pace; for the men pulled with tremendous energy, although with quick, jerky strokes. In a minute or two we had passed through the narrow, rock-guarded entrance of the little cove, and were in the rougher water outside.

From my position in the boat I could only partially see the vessel we were steering for, and the light was very deceptive; but I took her to be a small brig of foreign build and rig.

Our boat outstripped the other, and we got alongside first.

Two minutes later I was securely manacled in irons on the starboard side of the lower deck, just amidships, my bandage and lashings having been removed.

It was degradation indeed, but I determined to try to face my fate manfully. “Never say die!” should be my motto; and somehow the saying of the heroic Sir Humphrey Gilbert came into my mind, “Heaven is as near to us on the sea as on the land.”

CHAPTER XVI.
IN IRONS.

Five minutes after I had been put in irons, Mr. Triggs and Ned Burton, under a strong guard, were brought down a hatchway ladder just over my head. I was overjoyed to find that they were going to be manacled close to me, for I had not in the least expected such good fortune. As soon as my shipmates’ legs had been secured, and their arms and eyes set free, our guards hung a lantern to the beams, went away, and left us alone.

It was evident that the vessel was going to get under way at once, for there was a great hubbub on deck, and I thought I could distinguish the noise of a windlass and of a cable coming in at the hawse-hole. I knew, too, that the land wind was blowing, and felt sure that the chief would wish to take advantage of it to get clear of the coast before dawn.

Mr. Triggs and Ned were as delighted to see me as I was to see them.

“They didn’t mean to put us together, I suspect,” said the gunner; “but it so happens they’ve got irons only in this part of the ship, and can’t well help themselves.”

“This is an armed vessel,” said I, watching my shipmates’ faces keenly, “and must be a privateer, or perhaps a piratical craft of some kind.”

The gunner started.

“How did you gain that information, youngster?” he asked. “Weren’t you blindfolded?”

Ned was watching me curiously. I was grieved to see by the light of the flickering lantern that his face looked haggard and drawn.

I told them how my bandage had slipped down, and had enabled me to spy to a certain extent upon the doings of our captors.

“That was a slice of luck, and no mistake,” said the gunner, rubbing his hands; “and if ever we succeed in circumventing these villains, your knowledge may prove to be most important.”

“What do you think they’re going to do with us, Mr. Triggs?” I asked.

“I’m just as much puzzled as ever,” answered the gunner. “They want to get a ransom for us, I s’pose, but ’tis the most mysterious business I was ever mixed up in.”

“The owdacious swabs!” put in Ned angrily. “I only hope that our skipper will make a clean sweep of ’em when he hears tell of their little game.”

I condoled with my coxswain as to the vile treatment he had received at the instigation of the mule-driver.

Ned thanked me warmly for my sympathy.

“Of course, I knew you’d feel for me, sir,” he said; “but don’t you trouble your head any more about the matter, but try to forget it. I’d do the same myself, but my back is that stiff and sore I’m blowed if I can.”

“Now just a word or two of advice, if you’ll excuse it,” observed the gunner, “and then we must try to get forty winks, for it’s no good blinking the matter we’re all as tired out and exhausted as we can be. The advice is this: We had better not be seen talking by any one. If any member of the crew comes down on this deck, mum’s the word! Take no notice of any insults or bad treatment. Try to look as if you liked it. Keep your weather eyes lifting, and your ears open, but look as stupid as owls. Now, good-night, and God bless you both!”

Ten minutes later the gunner and Ned Burton were actually fast asleep. Sailors who have seen as many years of service as they had seem to be able to fall into the arms of Morpheus at a moment’s notice, even under extraordinary conditions.

How I envied my companions in misfortune!

For a long while—or so it seemed to me—sleep would not seal my eyes. The hurried rushing to and fro of men on deck, the creaking and clanking of spars and cables, the subdued shouts of those in command, and the answering hails from the crew—all combined to keep my senses on the alert and to banish slumber. Besides all this, my brain was in a whirl. All the strange adventures of the last twelve hours recurred again and again to my memory, and my anxious thoughts kept dwelling also upon the deadly perils of our present situation, and of the utterly unknown future looming like a gloomy cloud upon the horizon of our lives. I was especially oppressed with the dark foreboding that our shipmates would be unable to discover that we had been torn away from the shores of Cuba. I pictured them anxiously and energetically searching every nook and cranny of the valleys and hills in a vain search for us, and utterly ignorant of our real whereabouts.

It was weak and foolish of me to take this pessimistic view of matters, but the reader must kindly remember that I was in a very exhausted and overwrought state.

The waves were dashing against the vessel’s sides; she heeled over slightly under the influence of the land breeze; the noises on deck had ceased. We were under way.

The gentle, almost imperceptible motion of the little craft seemed to lull me to rest, and in a few minutes, in spite of the hard deck, my heavy iron manacles, and still heavier forebodings, I fell into a feverish, restless sleep—rocked in the cradle of the deep.

I was awoke some hours later by feeling a heavy hand upon my chest, and hearing a loud, fierce voice in my ear.

CHAPTER XVII.
ON BOARD THE PIRATE BRIG.

I started up. It was broad daylight. The ill-favoured countenance of the mule-driver was the first thing that met my gaze. The fellow was kneeling on the deck beside me, and there was a sardonic grin upon his swarthy visage as he stared at me.

“No can possible wake them mans,” he said, indicating my still slumbering shipmates with a jerk of one of his skinny fingers; “dare say you can do him.”

I started violently.

This rascal, then, spoke English, or a rude smattering of it, at any rate!

The mule-driver noted my surprise, and gave a guffaw. Then he pointed to three basins of some kind of porridge which stood upon the deck close beside him. In each reposed a wooden spoon of very ample dimensions.

“Brokefast!” he ejaculated. “Englishmans get plenty fat on him,” and before I had recovered from my astonishment he had glided away and disappeared swiftly and silently up the hatchway.

“An evil spirit!” I muttered to myself with an involuntary shudder, and then I aroused my shipmates by calling them by their names. At first they seemed greatly startled, but they quickly realized their position, and asked me how I had slept.

I told them of the mule-driver’s appearance, and of his knowledge of English; and then I pointed to the three basins of porridge, which were just within my reach.

“Understands our lingo, does he?” remarked Mr. Triggs thoughtfully. “Then he’s a smart fellow in his way, you may depend, and knows a doosid sight more about us than he ought to.”

“He wouldn’t have been of much use to his mates as a spy if he hadn’t ferreted out summat or another,” said Ned. “Will you be so kind, Mr. Darcy, as to give me up one of them basins of skilly, for I’m mortal empty and mortal dry?”

I glanced at my coxswain, and was pleased to see that he was looking better and cheerier.

In a moment we each had a basin of porridge in our hands, and were assiduously stirring the not very appetizing compound contained therein.

The gunner sniffed scornfully at his.

“Hominy stirabout, as I’m a living sinner!” he ejaculated; “and flavoured with rancid butter.”

“A villanous compound, but not bad at the price,” I said, trying to put a good face upon the matter.

Ned made no observations, but was already half-way through his portion.

When he had completely emptied his basin, he placed it carefully on the deck beside him, wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jumper, and remarked sententiously,—

“Must keep body and soul together somehow. Don’t you sniff at yer wittles, Mr. Triggs, or maybe the swabs’ll put you on half-rations!”

I managed to swallow a few mouthfuls; but it really was a villanous compound, and I could get no further.

“I suppose there ain’t no chance of getting soap and water out of these thunderin’ thieves,” said Ned, glancing at his grimy hands; “’tain’t in their line, as you may say.”

“I’m afraid not,” said I; “but we can ask the mule-driver next time we see him.”

At this very moment the subject of our conversation came down the ladder, and approached us with the object of removing our porridge-basins. I noticed that he glanced in a furtive, underhand manner at Ned Burton.

“No,” he growled out in answer to my request that we might have some soap and water; “we no wash ourself, why you do him?” Then he slouched off whistling.

“No soap and no baccy!” said Ned plaintively, as soon as the fellow was out of hearing. “’Tis hard upon a chap, and no mistake.”

At Mr. Triggs’s suggestion, we exercised our arms gently, so as to get the stiffness out of them; and the good effect it had was wonderful. I am afraid my coxswain found it rather a painful operation, but he made no complaint.

“I’d like to practise fisticuffs on some of these rascals’ heads,” observed Ned after we had finished. “A lesson or two in boxing ’twould be, and nothing to pay for the larnin’.”

The deck on which we were confined was rather dark even in broad daylight, being illuminated only by the rays of light which came down the small adjacent hatchway, and by three or four remarkably dirty scuttles in the ship’s side. Amidships, I noticed that there were a good many casks and cases securely fastened to stanchions by stout rope; but what they contained I had no means of ascertaining. Close to my left hand was a row of bulkheads, and these stretched athwartships right across the deck, and had a door in the middle, which I fancied opened into the crew’s sleeping-quarters.

The little craft was evidently going through the water at a slashing pace. She was almost on an even keel, but we could plainly hear the water rushing and gurgling past under her counter. The gunner gave it as his opinion that she was running before the wind at eight or nine knots an hour. Silence seemed to prevail fore and aft, and we could not even hear the flapping of canvas, the cheeping of spars, or the rattle of a rope through a block.

Once I heard the melancholy bay of a bloodhound, and could not help thinking that it was a sound of evil omen.

The morning wore on, and we saw nothing of the chief. Every half-hour or so the mule-driver crept down the hatchway ladder to see that we were safe. He had pistols stuck ostentatiously into his belt upon these occasions, but always resolutely and sullenly refused to answer any questions we addressed to him, so at last we gave it up as a hopeless job.

It was really a great relief to us that the chief did not put in an appearance, for we felt strongly that no appeal for mercy, or demand for release, would have the slightest effect upon him; nor was he likely to proffer any explanation as to his reasons for kidnapping us. Again, we none of us wished to renew our acquaintance with his ferocious-looking bloodhound, nor to be introduced to the latter’s compatriot, which doubtless was also on board.

The morning passed away wearily. It was a great boon to be able to converse with one another, but we were a melancholy trio, as the reader may suppose, for at present we saw no chance of being able to free ourselves from a terribly irksome and even cruel captivity.

No bells were struck on board the brig—for such I believed the little craft to be—and we had no means of telling the time. I think, however, it must have been about noon that the mule-driver, whose name I had discovered was Miguel, brought us a mess of dried fish and rice for our mid-day meal. From the ancient smell which seemed to hover about the former article of food, we did not anticipate much enjoyment from eating it; but, to our surprise, it did not prove at all unpalatable, and we finished every morsel of it with great gusto, Ned declaring that he had not had such a “tuck-in” for months, and that fighting-cocks weren’t in the running with us at all.

In the afternoon we slept long and heavily, but we awoke—all confessed to it—feeling feverish and irritable. If Miguel had inadvertently put his ugly visage at this moment within reach of Ned Burton’s prodigious fist, I fancy he would quickly have retired from whence he came, a wiser and an uglier man, and have made tracks for the galley to try to coax the ship’s cook out of a raw beefsteak.

Happily for us no such fearful contretemps occurred; and, as the effects of our afternoon snooze wore off, we began to feel more amicably inclined towards our fellow-creatures.

“Ned,” said Mr. Triggs abruptly, “where’s your knife?”

“My knife!” ejaculated the seaman. “Well, that’s a good un anyhow. Why, it’s where your ticker and t’other gimcrack vallables is—up the spout!”

“My ticker up the spout!” said the gunner with a sudden assumption of dignity; “I don’t quite follow your meaning.”

“Well, I was speaking in a sort of parrydox or conundrum, I take it, Mr. Triggs,” answered Ned, floundering, as was sometimes his wont, into expressions of which he did not know the meaning. “What I just meant to say was that these blooming highwaymen, or pirates, or whatever scum they are, have pouched the whole bag of tricks. My knife and lanyard, my baccy-box, and a ring my great-aunt give me just afore we sailed from England, have gone the same way as your watch, and trinkets, and such like.”

“I’m sorry for it,” said Mr. Triggs; “a knife would have been worth its weight in gold to us.”

“Likely enough,” assented Ned, looking at his superior a little curiously. “I reckon you’d have liked it handy to eat bread and cheese with if the pirates give you a chance.”

“No, I like whittling to amuse myself,” said the gunner with a sly wink; “though it’s very useful too sometimes to cut one’s stick.”

“That’s as true as gospel,” answered the seaman with a grin; “but I tell you what, you might sit there and whittle and whittle till the crack o’ doom, but you wouldn’t cut no sticks while them young cables is riveted to your blessed feet. That’s a conundrum if ever there was one.”

“Ah, I keep a brighter look-out ahead than you do, Ned. I should like to have a knife handy for operations ashore a little later on.”

My coxswain stared.

“How do you know they’re going to put us ashore?” he asked. “They may keep at sea for a long time to come.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Mr. Triggs, that we might be marooned?” I put in anxiously.

“Pooh!” answered the gunner, “maroon your grandmother. What possible benefit would it be to them to put us ashore on a desert island, I should like to know?”

“Some spite against our government, or naval authorities,” I answered.

“Ah, there’s something more than mere spite at the bottom of this business, my lad, don’t you make any mistake. Now, shall I tell you what I think these kidnapping fellows are?”

“Fire away!” I said laconically.

“Well, I think they’re out-and-out pirates—that’s what I think they are,” said the gunner emphatically; “and I’m under the impression that their headquarters are on some almost unknown island a considerable distance from Cuba, and that they prey upon the shipping that passes to and fro in these seas. I also think that they are mixed up in the smuggling business, and that, owing to the laxity of the Spanish navy, they have managed to form a depôt in those caves which we—”

“Ha, ha! I see zat you know all that am posshible to tell about him!” exclaimed a high-pitched voice from the hatchway, and the next moment, to our great dismay, the crafty sallow visage of Miguel appeared, glaring at us through the steps of the ladder.

“What a mean spy-cat!” exclaimed Ned indignantly.

The gunner felt very much nonplussed.

“’Tain’t much use my giving you fellows good advice,” he said sotto voce, “when I let my own tongue wag and run away with me like that. The chief will have a down upon me now, that you may depend upon.”

