George Manville Fenn (continued 2)