I watched Miguel curiously to see what he would do next, fully expecting that he would come and insult us in some way, for I knew quite well what a mean and petty nature the man had. To my surprise, however, he only gave one of his sardonic grins, and then disappeared in his stealthy fashion up the companion ladder.

“A good riddance of bad rubbish,” said Ned contemptuously; “if there’s anything I loathe in this world it’s an eavesdropper. There’s only one thing worse, and that’s a religious hypocrite.”

“I only hope he didn’t hear you call him a mean spy-cat, Ned,” I said, anxiously regarding my coxswain.

“Bless your young heart, sir, I don’t care a snap of the fingers if he did or not. He can’t do me more harm than he has already, I take it.”

“I wouldn’t give him the chance if I were you, my man,” said Mr. Triggs in a low tone. “For the future we’d best just talk in whispers, for that swab is sure to be up to his spy-catting tricks again from time to time.”

This was good advice, and we determined that we would follow it.

At about the hour of sunset, Miguel brought us our supper of porridge; but he made no reference to the late episode, and indeed did not vouchsafe to utter a word, good, bad, or indifferent. We did not at all object to his taciturnity, but ate our suppers with as good an appetite as we could muster up—certainly with many wry faces on my part. Even Ned allowed that the hominy and rancid butter wasn’t a patch on the salt fish and rice.

We were kept well supplied with water, a pannikin being always near us.

The sun went down, and our prison-deck became wrapped in gloom. It seemed as if night was to be ushered in by the baying of bloodhounds, for I distinctly heard a mournful chorus from those four-footed man-hunters, which was kept up for some little time. Ned was very superstitious about this, and declared that the Irish “banshee” was nothing to it.

Soon after darkness fell a couple of armed sentries arrived to mount guard over us. For the greater part of the time they marched up and down with rifles in their hands; but occasionally they sat down upon the deck within easy reach of us, smoked bad cigarettes, and played at dominoes. They were relieved at intervals, I believe; but I slept very soundly, strange to say, and was hardly cognizant of what went forward during the night hours.

I was awoke in the early hours of the morning by a chorus of shouts and angry yells, and a grinding and buffeting noise and vibration which seemed to shake our little vessel violently from her cutwater to her stern-post.

“We’ve struck on a rock, I’m afraid!” cried the gunner, starting up in great alarm. “I hope, if the vessel begins to sink, they’ll knock off our manacles in time to give us a chance for our lives.”

“Maybe ’tis a collision,” said Ned, “and that would be as bad perhaps. I take it these furriners are only fair-weather sailors at the best of times.”

Our guards had rushed on deck at the first sound of alarm.

At this moment the crash of a volley of musketry rang out above the confused din on deck. Then we heard shrieks and yells of agony mingled with the shouts of commanding voices and the baying of the bloodhounds.

We exchanged glances of astonishment and horror.

“Didn’t I say they were pirates?” exclaimed Mr. Triggs in an excited tone of voice. “This proves it. There is no need to be on deck to watch their villanous deeds, for ’tis all as plain as a pikestaff. We’ve run alongside some merchant vessel, and these precious scamps are going to board and take possession of her.”

I clung to the hope that the other vessel was the attacking one, and might prove to be a Spanish man-of-war or revenue boat; but I could not help feeling that the gunner was most likely correct in his conjecture.

Without doubt we were in the hands of lawless, bloodthirsty pirates.

A brisk fire of musketry was being kept up, and now and again I distinguished the sharp crack of pistols and the clash of steel. The shouts and yells of the contending parties were indescribable, so prolonged and violent were they. The fight was evidently a desperate one.

The grinding and buffeting noise still continued as if the two vessels were lashed to each other pending the issue of the conflict. We listened intently for every sound, exchanging remarks now and again in awestruck, subdued whispers.

At times we thought we could distinguish the voice of the chief ringing out like a brazen trumpet, as he directed the operations of his followers. To my surprise, no guns were fired from the upper deck, although, in my hasty glance around, when I was carried on board, I had noticed that the brig was provided with some sort of armament.

Presently the shouts and yells of the combatants grew fainter, as also did the rolling reports of the musketry and the sharp, spiteful cracks of the death-dealing pistols.

“The pirates have boarded ’em, poor chaps,” said the gunner; “there can be no doubt about that. The fight is being carried on aboard t’other craft now.”

“God help ’em if they gets the worst of it, poor chaps!” said Ned; “I don’t believe they’d get quarter from men like Miguel and his mates.”

At this moment a piercing shriek rent the air, followed by a dead silence which lasted for some seconds. Then we heard loud hails, apparently from a distance, and answering shouts from some one on board our brig. This was immediately followed by some orders given in a piercing voice by an officer on deck.

A rush of men’s feet—a rattling of ropes and blocks—a steady tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp.

“Bracing up the yards,” said Mr. Triggs, “and altering course to close t’other craft, which has shot clear of us somehow. That shriek haunts me, shipmates, and I’m afraid it meant some deed of infamy.”

There was no doubt that the gunner was quite correct as to the two vessels having in some way swung clear of each other, for we had noticed for some little time that the two hulls were no longer clashing and colliding together.

“Well, I’d give summat to be on deck and to see what’s going forward!” exclaimed Ned impatiently; “and what’s more, I’d like to be striking a blow for those poor chaps what’s in danger of losing their vessel.”

Bump, bump, bump! The two ships were evidently alongside each other once more. We heard shots, the creaking of spars, and the rattling of cordage, but no sounds of conflict.

The fight had evidently been settled the one way or the other.

A few minutes later, the chief, with a look of animal ferocity gleaming from his sombre eyes, came slowly down the ladder. He had a bloodstained bandage around his head, and walked with a limp. Close at his heels stalked his bloodhound, which had evidently lost an ear in the fray.

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PIRATES’ ISLAND.

What the chief’s intention was in seeking us I do not know, for before he had reached our side of the ship he turned livid, swayed heavily forward, and fell prone upon the deck, evidently in an unconscious state.

“The fellow has fainted from loss of blood,” exclaimed the gunner; “what shall we do?”

“Rather a good job he has, I take it,” said Ned with great complacency; “for he looked mighty vicious as he came down the ladder, as if he hadn’t half slaked his thirst for slaughter.”

The bloodhound seemed much concerned at the mishap that had occurred to its master. For a few seconds it stood and glared at us ferociously, as if convinced that we were in some way responsible for what had happened. Its bristles were erect upon its back, and, in the semi-darkness of the lower deck, its eyes glowed like red-hot coals, whilst blood oozed from its shred of a mutilated ear and dripped upon the deck. It flashed across my mind for a moment that the great beast was going to spring upon us like a tiger upon its prey, and that with our legs in irons we should be in a very awkward predicament; but to my immense relief the savage animal at that moment sat down beside its master, and throwing back its massive head with a jerk, gave vent to a loud and most pathetic howl.

“If that dogerwauling don’t bring some of the swabs tumbling down the hatchway, smash my top-lights if anything will!” observed Ned; “’tis the most onnatural shindy that ever I came across by a long chalk.”

My coxswain was right. The dog had just lifted his head for another ear-piercing howl, when a confused hubbub of voices was heard at the top of the hatchway, and the next moment Miguel and two or three other swarthy fellows came rushing down the ladder in a reckless manner, evidently very perturbed in mind.

They were all talking at once, vociferating at the top of their voices, and gesticulating wildly. All were armed, and bore unmistakable traces of the late fray.

“Your boss has fainted from loss of blood, I reckon,” said Ned, pointing out the chief’s motionless recumbent form to Miguel. “He suddenly fell down as if he had been shot.”

Miguel made some surly rejoinder, the meaning of which we did not catch. Then he made a sign to his comrades, and together they stooped and raised their leader’s apparently lifeless body, and bore it swiftly up the companion ladder, closely followed by the bloodhound.

“I wonder if he’s dead,” I remarked in an awestruck voice as soon as they were out of sight. “He may have suffered from heart disease, and the excitement of the battle may have brought on an attack.”

“That’s possible,” said Mr. Triggs; “but it’s much more likely to be the effect of the wound in his head, which, I expect, was more serious than he thought.”

Soon after this occurrence Miguel brought us some breakfast of coffee and brown bread. As the reader may suppose, we did our best to wheedle some information out of him; but he was even more taciturn than usual, and would not deign to respond to our questions.

An admirable spy and an admirable jailer, was he not?

Before we had finished our meagre breakfast, we knew that the two vessels were no longer alongside each other, and that our brig was cleaving her way through the waves again as if nothing out of the common had happened. She had doubtless been brought to her course again; but what of the captured craft? Had a prize crew been put on board, and was she accompanying us on our mysterious voyage? We came to the conclusion that this must be so; for there had been no time to transfer her cargo to the deck of the brig, and the pirates would not have scuttled her without performing this very necessary operation.

We were now very careful not to talk on subjects that might be considered treasonable by our captors, for fear of being overheard. I managed, by great good fortune, to sleep away a good many hours of this particular day, which was an uncommonly hot one. The pain in my head from which I had suffered so much on the two previous days had now entirely disappeared, but the place where I had been struck by the miscreant’s pistol was still swollen and sore. For this latter misfortune, however, I cared but little.

It was about the hour of sunset that Mr. Triggs aroused me from a fitful slumber into which I had fallen.

“Wake up, Mr. Darcy,” he said; “we’ve come to an anchor.”

I was keenly on the alert in a moment. At anchor! Yes, but where?

Of course, I had been expecting to hear the news at any moment; and yet, when it came, it gave me a sort of electric shock.

The brig was lying steadily upon the water. I heard the last links of her cable rumbling out of the hawse-hole. Yes, we were at anchor.

A half-hour of anxious suspense followed, during which we hardly spoke. I felt very despondent, and so, judging from their looks, did my companions. Then heavy footsteps resounded on the deck above us, and half a dozen armed men—one with his left arm in a sling, and another with a bandaged head—descended the companion ladder, bringing tools with them wherewith to release us from our manacles.

This latter operation did not take long, and our guards then secured our wrists with stout twine and led us on deck. How thankful I was that they did not blindfold us.

The chief was on his quarter-deck, looking rather haggard. His head was still bandaged, but was surmounted by a very large broad-brimmed felt hat. He was armed with his sword and silver-mounted pistols; and grouped about him were some of his principal followers, several of whom had evidently not come scathless out of the late affray. I noticed that upon the upper deck the brig carried six small brass guns, and abaft all, under a small poop, were stands for rifles and side-arms. I took all this in with a hasty glance, and then hurriedly turned my attention to the long, low stretch of land which was just visible over the port bulwarks.

Was it an island?

I was just debating this point in my mind, and trying to obtain a clearer view of the brig’s surroundings, and to see if there was another vessel with us, when I received a severe blow upon the back from a sheathed sword.

Turning hastily to ascertain who my cowardly assailant was, I found that it was Miguel, whose face wore its usual malevolent smile.

“Keep eye shut,” he said significantly, “or you get your troat cut, like plentee moch of ze udder Ingleeshmans!”

I considered that this was a delicate hint worth taking, for I had no wish to be put out of the way, or even blindfolded. So I cast my eyes sheepishly to the deck, and answered not a word.

But I very quickly had fresh opportunities of using my powers of observation. The chief issued some order, and we were at once marched to the entry-port by our guard, and conveyed down the side into a large cutter-shaped boat which lay alongside, manned by half a dozen of the brig’s crew. We were placed in the stern-sheets; and I had no sooner taken my seat there than my eye fell on a topsail schooner lying at anchor a few cable-lengths ahead of our own vessel. Everything on board her looked in great disorder, and I noticed that some of her rigging was shot away and hanging in bights, while her sails were loosely flapping about, and her yards and gaffs at all sorts of queer angles. I heard a confused hubbub of voices proceeding from her upper deck, but could not see the speakers owing to the schooner’s very lofty bulwarks.

“Yonder is the prize,” whispered Ned to me; “and a taut little craft she looks.”

I could not answer him, for I saw Miguel’s glittering eyes upon me. I gave my coxswain a warning nudge, and at the same moment the order was given to shove the boat off.

The oars splashed into the water, our bows were turned towards the land, and the crew struck up some kind of a boat-song with a weird refrain.

The chief and some of his followers remained on board the brig, but I fancied that they were preparing to follow in another boat.

There was a dead calm on the sea. The surface was like a mirror, unruffled by the faintest zephyr of a catspaw. The sky in the west was aflame with the ruby tints of sunset, fading away above in delicate gradations of colour into topaz, aquamarine, and pale sapphire; while faint bars of amethyst cloud, edged with gold, seemed to hover above the horizon line, as if preparing to follow the sun on his nightly journey. The exquisite sky-tints were reflected in the motionless ocean mirror in tender shades of colouring.

I thought of my messmate Fitzgerald, and how he would have raved about this fairy-like scene; then my mind reverted to my chum, Charlie Balfour, lying wounded on board the Rattler, and I wondered if he would be told of my disappearance. Again my thoughts travelled across the broad seas, and concentrated themselves on my happy home in the old country; and with tears gathering in my eyes I found myself muttering a prayer to the Creator of the universe, that those near and dear to me might never know the painful particulars of my capture and captivity.

I strove to shake off these gloomy thoughts, and turned my attention to the island we were now fast approaching.

I could not be certain whether what I saw before me was an island; but it had every appearance of being so, and I felt sure that we had not sailed far enough to reach the coast of Central America. An exuberant tropical vegetation seemed to cover the low hills, and the shore was fringed with dense groves of palm trees, some of the latter appearing almost to kiss the waves with their great drooping fronds. I saw no signs of any inhabitants, or of buildings of any kind, nor could I detect any traces of cultivated land. As we drew inshore, however, I noticed that there were numerous outlying cayos, as they are called in these seas, or coral reefs, covered with exquisite verdure. To thread one’s way in a boat through these labyrinths of tiny West Indian islets is often an operation requiring great skill and nerve, and a thorough knowledge of the winding channels.

The world looked beautiful, bright, and happy, and as if wrapped in a sublime repose. How strange it seemed that we should form part of such a fair scene! A band of bloodthirsty pirates, their souls black with recent crime, were indeed an incongruity in such a picture.

I glanced at them for a moment. Their swarthy, unprepossessing faces were positively irradiated with the fast-fading roseate tints of the western sky, but even that could not redeem them. They were stamped too legibly with the brand of their evil passions.

I had for a long time felt convinced that our captors had no connection with the Cuban insurgents, or with the mutineers of the Flying-fish. There could be no doubt that Mr. Triggs had surmised rightly, and that they were pirates first and smugglers afterwards. It was merely a coincidence that their great cave happened to be not far distant from our line of march; and undoubtedly our reliable spies had mistaken them for a body of insurgents, and had so led us astray. The pirates’ reason for kidnapping us, of course, I could not fathom. It remained a mystery.

We threaded our way carefully through the cayos, and presently I noticed that we were approaching what appeared to be a narrow but fairly deep lagoon, fringed with mangrove bushes, and overhung with clumps of tall feathery bamboos, and picturesque palm trees. Flocks of sea-birds, which had apparently been fishing, rose into the air with shrill screams of protest as we approached, and then winged their way seawards.

The boat’s crew had ceased their wild singing, and now began to pull rather leisurely, the oars dipping very irregularly in and out of the placid waters.

In a few minutes we were gliding up the lagoon, which seemed to teem with fish. I noticed that two or three cranes were standing in a watchful attitude in the shallows, and that kingfishers and several kinds of waterfowl were seeking the shelter of the mangrove-studded banks. Far above our heads soared a frigate pelican.

A rude pier, constructed of roughly-hewn logs of wood, now came into view, and the boat was steered directly for it. The steersman gave a loud and very peculiar shout, which echoed with weird effect among the trees, and seemed to die away in mocking laughter on the slopes of the more distant hills.

Two dark alert-looking figures almost immediately emerged from a grove of trees near the head of the pier, and gave a shrill answering shout, at the same time moving forward rapidly in the direction of the boat. It was now getting dusk, and I could not distinguish them clearly, as the triumphant glories of the sunset sky were fast fading in the western heavens.

Amid much jabbering and inane laughter on the part of the crew, we glided alongside the pier. I just had time to notice that one of the men who stood there to receive us was old, and wore a grey pointed beard, although his figure was erect and military-looking. The next instant, we were hustled out of the boat by our guards, and marched off without any delay towards the head of the pier. I had time to notice that four men remained in the boat, and that these fellows promptly pushed off into deep water, as if with the intention of pulling off to the brig again for a fresh consignment of passengers.

The two men who had awaited our advent at the pier accompanied us on our march, and I saw them look at us keenly, and heard them asking innumerable questions in a very surprised tone of voice, evidently pumping our captors as to our identity and nationality. Miguel was the one who principally took upon himself to answer these queries.

On quitting the rude pier we struck off by an upward gradient on a broad but roughly-constructed path leading through a grove of palm trees. The atmosphere here was hot and close, although the sun had set, and mosquitoes and other insects seemed to swarm in myriads and caused us much annoyance. The shades of evening were gathering fast, and the pirates stepped out briskly as if afraid of being benighted. They were, of course, well armed, and kept a watchful eye on us, having orders, no doubt, to shoot us dead should we make the slightest attempt to escape.

I fancied that both Mr. Triggs and my coxswain looked less anxious than they had done on board the brig. They were marching just in front of me, and now and again I caught a hasty glimpse of their faces.

To our great relief, we soon emerged from the palm-grove, and found ourselves on a small open savannah of natural turf. On the right hand it sloped away rather abruptly to a sheet of water which was either a long narrow lake, or the upper strip of the salt water lagoon that we had just quitted. Its dark waters were only visible here and there through vistas in the trees that studded the savannah, but I could see that they swarmed with waterfowl. I found myself wondering whether the pirates’ brig could be towed through the outlying cayos into the outer and deeper waters of the lagoon. As the island seemed to possess no harbour, the brig would otherwise have to remain in the open roadstead, and run the risk of being perceived by passing vessels.

The track we were following wound up over the upper slopes of the savannah, and had evidently been trodden by many feet from time to time. On our left hand, at the distance of about a hundred yards, was a belt of somewhat stunted jungle; and beyond the upper boundary was a precipitous escarpment of rocks and boulders, amidst which clumps of brushwood and tussocks of long coarse grass seemed to find soil enough to flourish in. Above these, again, were other gentle slopes, clothed with trees, terminating in a long, level, arid-looking ridge destitute of any vegetation, which was doubtless the backbone of the island.

As we toiled up over the savannah, we came upon the first signs of a human habitation which we had seen. This was a long low dwelling with mud walls, and a roof of the flimsiest description thatched with dried grass. Around the building were a few banana, bread-fruit, and guava trees; and in front was a large patch of cultivated ground containing yams and sweet potatoes, which was being lazily hoed by two sleek-looking and nearly nude negroes. In the doorway of the house a stout negress, arrayed in a flaring cotton dress, was seated, nursing a pickaninny, and singing softly to herself the refrain of some African cradle-song. I noticed the start of astonishment this black trio gave when their eyes fell upon us. The negroes ceased working, and leaning upon their hoes stared at us as if their great rolling black orbs were going to drop out of their sockets; and the negress, starting to her feet, and placing her baby in a sort of rude hammock, which was slung under a couple of fruit trees, waddled toward us with her arms akimbo, and her full-moon face expressive of the greatest astonishment.

The scene changed in a twinkling, for Miguel and some of his choice companions attacked these black dependants of theirs with what was, I am sure, a torrent of invective. The hoers resumed their work without a word of remonstrance; and the negress, evidently terrified at the threats hurled at her, fairly turned tail, and attempted to run in the direction of the hammock in which she had deposited her pickaninny. Any pace but that of a slow walk, however, was evidently foreign to this good lady’s habits, and in her confusion she caught her foot in the root of a tree, and went sprawling on the ground in a very helpless sort of fashion; for it was evident that she could not get up again without assistance, and was very much in the predicament of a turned turtle on the beach. The pickaninny set up a roar at this critical moment, and I could hear its “mammy” gasping and spluttering like a stranded fish.

Bearing away sharp to the left, we entered the belt of jungle of which I spoke before. Here the light was sombre, and, but for the fact that the trees had been felled along the route, would have been difficult to traverse.

In about ten minutes we emerged from the belt, and found ourselves in a singularly arid, barren-looking stretch of country, which had, I fancied, a volcanic appearance. The island was certainly larger than I had expected, and appeared to be of somewhat remarkable formation. Boulders of peculiar shape were scattered about in all directions, and ridges of scarred and fissured rock, running up towards the central ridge, broke up the slopes of the hills into numerous shallow stony ravines, one or two of the latter conveying streams of water in the direction of the sea.

A small lake of remarkably transparent emerald-green water lay beneath us, and on its surface was a canoe containing two dark figures, evidently men engaged in fishing. Miguel gave them a yell that might have awakened the dead, but we did not pause in our march for an instant. There came a responsive shout from the lake, whereupon I saw that the canoe was being paddled to the shore.

The path was now narrower and more stony, but the pirates did not diminish their pace. The way was tortuous, winding amongst huge cliff-like rocks, and around the brows of desolate boulder-strewn hills. Suddenly we arrived upon the verge of what looked like the large crater of an extinct volcano. Its edges were fringed with sparse vegetation, but within all was arid and desolate in the extreme, and the brown, bare, thirsty-looking soil was strewn with blocks of lava and igneous rocks, where lizards probably held high revelry whenever they felt in a “jinky” humour.

I jumped two or three feet off the ground!

The old greybeard, who was walking close to my side, had pulled out a bugle, on which he blew an ear-piercing and mighty blast.

The way the notes echoed and re-echoed in apparently endless reverberations amid the rocky cliffs of the crater sounded almost uncanny, at length dying away like the faint mutterings of some evil spirits lurking in the shadowy ravines.

A couple of vultures soared over our heads, and I fancied I heard in the distance the mournful howl of a jackal.

The evening air seemed unusually chilly after the sweltering heat of the day, and in spite of our brisk walk I felt a cold shivering fit come over me.

As if in response to the bugle blast, half a dozen villanous-looking fellows came rushing along the path to meet their compatriots. They eyed us with a broad stare of astonishment, and then fell to questioning our captors eagerly.

The track now led us down over the lip of the crater, and in a moment we found ourselves on a sort of terrace strewn with boulders, and apparently blasted out of the volcanic detritus deposited centuries before amid frightful convulsions of nature.

CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE CRATER CAVE.

It was a weird spot, and in the gathering darkness had a depressing effect upon one’s spirits. Here there might have been enormous catacombs, where the dead of untold ages had been brought from other lands to be entombed; and if so, what troops of uneasy ghosts might be found wandering about the yawning chasms of the gloomy crater after nightfall!

For was there not the dusky entrance yonder to some land of hidden rock-tombs?

Before it stood two small brass cannon, their polished mouths gleaming with a menacing look through the semi-darkness. Beside these weapons of war stood, neatly arranged, piles of shot.

It flashed across me immediately that the pirates had here some cave dwellings; perhaps their headquarters, where they kept their looted cargoes.

I was not long kept in suspense, for our captors hurried us through the dark entrance which I had noticed in the cliffs as resembling the gloomy portals to some dreary abode of the dead.

We found ourselves in a beautiful little grotto, low in the roof, but almost circular in shape. The atmosphere reeked with the strong fumes of tobacco. On one side several cases, bales of goods, and barrels were piled, the one on top of the other, and on one of the latter stood a lighted ship’s lantern, which thoroughly illuminated the little cavern.

I was enabled to take only a very hurried survey of our new surroundings, for the pirates hustled us through a very narrow passage opening from the rear of the cave into another of about the same dimensions, but irregular in shape, and exceedingly dark and gloomy in appearance, there being no natural orifices in the roof to admit light or air. It was in fact a subterranean dungeon, for such in my present depression of spirits I felt it to be.

One of the pirates struck a match and lit a lantern that he had brought with him from the outer cave. This he placed in the centre of the sandy floor. Another individual had brought in a bundle or two of dried grass, and this he proceeded to strew upon the ground at the farther end of the little cavern. Upon this Miguel motioned us to take our seats, a gesture with which we at once complied. All the pirates now retired to the outer cave, with the exception of the old greybeard and Miguel, who stood eyeing us for some time without uttering a word.

Mr. Triggs broke the unpleasant silence.

“It is time, I think, that we should demand some explanation of your conduct,” he said, speaking slowly, and addressing the mule-driver. “We should like to know for what reason we have been taken prisoners, and what is going to be done with us.”

The greybeard evidently did not understand English, for he looked in a puzzled way at Miguel and addressed some question to him. The two men conferred together for some minutes, and it was evident that they disagreed upon some knotty point. At length Miguel turned to us in rather a sulky manner, and addressing the gunner said,—

“Ze Captain-General in Havana have gotten in one prison two mans zat pelong to our ship; and if he shall kill zem, we shall kill you for ze return complimont, as you shall spik in ze Inglees. We should have much like better to catch ze Spanish orficer; but Inglees or Spanish, it can make vaire leetle deference to us.”

“But it makes a deal of difference to us, my fine fellow,” said Mr. Triggs, with a considerable amount of indignation in his tone; “and I should like to know how and when you are going to let the Captain-General know that you have taken us prisoners?”

One of his malevolent smiles flitted across Miguel’s features, and he shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. Then, slipping his arm through the greybeard’s, the two quitted the cave without vouchsafing us another word.

“I wonder whether that fellow is a consummate liar or not,” whispered the gunner, turning to me.

“I shouldn’t wonder if he was speaking the truth for once,” I answered in the same low tone. “I think the old greybeard persuaded him to tell us how matters stand.”

“Not a bad old codger, I’m thinking, that there ancient,” chimed in Ned; “but I’m dashed if I think Miguel could speak the truth if he tried for a month of Sundays!”

“You think what he told us was a made-up yarn then?” I asked my coxswain.

“Yes, sir, I do, and for this here reason. Do you suppose as these bloomin’ pirates would go and run their heads into a noose just because a couple of their pals are in chokey? Why, they’d bring a hornets’ nest about their ears in the shake of a pig’s whisker if they tried on any such little game! Mighty foolish they’d look, I take it, strung up in a row like a lot of Yarmouth herrin’s!”

Mr. Triggs looked thoughtful and rather troubled. He was not a man of much imagination, and was fairly puzzled by the perplexities of the situation.

“How is your head, my boy?” he asked, turning abruptly to me.

“Much better, thank you, Mr. Triggs. There is still a swelling like a walnut, but it doesn’t hurt me an atom.”

“Good. How’s your back, Ned?”

“Pretty tol-lollish, sir, thank’ee.”

“These are queer diggings the pirates have,” said I; “and I expect they’ve more caves even than these two. They couldn’t stow away very much loot here.”

“’Tis a place that can be very easily defended from an assault,” remarked Ned. “I should say there was no path leading to the terrace except the one we arrived by, and the beggars could sweep that in a murderous manner with their two cannon.”

“True enough, true enough,” assented the gunner; “as far as I could see ’twas all precipices below and aloft, and ’twould be something of the nature of a forlorn hope to try to rush it.”

“Don’t you think it would be quite possible for the pirate chief to communicate with the Spanish authorities, without betraying the whereabouts of his island?” I asked Ned.

“Do you suppose as the Jack Spaniards don’t know of this here settlement then?” demanded my coxswain in a surprised tone. “It may be so, of course, but I shouldn’t be a bit taken aback if I was told that they were all in the swim, and winked at it.”

I could tell by the expression of Mr. Triggs’s face that he didn’t much believe in this theory of Ned’s; but at this moment some of our captors entered with supper, and we relapsed into silence. The meal consisted of a sort of kedgeree, made of fresh fish and boiled rice, and would have been palatable enough if the cook had not used garlic as a flavouring. We were all allowed to discuss our supper at the same time, but four armed men took up their position as sentries just within our cave-entrance, and looked quite capable of shooting us at a moment’s notice.

From a subsequent uproar of shouting and talking in the outer cavern, I gathered that the chief and some more of his followers had arrived, and I was confirmed in this belief by hearing the deep baying of the bloodhounds. None of these late arrivals, however, intruded themselves upon us, which I attributed partly to the indisposition of the chief.

The atmosphere of our cave grew very oppressive as evening wore on, all the more that it was permeated with clouds of smoke from strong tobacco; but in spite of all this I slept soundly, worn out with fatigue and anxiety.

The next day, nothing occurred to break the monotony of our captivity. We were not permitted to leave the cavern, and its gloom and foul atmosphere were depressing. Nevertheless, our guards did not prevent our talking, which was indeed a precious boon, but we took especial care not to abuse the privilege. Every evening our arms were bound, and four armed sentries were always on watch day and night.

Every morning when I awoke, it was with a hope in my heart that we should hear during the day the roar of the Rattler’s guns, or of some war-vessel sent by the Spanish Government to demand our release. Every evening I had to confess to bitter disappointment, for no such warlike sounds had thundered forth.

Day after day passed in this manner, and we began to grow sick at heart. Had Captain Graves and our shipmates deserted us in our hour of need? No; we scouted the idea indignantly. They must have utterly failed to trace us. There was no other explanation. Mr. Triggs and I began to think too that Ned was right in his conjecture that Miguel had been telling us falsehoods regarding the Captain-General of Cuba. If there was any question of exchanging prisoners, why all this delay?

After the first few days of our captivity had passed, we were allowed to go out on the terrace for an hour every day about the time of sunset. If this privilege had been withheld, we should soon have become very ill, for the weather was extremely oppressive; and the cool sea-breezes, which ought to have tempered the fierce heat during the day, did not seem able to penetrate into the great hollow of the volcanic crater. We badly wanted a change of clothing, but there was no means of obtaining it. Occasionally, however, we were allowed to perform our ablutions.

I think about a fortnight must have passed, when it came to our knowledge through various channels that the chief and a good many of his followers had gone off upon some expedition, whether on the island or by sea we did not know. Miguel remained behind, and the greybeard. This event caused much comment amongst us. I noticed that Ned visibly brightened up.

“Ah, how I wish we could get a chance to give the swabs the slip!” the latter whispered to me just after our arms had been bound that evening. “It’s when their numbers are reduced like this that we could best give ’em the good-bye, p’raps. However, ’tain’t no use talking. They’re all armed to the teeth; and even now, with their reduced numbers, they are eight to one, to say nothing of them great bloodhounds, which, I notice, the chief has left behind him—just to worrit us, I’ll be bound.”

“As to escaping,” I said, “it’s impossible. Even if we tried to break away when we’re out for exercise, the pirates would shoot us down before we could get clear of the terrace, and—”

I was interrupted by the sentries taking up their position at the doorway; and it was dangerous to converse on such a topic, for fear that some of them knew a smattering of English.

I racked my brains to think of any plan of escape. So did my fellow-prisoners. Nothing seemed feasible. Our prospects were dark indeed, unless help came from over the seas; and even in that eventuality it might be the sounding of our death-knell, for we felt convinced that the pirates, if worked up to a frenzy, would not stick at trifles.

We invented a sort of gibberish language, in which we could converse without fear of being understood; but even this we used with extreme caution, for fear of accidents. The words were formed in a very simple manner, although it required some practice to speak them rapidly; and of course, the quicker the enunciation, the less chance of the gibberish being intelligible to others.

One morning, when we were feeling particularly despondent, and had hardly been able to get through our not very appetising breakfast, we felt a sudden and very alarming oscillation of the ground on which we were seated, and this was followed by a deep rumble like the sound of thunder or distant artillery.

“An earthquake, surely!” exclaimed Mr. Triggs in a tone which sounded almost terror-stricken.

“Or is it the guns of a fleet?” I cried wildly; “friends come at last to release us.”

“Don’t be alarmed or put about,” said Ned, who had remained perfectly calm; “’tis only an earthquake, and a slight one at that. I’ve felt heaps of ’em off the coast of Chili, and don’t care a snap of the fingers for ’em. They are as common in them regions as wet days are in England.”

Mr. Triggs looked relieved.

“Well, ’tis my first experience of ’em,” he said, “and I can tell you I don’t want to have another.”

Scarcely had the words escaped his lips when a far more violent oscillation shook the solid earth, followed by the same uncanny subterranean rumble. Then a loud crash, like the sound of falling rocks, smote upon our ears, followed by terrified screams and shouts from human voices.

CHAPTER XX.
THE ESCAPE FROM THE CAVE.

We sprang to our feet in genuine alarm. The guard of four armed men at the doorway fled panic-stricken into the outer cave, crying in shrill tones to their fellows.

“God preserve us from this awful danger!” exclaimed Mr. Triggs in faltering tones.

His courage seemed to have deserted him in this strange emergency. As for me, I felt completely dazed, and unable either to think or to act.

An atmosphere of stifling dust was filling our cavern from without.

The awful dangers that threatened us were, that the roof of the cave might fall in and bury us in its rocky débris, or that the entrance to the cavern might get blocked by a fallen crag and entomb us alive.

Ned Burton was calmness and coolness itself on this occasion. His voice never faltered, nor did his cheek blanch. He at once took the lead, and issued authoritative orders without consulting us. His splendid bravery, his presence of mind, and his readiness of resource quickly restored our confidence, and braced us up to meet the emergency like British seamen—who, like their immortal Nelson, should not know what fear is.

Our guards had dropped their weapons in their panic. This did not escape Ned’s eagle eye. In an instant he had pounced upon them, and at the same time he took a hasty survey of the outer cavern.

“Every mother’s son of ’em has skedaddled,” he remarked hurriedly to us. “The entrance ain’t blocked, and the coast seems clear, so far as I can tell.”

We had now joined Ned.

“Here,” he said, shoving a sword and a pistol into each of our hands, and retaining a rifle himself, “stick to them weapons like grim death. Follow me, but don’t utter a word. This here earthquake may be the saving of us, and—”

My coxswain’s speech was drowned in the most extraordinary and terrifying noise I had ever heard—many degrees worse than the late subterranean thunders.

It was a loud but indescribable hissing and fizzing sound, mingled with the deafening reports of continuous explosions. It was as if all the fireworks and all the gunpowder in the world had been exploded at the same moment. The solid earth under us shook with convulsive tremors, but the oscillating movement had ceased.

Even these terrifying sounds did not disturb Ned’s equanimity. He did not attempt to speak again, knowing how useless it would be, but he beckoned us to follow him, and darted into the outer cave, where a weird gloom seemed to prevail, and where the atmosphere was charged with a strange, stifling, sulphureous smoke.

In spite of the semi-darkness, one glance showed us that the cave was deserted. Hope welled up in my heart. There really was a chance of escape! I grasped my weapons firmly, determined to sell my life dearly if necessary. It did not occur to me at the moment that it would be impossible to escape from the island without some means of crossing the sea.

It was providential indeed that the entrance to the cave had not been blocked by some huge boulder, for many of these fallen masses of rock had in reality come hurtling down from the cliffs above. Indeed, as afterwards came to our knowledge, two of the pirates were crushed and killed by them.

It was characteristic of my coxswain’s coolness at this crisis in our fortunes that, as we crossed the outer cavern, he saw my watch and chain lying upon the ground amongst some other valuables, calmly picked it up, and popped it into his pocket.

I have that watch still, and I never look at it without thinking of my devoted coxswain—one of the finest specimens of a British blue-jacket that I have ever known.

We hurried out with drawn swords in our hands. No enemies confronted us, however, but a weird and awe-inspiring sight met our gaze. Never, as long as I live, shall I forget that really terrible panorama.

The old extinct volcano had suddenly burst forth into renewed activity. After perhaps thousands of years of quiescence, the awful igneous powers of Nature had by some occult process in her dread laboratory been kindled anew. Through vast fissures in the earth’s crust clouds of steam were pouring forth, with sulphureous and other gases in clouds; while torrents of ashes, lava, mud, and stones were shot high into the air, darkening the very sun.

The pirates had all fled, and had taken the bloodhounds with them. There could be no doubt about that. In their panic they had completely forgotten our existence, and had only thought of saving their own wretched lives. What a mercy it was that we were free of our bonds when the crisis came!

I think it occurred instinctively to us all that this was only the commencement of some vast and terrible convulsion of nature, and that the sooner we got clear of the crater and its surroundings the less chance there would be of being overwhelmed by torrents of boiling lava and showers of stones, or of being suffocated by clouds of ashes and the fumes of poisonous gases.

Picking our way carefully, therefore, through the masses of fallen rock which strewed the terrace, we made our way under Ned’s guidance to the little pathway which we knew led out from this inaccessible spot into the open country.

I was rather alarmed lest we should meet with some of the pirates here, who, I conjectured, might be in hiding among the adjacent rocks; but fortunately my fears were groundless, and we emerged from the tortuous pathway without having encountered any obstacles.

Ned paused for a moment, and looked about him keenly.

The light, as the reader may suppose, was exceedingly deceptive, and the landscape had a darkened, ghastly aspect, as if an eclipse of the sun were in progress.

Another violent earthquake at this moment shook the ground, making us stagger like drunken men and nearly lose our feet. I distinctly saw a huge fissure yawn on the slope of a hill near us. This was a new danger; we might be swallowed up.

All this time, the volcanic forces were furiously at work, and the sounds which proceeded from the dread crater seemed to me to be growing louder and more threatening every moment. The atmosphere too was becoming more deadly and pestilential, and once or twice I felt as if I should have fainted, and I clung to Ned Burton’s stalwart arm for support.

As soon as the violent oscillation of the last quake had passed away, we took to our heels and ran for dear life. A rain of fine ashes had begun to fall from the sky; but this did not inconvenience us much, and we hoped soon to get beyond its influence. We occasionally heard stones and other débris striking the earth, but fortunately we escaped any injury from these dangerous projectiles.

Every moment it grew darker, and a heavy pall, huge and sombre, seemed to be gathering and hanging over the doomed island. There was no wind. A deadly calm seemed to prevail among the air-currents, as if they had been paralyzed by the awful convulsions that were going on below.

We stumbled on as rapidly as possible, but my breathing soon became so affected that I was forced to cling to my companions for support. The mephitic atmosphere did not seem to cause them any discomfort. The gunner appeared to have regained his usual courage and presence of mind, now that he found himself out of sight of the boiling and seething volcano mouth, every moment increasing his distance from it.

My coxswain had a good bump of locality, and led us by an almost unerring instinct. I soon saw, however, that he had no intention of following the pathway down to the creek where we had disembarked; for when we arrived within sight of the hut where we had seen the negroes hoeing, he turned off abruptly to the left, and made straight for a gap in a low ridge of hills just above us. Breathless and almost exhausted we reached this spot, and passed through to the other side. Here some huge boulders seemed to offer a temporary hiding-place, and I pointed them out to Ned.

“We’ll lie low there for a few minutes,” assented my coxswain; “I’m blest if I ain’t a bit done up myself.”

It was the first time he had spoken since we had fled from the burning crater; indeed it was only in the last ten minutes that it would have been of any use to attempt to do so. We were now, however, at a fairly safe distance—or at least so we thought—from the destructive volcano; and although we could still distinctly hear the hideous uproar that was going on in that great natural cauldron of occult powers, it was not loud enough to prevent our speaking to each other in peace. It was still very dark, and a certain amount of fine ashes was still falling; but from our present hiding-place the sky was almost obscured by overhanging rocks.

We were all gasping for breath when we flung ourselves on the ground.

“So far so good!” said Ned at last. “We’ve slipped our cables and got clear of them varmints of pirates, thanks to these mines and countermines and fireworks from the lower regions. The question now is, how we are to get clear of the island; for, to my mind, it ain’t a fit place for a respectable Christian to hang out in no longer than he can help.—What do you say, Mr. Gunner; for you’re the senior officer of this here party?”

Mr. Triggs seemed buried in a brown study.

“I think you were quite right not to make for the creek, Ned,” I remarked; “the pirates are certain to have gone in that direction, and we should have been recaptured as sure as eggs are eggs.”

“I’m not so sure,” said my coxswain in a musing tone, “that it mightn’t be a good plan to remain in hiding till nightfall, and then steal down to the creek, and endeavour to seize a boat under cover of the darkness.”

“Too risky, man, too risky!” exclaimed the gunner, suddenly chiming in; “besides, who knows what may happen between this and nightfall? Why, the whole island may be blown up, or overwhelmed by an enormous tidal wave. I’ve heard tell of such cases.”

“There’s something in that, as the monkey said when he fell through the skylight into a tureen of soup!” observed Ned gravely.

“I should propose,” continued Mr. Triggs, not heeding this interruption, “that we make for another part of the coast of this island, and endeavour to possess ourselves of a boat. We know that there are a few negro settlers living here, and if we came across any of them it might be possible to bribe them to assist us in our escape.”

“What should we bribe them with?” I asked; “we haven’t a dollar among us.”

“Here’s a watch and chain at any rate,” said my coxswain, triumphantly drawing those articles out of his pocket, and handing them over to me.

“Thank you, Ned,” I said; “you are a trump and no mistake. All the same, I’m afraid my watch and chain are not valuable enough to be of any use as a bribe.”

“I take it those niggers we saw are the pirates’ slaves,” observed the seaman; “and they’d be afraid of getting their weasands slit if it was discovered that they had helped us to escape off this plaguy island. And if we took a boat o’ theirn, how in the name of mischief should we be able to return it to ’em? ’Tain’t as if we could pay ’em double the value of the craft and have her for our own, you see.”

“I wonder if the chief is away cruising in the brig,” I said; “because, if so, the pirates that are upon the island will find some difficulty in escaping.”

“I very much doubt if they’ll want to shape a departure course from the island altogether,” said Ned; “leastways I take it they’d hang about a bit fust, and see what the wolcano is agoin’ to do. But if they do want to clear out, bag without baggage, I reckon they’ve towed that there prize o’ theirn into the creek afore this, and could get her under way in a brace of shakes.”

“What I’m very much afraid of is this,” remarked Mr. Triggs, “that when their first panic is worn off, they’ll remember about us, and send out search parties with the bloodhounds to hunt us down.”

“They won’t go within a good many cable-lengths of the wolcano, that you may bet your bottom dollar,” said Ned with a laugh. “By the piper, they was in a high old funk, and no mistake! I never see’d the like in my life before. They ran like riggers, the swabs.”

“Small blame to ’em,” cried Mr. Triggs emphatically. “I felt as green as a hadji’s turban myself, I can tell you; and as to running, I think we ourselves put our best foot foremost when once we got clear of the cave.”

“I don’t know about your feeling green, Mr. Gunner, beggin’ your parding for bein’ personal, so to speak,” said my coxswain with a grim smile, “but you sartinly looked a bit white about the gills.”

Mr. Triggs looked a little indignant at this facetiousness on Ned’s part, but the current of our thoughts was suddenly turned into another channel.

The volcano was evidently increasing in activity. The roar of the reports, the hissing of steam, and other frightful noises doubled in intensity, and the solid earth beneath us shook with violent tremors. Even showers of stones and mud began to fall about us, and the descending clouds of ashes became like a heavy rain or a fall of snow.

A really awe-inspiring darkness began to enwrap us as with a sable cloak. It was no time to be talking. We must act, and that promptly, or our fate would be sealed for ever.

We sprang to our feet, and it was at this moment that Mr. Triggs was struck upon the right shoulder by a volcanic stone.

“Why, this is as bad as being under fire!” he cried, rubbing the injured part. “Carry on, Ned. Act as guide, like a good fellow, and try to steer for the coast on the opposite side of the island from the creek.”

“Right you are, sir; I’ll do my best, and no man can’t do more than that. We’ll give the lagoon a good wide berth most sartinly.”

“If we keep to this side of the ridge, and descend these slopes beneath us,” I suggested, “we shall be on the right track.”

Taking the precaution to secure our weapons, we plunged out from our rocky refuge, and under Ned’s guidance began to feel our way down the boulder-strewn face of the hill, keeping as much as possible in a direction opposite to that in which the volcanic fires were raging. There was, of course, no sort of path, and the prevailing gloom made it extremely difficult for us to force our way onward over such a rough country, to say nothing of the stones and mud which continued to fall about us from time to time.

However, our blood was up, and we pushed on strenuously though in silence, hoping every moment that we should get out of that odious rain of volcanic débris. In about ten minutes’ time we succeeded in this, and halted for a minute or two to rest, and recover our breath. The atmosphere being now clearer, we fancied we could detect a somewhat extensive forest beneath us, and determined to make for its sheltering trees as speedily as possible.

There had been no fresh shocks of earthquake, but the volcano seemed by no means to have exhausted itself. A heavy pall of darkness hung in its vicinity, and ever and again explosions seemed to rend the air and to repeat themselves in endless echoing reverberations amid the chasms and rocky ridges of the arid hills.

“Did I hear a shout?” asked Ned suddenly, in an alarmed tone.

Mr. Triggs and I had heard nothing, but I knew well how quick of hearing my coxswain was.

We all listened intently.

“There it is again!” cried Ned; “I believe they’re upon our trail.”

This time my ear caught the sound of a human yell.

A moment later, to my unutterable horror, the baying of a bloodhound became distinctly audible.

CHAPTER XXI.
HUNTED BY BLOODHOUNDS.

For one moment we gazed at each other blankly, helplessly.

As the reader knows, we had foreseen the possibility of an organized pursuit. We had never thought, however—at least I had not—that the blow would fall so soon.

The pirates had quickly recovered from their panic.

Had we been aware of the fact that, on reaching the creek, they had encountered the chief, who had just returned from his cruise, we should not have been so surprised.

“To the forest, to the forest!” cried Ned; “it’s our only chance of safety!”

We turned and fled.

Fortunately the ground was clearer of obstructions than it had been. In fact, we were close to the boundary-line of vegetation once more.

We glanced back, but could see no sign of our pursuers. There was no mistaking the fact, however, that the bloodhounds were giving tongue, and were doubtless upon our trail. The human cries had ceased. The volcano was now doing us another service. Through the darkened atmosphere it would be impossible for the chasing pirates to see us till they were quite close.

But those awful dogs with their deadly scent! I could not doubt that they would track us down long, long before we could reach the coast. And even if we succeeded in gaining the seaboard first, the chances were a hundred to one against our finding any sort of boat—at any rate a friendly boat.

Our position, without doubt, was a desperate one.

I do not think that I have ever, during the whole course of my life, run at such a pace as I did on that occasion. The bloodhounds’ cruel bays lent wings to my feet, and I seemed to fly over the ground like a hunted deer with the bloodthirsty cheetah upon its spoor. My companions were both fleet of foot and sound in wind and limb, but, of course, we had all suffered a good deal from our captivity and from insufficient food.

Ned had evidently been struck with the idea that the forest would afford us an asylum; but I must confess that, at the time, I had very little hope that we could throw the dogs off the scent. It appeared to me that the animals would track us among the trees, just as easily as over the open country.

Should we even succeed in reaching the forest first? I felt painful doubts on the subject, for my ears revealed the fact to me only too plainly that the bloodhounds were slowly but surely gaining on us. Still we had had a good start, and that was something to be thankful for.

The view was certainly getting clearer as we advanced. The rumblings from the raging crater were more indistinct.

As yet we had not spoken a word. We did not want to waste our breath, and all our energies were concentrated on covering the ground at as rapid a pace as possible. Ned led the way with a fixed look of determination on his face. He carried his rifle at the trail, but none of us knew whether it was loaded or not; for, strange to say, we had not thought of examining it, or the pistols either.

Thanks to the famous spurt we had put on, we were rapidly nearing the outskirts of the jungle. It did not seem to be more than a hundred yards distant. Owing to the greater clearness of the atmosphere, I could now see that the forest was rather dense, but that it was comparatively small in area, and sloped away towards the sea, from which it appeared to be divided only by ridges of sandhills.

Yes, there was the sea plainly enough now, but looking dark and disturbed, as if it too had felt the terrible rockings caused by the seismic earth-waves.

It was not more than a mile distant as the crow flies; and as the island was not lofty in any part, I do not suppose we were in reality more than two hundred feet above its level. I hastily scanned its surface, but could discern no sign of a boat or vessel. Owing to the calm state of the atmospheric currents, the vaporous clouds that continuously shot up from the crater did not drift over the sea to any considerable extent, but rolled up in spiral wreaths towards the zenith, and hung in space like a vast nigrescent pall.

It suddenly flashed across me that I had not heard the bloodhounds’ bays for some little time, although previously the sounds had been almost continuous.

“Ned,” I gasped out, “the dogs have stopped giving tongue.”

My coxswain hurriedly glanced over his shoulder, but did not relax his pace for a moment.

“The same thing struck me,” he said, “but it would be impossible for them to lose the scent here. We mustn’t lose a moment. If you can’t spurt a bit longer, sir, you must take a good firm grip of my arm, for your weight would be a mere trifle to me.”

I assured Ned, with many thanks for his offers of assistance, that I was quite capable of keeping up the pace as far as to the forest, and, indeed, it was now not fifty yards distant. Mr. Triggs gave it as his opinion that for some unforeseen reason the pursuit had slackened.

The sudden silence of the dogs was certainly remarkable, but that they had lost the scent seemed a perfect impossibility.

The next moment we had bounded into the forest, which was composed of trees of some considerable age, most of which were closely united by hanging and trailing festoons of creepers, whilst beneath their umbrageous branches grew scattered underwood and young saplings.

Our sudden advent startled some monkeys that were skylarking about among the larger trees on the outskirts of the jungle, and they fled precipitately, shrieking with alarm.

“Tiresome little beasts,” cried Ned angrily; “the shindy they kick up is quite enough to draw attention to our whereabouts.”

“We can halt for a moment, I think,” said Mr. Triggs breathlessly, mopping his head at the same time with a large red pocket-handkerchief, which the pirates had had the complaisance to leave in his possession.

“Certainly. I wants to have a bit of a sky round,” replied Ned; “and I reckon we’re all a bit gone in the bellows,” and so saying he crept stealthily to the boundary of the forest, and, dropping upon his knees, gazed and listened intently.

He remained in this position for about half a minute, and then arose and rejoined us.

“This is a rum start,” he said hurriedly, “but I can’t hear nothing but that blooming wolcano a boilin’ and a spirtin’ away like old Harry! What’s become of them dawgs, and the swabs o’ pirates, is more than I can say. But we mustn’t hang about here; as I take it they’re going to play us some dirty trick or another.”

“Miguel is sure to put them up to something underhand,” I said; “he’s a regular mischief-maker.”

Ned now examined his rifle, and was relieved to find that it was loaded. Unfortunately, however, he had no spare cartridges. Our pistols, which were long heavy ones, were also charged, ready for use; but, of course, we were in the same predicament of being unprovided with any more ammunition. We also had the two swords, which might prove to be valuable weapons. They appeared to be of a military pattern, and were probably of Spanish manufacture—perhaps veritable Toledos.

“Got your wind again, Mr. Darcy?” asked the gunner.

“Yes,” I answered. “I’m quite ready for a start.”

“That’s the sort. We’ll carry on at once,” said Ned, “and make tracks for the coast-line, keeping to the forest all the way. That’s the safest plan.”

We had just started off again at a sharp run, when our ears were assailed with the blood-curdling sound of the sleuthhounds’ bay.

“God preserve us!” exclaimed the gunner, in horror-stricken tones; “the wretches have struck our trail again.”

For a moment we involuntarily turned our heads and gazed back through the vista of trees, which allowed us a partial view of the open country we had so lately crossed.

As we did so, a loud yell rent the air, and reverberated amid the sturdy boles of the forest-trees.

Simultaneously we all caught sight of a man, who had suddenly appeared on the summit of a cliff-like rock some little distance from the outskirts of the forest. He was not too far, however, for us to recognize both his features and his figure.

It was the chief.

As we gazed at him in a sort of fascinated way, another individual also sprang upon the rock.

It was Miguel.

CHAPTER XXII.
A FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND.

An exclamation of mingled astonishment and alarm burst from our lips simultaneously.

The chief, then, had returned—unknown to us—and was himself heading the pursuit. Small chance of escape, indeed, had we under these circumstances.

To my surprise, Ned’s calm demeanour vanished in a moment. He seemed to be seized with a sudden frenzy of passion, and to utterly ignore the dictates of prudence. It was the sight of Miguel, I suppose, that provoked this outburst of anger.

Our pursuers could not see us as we crouched among the underwood.

My coxswain gave vent to some fierce exclamation, and quick as lightning raised his rifle to his shoulder. He was an unerring shot.

“I’ll pay that thundering rascal out now for having me flogged,” I heard him mutter between his teeth, “and send a bullet through his ugly carcass!”

But Mr. Triggs seized him by the shoulder with a grip of iron.

“Drop your rifle instantly!” he said in an authoritative tone; “do you want to betray our hiding-place to them, man?”

Ned had not been trained in a severe school of discipline for nothing. Though his finger was on the point of pressing the trigger, he instantly lowered his weapon. A strange but relieved expression swept over his face as he turned to us. The sudden access of passion had passed away as rapidly as it had arisen.

“Thank you for the reminder,” he said in rather a husky voice. “’Tain’t often I feel in a revengeful mood, but I must confess I was off my chump for a spell, and could think of nothing but corpsing that chap.”

The gunner rose swiftly to his feet.

“Our best foot foremost, and cut and run,” he said in a low but emphatic tone; “’tis our only chance.”

In a moment we had plunged once more into the forest, striking off in a diagonal, downward direction, so as to bury ourselves deeper in the jungle depths, and yet draw nearer to the sea at every step.

Once more the much-dreaded bloodhounds gave tongue, warning us only too palpably of the proximity of our ruthless enemies. The chief and his henchman Miguel had obviously been taking a survey from the lofty rock, hoping to detect some signs of our whereabouts; but now they had evidently taken up the trail again, determined to hunt us down mercilessly.

Ned again constituted himself our guide, and led the way swiftly but noiselessly. Several times we knocked our heads against the pendent creepers and the low branches of the trees, and abraded our shins against fallen trunks and half-hidden rocks; but these little mishaps did not really delay our progress much. The hue and cry in our rear was too terrible a reality, and made us strain every nerve, every muscle.

Could we baffle our relentless enemies? could we outstrip them?

They had dogs, swift of foot and unerring of scent, pertinacious, inured to fatigue, accustomed to the hunting of human beings; and they themselves were active, wiry fellows, fired with angry and revengeful feelings, and thoroughly acquainted with the geography of the country. The odds were largely in their favour; no one could deny that.

Suddenly Ned turned to us with a triumphant look in his face.

“A stream!” he gasped out; “keep up this spurt for a spell, my hearties.”

For some few seconds I had heard the sound of a rushing torrent ahead of us, but had not attached any importance to the fact.

In another minute we were wading knee-deep in a brawling stream, some of the waters of which we scooped up with our hands, and thus quenched the burning thirst which was consuming us.

By Ned’s direction we began wading down-stream, keeping in Indian file, and avoiding snags and rocks as best we could. In some of the pools the water was up to our waists, and we could make but slow progress, especially as it was necessary to make as little noise as possible.

We knew only too well that our pertinacious pursuers had already entered the forest. Occasionally we could hear their shouts and the deep bay of the bloodhounds.

Ned’s plan was to baffle them, and throw the dogs off the scent, by wading for some little distance down the bed of the torrent. Mr. Triggs approved warmly of the plan, for he saw clearly enough that we should soon be hunted down if we kept to our original plan of flight, whereas we might possibly gain half an hour by utilizing Ned’s strategy. That half-hour might save our lives.

We floundered on for a considerable distance, and then emerged on the bank, wet and dripping, and listening intently for any sounds of pursuit. They seemed to have almost died away, but an occasional yell arose from some apparently distant spot in the forest.

Ned was in high feather.

“Well, I didn’t expect to succeed as well as that,” he observed, “for I thought to a dead certainty they’d twig what we was about, and follow down-stream. What a lot of owls they must be!”

“They may discover their mistake at any moment,” said the gunner. “Let’s make tracks for the sea-shore as hard as we can pelt.”

No sooner said than done! Following the downward course of the stream, we once more took to our heels and dashed off over the broken ground, rather handicapped now by our dripping garments and soaked shoes.

We had run about a quarter of a mile, and were inwardly congratulating ourselves on our good fortune, when the blood was almost frozen in my veins by hearing the unmistakable bay of a bloodhound in our rear. So near us was the ponderous beast that we could hear it forcing its way through the underwood as it followed on our spoor.

To my utter amazement Ned seemed pleased at an occurrence which seemed to me to sound our death-knell.

“Good luck! We must swarm a tree!” he cried. “Here’s one will do first-rate.”

I do not know if the gunner felt as bewildered as I did at this fresh strategy of my coxswain. At any rate he said nothing, but signed to me to scramble up the tree Ned had pointed out, the branches of which most fortunately hung low down.

To sailors the feat was a mere trifle, and before many seconds had elapsed we were all three ensconced in a sort of leafy bower, about fifteen feet from the ground.

Ned spoke in a hurried whisper to the gunner.

“Change weapons with me sharp,” he said; “our lives depend upon it.”

Mr. Triggs looked intensely astonished, as well he might, but he knew by the seaman’s emphatic manner that he meant business, and that there was no time for explanations. Indeed, as Ned spoke, he thrust his loaded rifle into the warrant-officer’s hand, and whipped the latter’s sword out of its scabbard. The next moment—like a dream it seemed to me—he was standing at the foot of the tree with the glittering blade in his hand. Just at that very instant I saw a bloodhound, its eyes aflame with anger and its jaws dropping saliva, rush out from behind a clump of trees, and bound fiercely in my coxswain’s direction. It appeared to be alone.

Still it seemed a dream—all a dream!

I was spellbound.

Not so Mr. Triggs! He was instantly alive to the situation, and began scrambling down from the tree with great precipitation, carrying the rifle with him—not an easy feat by any means even for a sailor!

It seemed to me that the fierce dog only took a couple of prodigious bounds, and then sprang deliberately at Ned, utterly regardless of the deadly sword blade. Like a man-eating tiger, he evidently relied upon his weight and the suddenness of his attack.

I saw my coxswain aim a blow at the huge brute as it rushed in upon him; but the next instant I saw him borne backwards to the ground as the animal closed with him. At the same instant I caught sight of the gunner raising his rifle to his shoulder as if with the intention of blowing out the bloodhound’s brains.

It was no longer a dream, but a living tragical reality; and there was I, safely ensconced in a tree, while my daring shipmates were fighting for their lives with what was practically a savage wild beast! Of course I saw now that Ned had unselfishly wished to place us in safety before confronting the bloodhound single-handed. Recalled to myself, and anxious to lend any assistance that lay in my power, I hastily commenced to descend the tree; but as ill-luck would have it, I grasped a rotten branch, which came away in my hand, and I was precipitated to the ground—fortunately from no great height. As I fell, I fancied I heard loud snarling and a deep moan. The next instant I was on my feet again, feeling rather confused, but having suffered nothing but one or two bruises. I was immensely relieved by the sight that met my gaze, which made an impressive tableau.

The bloodhound lay stretched out on the ground, stone-dead, with a puncture in the region of the heart. Ned was kneeling on the ground close to the body of his assailant, and holding a gory sword in his right hand. Leaning upon his rifle, and gazing down at the defunct beast, stood Mr. Triggs.

“’Tis a good job, Ned,” the latter was saying, “that I didn’t let fly at the beast. The report of my rifle would have brought a nest of hornets about our ears, I’m thinking.”

“That it would,” answered my coxswain, wiping his sword in a tussock of long grass; “but how it is them swabs have got separated from their dog beats me.”

“Well, it’s the fortune of war,” said the gunner grimly, “and we must be thankful for it. At the same time, mind you, they may not be a hundred miles away, and we had better make ourselves scarce, and steer for the sea-shore with steam up in all boilers.”

Ned sprang to his feet, and after inquiring of me whether I was hurt by my fall out of the tree, he proposed that we should secrete the bloodhound’s body for fear it should be discovered by the pirates.

This was good advice, and we proceeded to act upon it. The dog’s body was cumbrous and heavy, but by our united exertions we dragged it to the edge of a neighbouring ravine and cast it down. As this particular chasm was fringed with bushes and underwood, it would not have been an easy matter to detect anything lying among the rocks at the bottom of it.

I told my shipmates that I felt sure that if the other bloodhound was still at large, it would be certain, sooner or later, to scent out Ned’s victim.

The latter, we knew, was the pirate chief’s bloodhound, as we had instantly recognized it by its mutilated ear.

“Flaying alive would be too good for me now if ever I’m nobbled,” said Ned, as we once more set out at a sharp run; “leastways if that cut-throat head of the gang knew that I’d settled the hash of his highly prized bow-wow.”

“How did you manage to kill the brute?” I asked. “It was an awful sight to see it fly at you, and I thought I saw it knock you over.”

“Well, it just did bowl me over and no mistake, sir, but I fancied that something better was in store for me than to be popped off by a furriner’s dog, and so I kept as cool as a cowcumber, and let drive with the sword just as the beast was on top of me, as it were. My killing it was a bit of a fluke, there’s no denying that, for I didn’t know the bearings of his heart in the least.”

“You’ve rid us of our worst foe, Ned,” I said, “and given us a much better chance of escape.”

“That was in my mind, of course,” said the seaman. “Thinks I to myself, ‘Here’s that blooming dog close astarn of us, and somehow got separated from his mate and his owners. What a chance to put him out of the way on the quiet! Jiggered if I don’t slit his weasand for him.’ Well, I did something more effectual than that, Mr. Darcy; and here we are, with a fair start again, and I hopes as how we’ll stick to it.”

It certainly seemed like a turning-point in our fortunes; for though we even now heard some occasional shouts, they seemed to be at a considerable distance, and we could not detect any baying from the other bloodhound. I do not know whether I mentioned the fact before, but I had been rather sceptical as to this latter animal being upon our trail at all—at any rate during the last half-hour.

We still suffered a great deal of discomfort from our wet clothes and boots, but we ran gamely on, knowing that everything depended on our speed.

At length, without further misadventure, we emerged from the jungle, and found ourselves on a rather extensive expanse of sandhills, beyond which lay the blue sea, still darkened by the dun volcanic clouds which hung in mid-air.

“Is that a boat?” asked Ned, excitedly.

CHAPTER XXIII.
A RACE FOR LIFE.

It was a boat of some kind; there could be no doubt about that. A somewhat large, unwieldy-looking craft she appeared to be, but apparently there were only a couple of oarsmen on board, who were slowly propelling her seawards with a species of long paddle. The ocean was still in a more or less agitated state, which must have been owing to the seismic disturbances to which the island and its surrounding waters had so lately been subjected, for the atmosphere was just as stagnant as it had been all the morning. This motion made the boat bob about in a strange unnatural manner, as if she had a trawl down. She was about half a mile from the shore, as near as we could judge; and besides the two oarsmen there appeared to be a third person occupying the stern-sheets.

“We must try to signal that craft,” said Mr. Triggs, emphatically; “’tis our only chance of escape.”

“But suppose those men on board her are pirates,” said Ned; “we should just be jumping from the frying-pan into the fire.”

I had been gazing intently at the boat all this time. My sight was naturally very keen, and I felt almost confident that the occupants of the boat were negroes. I hurriedly communicated my suspicions to my shipmates.

“I’m jiggered if I don’t think you’re right, sir,” said Ned, slapping his thigh vigorously, and peering intently at the unwieldy craft. “Now I wouldn’t mind wagering a plug o’ baccy that those are the niggers we saw working in the garden of their shanty, and that figure in the starn-sheets is the old ‘Mother Bunch’ that lost the run of her legs and went a cropper on her nose.”

“If it is, can we persuade ’em to take us off?” asked the gunner; “that’s the question. The boat would hold us all; but as the niggers are probably the slaves of the pirate chief, they might be afraid to take us on board.”

“And if they did take us on board,” said I, “it might only be to pull us round to the creek on the other side of the island, and give us up to their masters, the pirates.”

“Once on board we might overpower ’em,” said Ned, musingly. “I only wish—”

A musket shot!

We started in alarm. It appeared to come from somewhere amongst the sandhills on our extreme right. Anxiously we looked for the puff of smoke, but could detect nothing.

The echoes of the discharge had hardly died away amongst the hills, when our ears were saluted with a second and exactly similar report.

No bullets or shot fell near us.

I glanced at the boat to see if any firing was taking place on board. The oarsmen had ceased rowing, and appeared to be gazing shorewards; but no tell-tale smoke was wreathing itself above their heads.

“This is a queer business, and I don’t like the looks of it,” remarked Ned. “I’d get up a tree and have a squint round, if I wasn’t afraid of being spotted by Miguel or some lynx-eyed swab of his kidney.”

At this moment I caught sight of some thin vapoury smoke drifting slowly over the sandhills at a distance of about a mile on our extreme right, and drew my companions’ attention to it.

We strained our eyes to the utmost, but could detect no human figures.

“’Tis a signal to the craft yonder, or I’m a Dutchman!” exclaimed Ned. “They’re not firing at us, that’s sartin.”

We all turned our eyes upon the boat. Her head was slowly swinging round towards the shore owing to the efforts of the rowers, who had resumed their oars.

“There’s no doubt about it,” said the gunner, angrily, “and I don’t vote we remain passive spectators of it. If we don’t manage to get hold of that boat, by hook or by crook, we may as well throw up the sponge altogether.”

“I’m game for a shindy with the lubbers!” cried Ned; “and I agree with you, Mr. Gunner, that it’s about our only chance of getting off this plaguy island. But we’ll have pretty tidy odds against us, and are middling short of ammunition. Now, if I had a few rounds of ball-cartridge in my pocket, I’d play Old Harry with some of the pirates before they could come to close quarters!”

There was no time to be lost. We had to traverse the sandhills, which would be heavy ground to run over; but it did not appear to be more than half a mile or so to the actual shore.

Ned had resumed his rifle and returned the sword to the gunner. We had taken especial care to keep our pistols dry when wading down the stream, and they appeared to be in good order and ready for use if required.

We carefully noted the direction the boat was heading for, and then set off at our best pace to try to intercept her. It seemed to me a forlorn hope; but still I could not help agreeing with my companions that it would be foolish to throw away such a chance, feeble as it was. Had we chosen to hide away in the jungle instead, we should have been unearthed to a dead certainty sooner or later; and then there would have been a nice kettle of fish to fry. My theory with regard to the invisible persons who had fired the muskets was, that they were members of the party that had been pursuing us through the forest, and that they had reached the sandhills by some short cut, and were anxious to communicate the fact of our escape to the negroes, in order that the latter might keep a look-out for us and bar our escape on that side of the island.

This seemed the most plausible explanation of the mysterious affair.

And if the negroes combined to assist their masters—as there was every reason to suppose they would—how terribly the odds against us would be increased, especially if the black fellows were provided with weapons.

These thoughts passed quickly through my mind as we sped across the sandhills. There was a very determined look on the gunner’s face and on Ned’s. They felt, I am sure, that the supreme crisis was at hand, and that in a few moments a decisive blow would be struck which would mean to us victory or death.

“Ha!” said my coxswain in a savage tone, “there’s the whole gang of villains!”

As he spoke I caught sight of a body of men running with great speed across the sandhills, as if in an effort to intercept us. They were then about a quarter of a mile distant, and had evidently just perceived us. As we were both making for the same point on the beach, it was only natural, of course, that we should converge on one another.

A terrible yell arose from the pirate ranks—a yell which rang with vindictive and spiteful malice.

“Ay! shout away, my hearties!” muttered Ned; “it’ll play the doose with yer wind.”

“We’re ahead of ’em!” cried the gunner, breathlessly. “Now for a spurt, lads!—Can you keep up, Mr. Darcy?”

“Rather!” I replied. I was terribly excited, and felt no fatigue or breathlessness. My feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground. It was a race for life, and I knew it.

Hurriedly I glanced at the boat. She was still some distance from the shore, and the rowers did not seem to be exerting themselves in the least.

We had left the sandhills behind us, and were racing across a broad expanse of tawny, hard sand.

What would the blacks do? That was the torturing question.

The band of pirates were pouring over the sandhills, yelling as they came and brandishing their weapons with fierce gestures. They were, however, a hundred yards in the rear and to the right of us. Every moment I expected them to open fire on us; but I suppose they were anxious to capture us alive, and I felt sure that we were caught in a trap—hemmed in between them and their allies the blacks.

Oh, how slowly that boat came lumbering along over the waves! I eyed her with astonishment.

We had recognized the chief and Miguel as heading the pursuing band. There was no mistaking them. Thank God, they had not the other bloodhound with them. What could have become of the brute?

I fingered my pistol, ready for a scrimmage at close quarters. It seemed inevitable.

CHAPTER XXIV.
DEATH OF MIGUEL.

Ned turned to us suddenly, and I thought there was a wild look in his eyes. The beads of perspiration clustered thick on his forehead, and his cheeks were burning.

“We’ll escape ’em yet!” he cried in excited tones, which nevertheless had a ring of triumph in them. “Let’s swim out to the boat, scramble on board, and take possession of her!”

Here was an audacious idea with a vengeance!

“It’s all very fine to say ‘scramble on board,’” exclaimed Mr. Triggs; “but do you suppose the negroes will allow us calmly to do such a thing? Why, they’ll knock us on the head the instant we get alongside.”

“There’s no time to argify!” cried Ned in loud emphatic tones. “If we stay here to fight it out with those swabs in our rear, we’ll all be killed to a dead sartinly or taken prisoners. There are eight of ’em at least, and all armed to the teeth.”

“Right you are then,” answered the gunner; “let’s take to the water. ’Tis a desperate venture, but you may depend upon me to back you up through thick and thin.”

“Can you swim?” asked Ned, turning hurriedly to me.

“Yes, very well,” I answered.

The boat was slowly approaching the shore, being now distant about fifty yards or so. It would have been easy for her to land, for there was not much surf.

The pirates were redoubling their efforts to catch us up; though I do not suppose that it entered their heads for a moment that we were about to put into execution any such desperate plan as that proposed by Ned Burton.

We had halted for a brief moment on the margin of the waves. The pirates were now of course bearing swiftly down on us. There were eight or ten of them altogether, and they were near enough for me to see the expression of gratified revenge which was overspreading their countenances as they felt the conviction that their prey was at length within their grasp.

But there is many a slip between the cup and the lip.

“We must chuck away our weapons!” shouted Ned; “but I’m blest if I don’t empty my barrel fust.” And so saying he hurriedly dropped on one knee, and levelling his piece with the utmost coolness and precision fired.

Truly sped the bullet. Miguel gave one spasmodic leap into the air, and then fell with a thud on the sands—a lifeless corpse.

I had already thrown my pistol into the sea, stripped off my jacket, and got rid of my shoes. The gunner had done the same.

Ned rose swiftly to his feet without a word, and we all rushed into the water with the utmost celerity.

The fiendish yells to which our pursuers gave vent on seeing Miguel fall beggar description; and they were renewed again and again as they saw that we were trying to evade them by swimming out to the boat.

One or two of their number opened fire upon us as soon as they could collect themselves sufficiently; and the others shouted in a warning manner to the negroes in the boat, evidently directing their attention to our ruse, and ordering them to repel any attempt we might make on their craft.

The bullets, fortunately, did not hit us, for we were already in deep water, and a very small portion of our persons was visible to the marksmen.

What we had to dread was a hostile attitude on the part of the negroes; and already I saw that the latter had ceased rowing, and were standing up in the boat brandishing their long paddles. In their belts I fancied I detected knives. As Ned had prophesied, the bulky form occupying the stern-sheets was that of the negress we had formerly seen at the shanty, so there was little doubt as to the identity of the two oarsmen.

As the shore shelved rapidly, we very soon got out of our depth, and began to swim vigorously in the direction of the boat. The latter had not yet lost her way, and was gliding slowly toward us. I think, too, that the tide must have been ebbing, for it appeared to me that we cleft the waters at a great pace.

The negroes looked very determined as we approached, and I now saw that one of them had a pistol in one hand and his paddle in the other.

A volley from the shore was now fired at us by the enemy. Some bullets whistled over our heads and splashed into the water ahead of us, one or two of them very nearly striking the boat.

I glanced fearfully over my shoulder in the direction of the shore, and saw that the pirates were reloading their rifles. None of them had attempted to follow us into the sea, much to my surprise. Either they could not swim, or they thought it less trouble to rely on the co-operation of the negroes, to whom they continued to yell orders in loud and threatening tones.

When we got within easy speaking distance, Mr. Triggs addressed the negroes in English.

“If you take us on board, Johnny,” he said, “and convey us safely away from the island, we’ll give you fifty pounds.”

Ned also jabbered something to them in his smattering of Spanish, as he thought they might be ignorant of English.

Meanwhile we did not relax our efforts to gain the boat’s side.

I saw the negro who was grasping the pistol begin to slowly raise his arm. Both men looked savage and determined. The fat negress still sat in the stern-sheets with a bewildered expression on her bloated face and her blubber lips widely parted.

My heart sank within me, and I was beginning to feel terribly fatigued. A scrimmage on board the boat would be, I felt, quite beyond my powers. It was a question whether I should even have sufficient strength left to clamber on board. Even the negress could easily keep me at bay if she chose. I knew that. But as yet she showed no disposition to join in the impending fray.

“Look out! the swab’s going to shoot,” came from Ned in warning tones.

The next moment a dart of flame issued from the boat, and a bullet whizzed away harmlessly somewhere.

In spite of my rapidly failing powers, I could not help giving a shout of astonishment, for I had particularly noticed that the negro had deliberately aimed a long way above our heads.

The mystery was quickly solved. The negro leaned forward, and in a vile lingo of broken English told us that he and his mate were willing to save us, but that they must pretend to defend their boat from our attack, and that we must go through the pantomime of capturing it and utterly defeating them.

At first we were all suspicious that this was a trap, but the negroes assured us that they would not hurt a hair of our heads, and implored us to scramble on board as quickly as possible, as they were just as eager to leave the island as we were.

What a blessed relief it was to hear this, and moreover to find that it was a bonâ fide and genuine ruse on the negroes’ part! Never in our wildest dreams had we expected such good-fortune as this.

The sham fight was really carried out admirably. The negroes and the negress kept up a really awful succession of war-cries as they rushed from one side to the other—at the imminent risk of capsizing the boat—brandishing their paddles, and bringing them down with resounding blows upon the gunwale, varying this procedure with firing an occasional pistol, and making imaginary stabs with knives.

If I had not felt so done up, I should have enjoyed the fun.

At length we had scrambled in over the gunwale, and after a short and apparently desperate encounter, had worsted the negroes, who lay shamming death in the bottom of the boat; whilst old “Mother Bunch,” clasping her pickaninny to her breast, had fallen back in the stern-sheets in an apparently fainting condition.

The pirates seemed crazy at the turn affairs had taken. Some of them rushed into the sea and began swimming out in our direction, whilst others opened a withering fire upon us.

Mr. Triggs and Ned, chuckling to themselves, seized the oars, and commenced pulling the boat out to sea. It was out of my power to assist them.

CHAPTER XXV.
WE ESCAPE TO SEA.

One or two bullets struck the boat, but most fortunately none of us got hit. A brisk fire, however, was kept up for some minutes, and many of the deadly little missiles flew about us with their ominous pings, and then buried themselves harmlessly in the sea.

The pirates must have been thunderstruck at our apparently successful attack upon the armed negroes, and the game way in which we walked off with the boat under their very noses. It was of course extremely tantalizing for them, especially as they had felt so sure of capturing us.

However, we were not out of the wood yet, as we were presently to discover.

For some minutes I lay in the bows of the boat, feeling wretchedly ill and thoroughly done up. How I wished I could get rid of my saturated clothes and don dry ones, for I began to feel chilled to the bone.

The gunner and Ned Burton were well to the fore at this crisis in our fortunes. Luckily, they both had iron constitutions, with plenty of stamina and reserve of force; in proof of which they rowed like madmen, so as to get the boat out of range of the musketry fire which was being continuously kept up from the shore.

One of the negroes, seeing that I was rather in a collapsed state, crawled along the bottom of the boat to me, carrying in his hand a green cocoa-nut, of which there was a supply in the stern-sheets.

With his knife he cut off the top, and handed me the brimming nut.

“Drink him, massa,” he whispered; “plenty mosh good.”

I needed no second invitation, but drank the contents in one long delicious draught. That dusky negro was like a ministering angel, and I told him so with as much emphasis as I could muster up.

I now began to feel more myself again, and by great good-fortune we began to move out of the dense volcanic atmosphere into the bright sunlight which reigned beyond. I rejoiced greatly at this, for it meant dry clothes for us all.

A spent bullet or slug struck the boat near the water-line. I raised myself and glanced over the gunwale.

The pirate chief and his myrmidons were still on the beach, and occasionally fired a shot at us; but I perceived that we were fast gliding out of range. Not far from the spot where the desperadoes stood was a dark object, which I knew must be the corpse of Miguel.

As I gazed at the group, they suddenly ceased firing, and with a parting volley of angry shouts which came but faintly over the waters, they turned their backs on us, and started off at a sharp run across the sandhills in the direction of the interior.

I instantly drew my companions’ attention to this fact.

“We haven’t done with the rascals yet, I’m afraid,” said the gunner, glancing anxiously at their retiring forms. “They’re making for the creek on t’other side of the island, and will pursue us in the brig.”

“That will be their little game, no doubt,” observed Ned thoughtfully, “and we must do our level best to circumvent ’em. Having had the good-fortune, under Divine providence, to escape from the island, we may fairly hope that another little spell of good-fortune is in store for us.”

Ned was always very sanguine, and consequently was often disappointed; but his courage was indomitable.

I now felt so much better that I seized a spare oar—of which there were several in the boat—and began to pull, begging the negroes to give my shipmates each a cocoa-nut, as I felt sure that they must be suffering intensely from thirst.

“Good idea of yours, Mr. Darcy,” said Ned, who had overheard my remark. “I just about feel as if I could drink a brewery dry at this moment. I tell you what, though; I wish that there shegro warn’t in the starn-sheets. I reckon she’d turn the scale at sixteen stone!”

I glanced at “Mother Bunch.” Now that the pirates had turned tail, she no longer deemed it necessary to masquerade, and was sitting bolt upright, with one podgy hand grasping the tiller, and her full moonlike visage expansive with smiles, her blubber lips being so widely parted that you could see every tooth in her head. At her feet the pickaninny lay crowing and kicking, as if it thought there was something very comical in the whole adventure.

The negroes were now as busy as bees. One of them handed up cocoa-nuts to Mr. Triggs and Ned, while the other seized an oar and backed up my efforts to improve the speed of the craft.

We were steering straight out to sea. The surface of the water was less disturbed than it had been, owing to the cessation of the earthquakes, and light draughts of air seemed to be working their way up from the offing. It was probable that a sea-breeze would soon set in, and this might be of great benefit to us, as there was a mast and sail in the boat.

“We’re awfully grateful to you Johnnies,” observed the gunner, as he threw his empty cocoa-nut shell overboard. “If it hadn’t been for you, we should probably have had our throats cut by those villains ashore. Now I want to know if this boat belongs to you, and whether you will stick to us and do your best to land us in the island of Cuba. The day we get back to our ship the Rattler you shall have your fifty pounds—that I can promise you on the word of an Englishman.”

The negro who had been handing up the nuts grinned, and scratched his head. He evidently did not half understand Mr. Triggs’s long speech. However, after a good deal of trouble and numerous misunderstandings, we managed to extract the following information from them. As we had supposed, they were the slaves of the pirates, and were employed by them to raise garden produce, and to assist in unloading vessels which had been captured and brought into the creek. Being skilful fishermen, they were allowed to make use of a boat; and as finny spoils were to be more plentifully obtained in the waters on the west side of the island, they usually kept their craft upon the beach above high-water mark—the creek being on the eastern seaboard. On this eventful morning, they had started very early on a fishing excursion, and were actually afloat when the terrible seismic disturbances commenced. Frightened out of their wits, and almost swamped by the tidal waves which swept the sea, they pulled about in various directions, hardly knowing where to go for safety. At length they determined to land, as they were much afraid of being upset and drowned. No sooner had they drawn their boat up on the beach than the volcanic outburst commenced, and added infinitely to their terror. It was the last straw, and they determined to quit the island for ever, fully believing that it had been taken possession of by evil spirits; but it was a long time before they could muster up enough courage to launch their boat afresh and start on their perilous journey. It must have been just after they had done so that we appeared upon the scene. Having in their early days lived in some of the British West India islands, they felt disposed to be friendly towards Englishmen in distress; and as they were much afraid that the pirates would force them to return to the island whether they liked it or not, it was hurriedly decided to assist us if possible in our evident determination to escape, and then sail away to other climes. The reward of fifty pounds they ignored—so we understood them to say. That is the gist of what the darkies told us.

We now held a brief council of war, as it was necessary to decide upon some plan of action, and that quickly.

We were unanimously of opinion that we should pull straight out to sea and trust to meeting a favourable breeze, or, better still, a friendly vessel.

My shipmates tried to insist on my taking a complete rest, and allowing them and the negroes to pull; but I could not consent to this plan, tempting as it was, for I was feeling much stronger, and knew full well that we should have to strain every nerve to escape, as the pirates were hardly likely to sit down quietly and twirl their thumbs while they had one or perhaps two vessels in the roadstead on the other side of the island.

That we should be chased was a dead certainty, especially as it was evident that the volcanic outbursts were now diminishing in violence. The pirates would naturally be anxious for the safety of any property they might have upon the island; but still our escape was of much more serious import to them, for, of course, they knew only too well that we should denounce them to the authorities and betray the whereabouts of their island.

We pulled vigorously, therefore, often casting anxious glances towards the jutting capes which marked the extremities of the pirates’ lair. A thick curtain of smoke hung over the centre of the island and obscured the view.

“Ha!” cried Ned, “yonder comes the brig, or one of their blooming craft.”

CHAPTER XXVI.
CONCLUSION.

Round the southernmost point of the island a small vessel was creeping stealthily. Owing to the lack of wind she could set no canvas, but was evidently being propelled by a number of sweeps.

Undoubtedly it was the brig. I recognized her at once.

Naturally her progress was slow, but our boat was unwieldy and had no great turn of speed. The draughts of air were the merest catspaws, and scarcely ruffled the surface of the water. Flying-fish sprang about us, and occasionally a bonito. The sun was mounting high in the heavens and casting down rays of burning heat. A track of molten gold stretched over the deep, the glare from which was almost intolerable.

“Mother Bunch” shut her jaws with a snap when her dark, round eyes fell on the shadowy vessel. It was as if a crocodile had closed with some succulent morsel. The pickaninny began to roar lustily as if it had a dim presentiment of coming evil. The two negroes jabbered excitedly in some strange and guttural dialect.

“The brig can’t make much way,” said Ned, fixing his eyes intently upon her. “I reckon we can outstrip her as things go at present. If a favourable breeze springs up, however, she’ll overhaul us hand-over-fist, and then we may look out for squalls.”

“The worst of it is, she’s got guns aboard,” observed Mr. Triggs anxiously. “Now, if she could creep up within range, she might pepper us in a mighty unpleasant manner—there’s no question about that.”

“I wonder if she has any boats with her,” exclaimed I. “It might be equally unpleasant if she sent some of them in chase of us.”

Ned looked intently across the sea, shading his eyes with his hand.

“Boats they have, sure enough,” he said after a long survey. “Why, two of ’em is atowin’ of her!”

“That’s what the sharks are up to, is it?” observed the gunner. “I tell you what, that’ll make ’em slip along a bit faster than we expected.”

“What arms are there in the boat?” asked Ned, lying on his oar for a moment.

The negroes produced their store of weapons, and laid them down for our inspection. It was a sorry enough lot.

Two extremely old-fashioned pistols, one fairly effective cutlass (used by the negroes for cutting their way through the dense jungles), and two rusty and jagged daggers. These constituted our armoury.

As we were gazing at them rather hopelessly, and demanding ammunition for the pistols, “Mother Bunch” produced a weighty-looking club, armed with metal spikes, from some corner of the stern-sheets, and with many grins and exclamations of satisfaction, whirled it around her head in a bellicose fashion.

“Bravo, my shegro brave and true!” shouted Ned in great delight. “We’ll let you go for some of them swabs and brain ’em by-and-by, jiggered if we don’t. Amazons aren’t in the running when you’re out on the war-path, I reckon!”

“She is more likely to capsize the boat than anything else if it comes to a scrimmage,” said the gunner grimly.

It was fortunate that “Mother Bunch” did not understand this ungallant remark, or Mr. Triggs’s head might have made acquaintance with the Amazonian club!

How we longed for a little breeze to help us on our way and cool the air! Our saturated clothes had dried in the hot sun; but our exertions made us perspire so freely that it seemed probable that before long they would be in much the same state again.

Still we made the unwieldy old boat move; we could take that much credit to ourselves.

I glanced for the twentieth time at the brig. She was slowly but surely gaining on us, and Ned had been quite right about the boats—two of them had her in tow. How many sweeps she was able to utilize I could not tell, as she was at least two miles distant. I wondered how far her guns could carry, and whether, when the pirates found that there was no chance of a breeze, they would not detach the boats in chase of us.

We now began to feel uncommonly peckish, and it became necessary to make inquiries into the state of the commissariat department.

“Sambo,” said Mr. Triggs, addressing one of the negroes, “what have you got to eat?”

“Golly, sah, no got nuffin,” said the fellow with a frightened expression.

“Nothing!” thundered the gunner. “How are we to get on without any food?”

Sambo scratched his woolly poll, and looked bewildered.

“Der am six or sheven cocoa-nut,” he said at length, “and tree fiss. Berry mosh afraid dat all, massa.”

It was quite true; these were all the provisions there were. The negroes had intended to go out fishing only for the day, and had therefore not thought it necessary to provide themselves with anything but a few cocoa-nuts wherewith to quench their thirst. The three fish had been caught just before the earthquakes commenced, and appeared to be red mullet.

Mother Bunch’s face when Sambo explained to her that we wished to voyage to Cuba without any provisions on board lost all its rotundity, and lengthened out into a most dolorous, woe-begone visage. For about ten minutes she talked fifteen to the dozen in a most excited manner, evidently telling her husband that she foresaw an early death for herself, and perhaps giving him leave to present her skeleton to some West Indian museum in the interests of science.

Into such a state of excitement did the good lady work herself, that at length she jumped up and double-banked her husband’s oar, leaving her offspring to kick by itself in the stern-sheets. Right lustily did she pull, too—so lustily that her spouse at length relinquished the oar entirely to her, and went to the tiller to take a spell of rest, where he promptly fell fast asleep.

We toiled on through the sweltering heat, and made the old boat buzz along; but in spite of our almost superhuman efforts, the brig crept up stealthily but surely. Our capture was only a question of time.

At length my head and back ached to such an extent that I was obliged to relinquish my oar to Sambo, and throw myself down in the bows to rest. I was rather alarmed lest I should have got a sunstroke, and dashed some salt water over my head, which had the effect of cooling my aching temples.

We now drank the contents of half a cocoa-nut each. It was necessary to husband our slender resources to the utmost, so we only allowed ourselves this quantity.

I think I dozed off for some time, but was presently roused by hearing Ned shout, “The swabs have opened fire!”

Then came the distant report of a gun.

I started up and gazed at the brig, now only half a mile distant. A puff of smoke was being wafted away from her bows. The shot had just struck the sea several cable-lengths astern of us, and sent a column of spray high into the air.

“Their popguns ain’t much use, or else they don’t know the range,” observed Ned.

Mother Bunch was still pulling away sturdily at her oar. I went aft to relieve her, as I saw that she was beginning to feel distressed.

At the same moment the brig fired another shot, which also fell short.

We now saw that the two boats which had been towing the brig were shoving off in chase of us. Their oars flashed in the sunlight, and they seemed to be full of men.

“Pull like old winky, lads!” yelled Ned; “they shan’t have it all their own way, the thundering rascals!”

Mother Bunch resolutely refused to give up her oar; but Sambo went to assist her, and I double-banked the other negro’s. All aches, pains, want of food were forgotten. We were determined that the brig’s boats should not overhaul us, if we could possibly help it.

We pulled like fiends, and the clumsy boat sped along over the glassy sea. I expected every moment to see Ned’s oar break.

Our eyes never quitted the two black boats that were pursuing us. The brig did not fire again, for fear of hitting them by mistake, but she kept her sweeps going.

I should think that for quite an hour this exciting chase went on. Once or twice the pirates decidedly gained on us, but on our putting on a spurt they again dropped astern. Their boats were heavily laden with armed men, or they would easily have overhauled us. Several times they fired shots at us with muskets, and once a bullet struck the stern of our boat.

After about an hour had passed, however, I saw, to my dismay and horror, that we were beginning to lose ground rapidly. The fact is that our negroes were exhausted, and Mother Bunch also. My arms, too, ached as if they would drop off, and my hands were frightfully blistered.

How long was this agony to continue?

The gunner and Ned made no comment on the situation, but I knew that they could not have failed to realize it. Silently and desperately they bent to their oars, grim determination on their faces. The courage of the British seaman seldom fails him; he is game to the end.

The brig was now far away, her black hull apparently motionless on the mirror-like sea. Beyond her again lay the pirates’ island, above which still hung eddying folds of volcanic vapour.

It seemed to me that there was great excitement on board the pursuing boats—much shouting, yelling, and gesticulation. Every man seemed to have tackled on to an oar, like galley-slaves, two or three abreast. Their renewed efforts certainly lessened the distance between us very perceptibly.

Our despairing eyes never left them. There was a horrible fascination in watching their slow but sure approach—their furious and excitable efforts to run us down.

Ten minutes passed thus.

Bang—fizz—hiss-s-s-s-s-s!

With a startling rush some fiery projectile flew clean over our heads, leaving a trail of flame behind it to mark its line of flight. Then with a sullen plump it spluttered into the sea close to the bows of one of the pursuing boats.

With a simultaneous shout of astonishment, we turned to ascertain whence came this fiery messenger of wrath—a war-rocket, as we well knew.

Imagine our intense surprise when we caught sight of what looked uncommonly like a man-of-war’s cutter bearing down on us.

We could scarcely believe our eyes.

Ned gave a yell of delight that might have been heard miles away.

Our pursuers still came on, regardless of the warning they had received.

The cutter now fired another rocket, and this one was so well directed that it struck one of the pirates’ boats and sent it instantly to the bottom.

These war-rockets alarmed poor Mother Bunch to such an extent that she as nearly as possible fell overboard. As it was, the boat, in spite of its beam, was within an ace of being capsized.

The cutter came bearing swiftly down on us.

“Jiggered if it ain’t one of our own boats!” sang out Ned, cutting a caper of delight. Then he mounted upon a thwart, waving his cap and yelling till he was nearly as black in the face as Sambo.

What an excitement it was!

After all our perils and adventures we were safe at last.

The next moment I was wringing the hand of my chum, Charlie Balfour, who was in charge of the cutter, and who seemed to have quite recovered from the wound in the head which he had received in the first engagement. His joy at having been the means of rescuing us the reader can well imagine.

“I’ve a good mind to try to sink the other boat,” he said; “but perhaps I had better take you fellows straight back to the Rattler, and make my report to the captain.”

“Where is the old hooker?” I asked.

Charlie laughed and pointed seawards.

“Don’t you see her hove-to there, just in the light of the sun?” he asked. “There is a little breeze out there. After we shoved off she went in chase of a suspicious-looking vessel in the offing, but has evidently returned disappointed. We’ll have you on board in about an hour.”

There was our dear old ship, sure enough. So taken up with the brig and our pursuers had we been that we had never looked ahead to see if any vessels had hove in sight.

We quickly transferred ourselves to the cutter, and cast the negroes’ boat adrift. Mother Bunch had now recovered her equanimity, and she and her pickaninny were amusingly criticised by the cutter’s crew, who seemed to be in a chaffing and hilarious mood.

The pirates in the second boat were now in full retreat, having found that they had caught a Tartar with a vengeance. I believe they picked up some of their comrades who were struggling in the water, but I fancy that the rocket had killed a good many outright.

Of course I had to give Charlie a narrative of our adventures, and Ned did the same for his mates of the cutter, one of whom was Jim Beddoes.

My chum told me that the burning island had brought the Rattler into those waters, so the volcano had actually done us another good turn—an endless category it really seemed to be. While watching the eruption from aloft, one of the signalmen had espied the brig apparently in pursuit of a large boat, and had reported the circumstance to the captain. This had eventually led to the dispatch of an armed boat’s crew, and to our rescue just in the nick of time.

It seemed that Mr. Thompson and a picked force, after capturing the mutineers of the Flying-fish and recovering the greater part of that unfortunate vessel’s cargo, had been left ashore in Cuba to search for us, while the Rattler took a short cruise to see if she could obtain any intelligence of our fate from the coasting craft and other vessels. There had been dire dismay among our shipmates as day after day passed without any news of our whereabouts, and many came to the conclusion that we had been murdered and our bodies buried away out of sight. Jim Beddoes had acted as guide to the naval brigade, and conducted them to the spot where the struggle had taken place between ourselves and the pirates; but so cunningly was the entrance to the cave concealed that they had failed to discover it.

All this Charlie told me afterwards.

In much less than an hour we were safely on board the old Rattler, for she steamed down to meet us. After congratulations had passed, and we had gone below to get some food and a change of raiment, Captain Graves went in chase of the brig, which he very quickly overhauled and took possession of, the pirates being completely cowed, and, of course, aware that we could blow them out of the water if we chose to do so.

The volcano being still in eruption, it was decided not to land for some days; and meanwhile we took our prize to Havana, and handed her over to the Spanish authorities, who were delighted to be able to lay their hands on such a gang of desperadoes. While at the Spanish capital, we ascertained that it was perfectly true that some of the pirate chief’s followers had fallen into the hands of the government. It was therefore true enough, I daresay, that the chief had kidnapped us in the hope that he might be able to effect an exchange without compromising his own safety or betraying the whereabouts of the island.

Messages were at once sent to Mr. Thompson, telling him of our safety, and a few days later we picked him and his men up at Santiago de Cuba. Then, in the company of a Spanish cruiser, we sailed for the pirates’ island, the latitude and longitude of which had been noted.

How lovely it looked on the morning of our arrival! The eruptions had entirely ceased, but a great upheaval had taken place, altering the configuration of the land very much. A cone had arisen in the centre of the island, and though not of any great altitude, its shape was very perfect. My messmate Fitzgerald was enchanted with its appearance, and made sketches of it.

On landing, with Sambo as guide, we found that the whole of the pirates’ ill-gotten loot had been destroyed by the eruptions. We had previously learned from the negroes that it had been stored away in caves within the crater—in fact, close to the one where we had ourselves been confined so long. This was a great disappointment; but we ought, of course, to have been prepared for such a discovery. We were slightly consoled by finding a boat among the reeds in the creek, which had on board a case of doubloons and some bales of silk. Of the brig’s prize we could not find any trace, and Sambo gave it as his opinion that she must have broken adrift from her moorings while the earthquakes were going on, and have been carried away from the island by some strong current. Whether she had any one on board he did not know, or what had become of the survivors of her crew.

Sambo and Mother Bunch keep a bumboat at Port Royal now, and the other negro, who was a brother of Sambo’s, assists them. They were duly paid the fifty pounds they had been promised by the gunner, though, to tell the truth, it had almost to be forced on them.

If you ever go to Port Royal, you will probably see this happy trio coming alongside your vessel. I do not include the pickaninny, because the pickaninny you might see would not be the pickaninny of my story.

Reader, I trust that you have enjoyed reading these few leaves from my midshipman’s log. Alas, the time has come all too soon to say, Farewell!

“As the earth when leaves are dead,
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.”

THE END.

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Transcriber’s Notes

- pg 142 Changed: several wales were distinctly visible
to: several weals were distinctly visible

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Table of Contents

- LEAVES FROM A MIDDY’S LOG.

- CONTENTS.

- CHAPTER I. A STRANGE ADVENTURE.

- CHAPTER II. WE STORM THE FORT.

- CHAPTER III. A FIGHT FOR LIFE.

- CHAPTER IV. WE RETURN ON BOARD.

- CHAPTER V. THE NAVAL BRIGADE LANDS.

- CHAPTER VI. “COLD PIG” AND “SLING THE MONKEY.”

- CHAPTER VII. NED AND THE MULE-DRIVER.

- CHAPTER VIII. “PREPARE FOR CAVALRY!”

- CHAPTER IX. WE HEAR STRANGE NEWS.

- CHAPTER X. A PERILOUS ADVENTURE.

- CHAPTER XI. JIM BEDDOES’ YARN.

- CHAPTER XII. TAKEN PRISONER.

- CHAPTER XIII. NED IS FLOGGED.

- CHAPTER XIV. IN THE PIRATES’ CAVERN.

- CHAPTER XV. A MARCH TO THE COAST.

- CHAPTER XVI. IN IRONS.

- CHAPTER XVII. ON BOARD THE PIRATE BRIG.

- CHAPTER XVIII. THE PIRATES’ ISLAND.

- CHAPTER XIX. IN THE CRATER CAVE.

- CHAPTER XX. THE ESCAPE FROM THE CAVE.

- CHAPTER XXI. HUNTED BY BLOODHOUNDS.

- CHAPTER XXII. A FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND.

- CHAPTER XXIII. A RACE FOR LIFE.

- CHAPTER XXIV. DEATH OF MIGUEL.

- CHAPTER XXV. WE ESCAPE TO SEA.

- CHAPTER XXVI. CONCLUSION.

- Transcriber’s Notes

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE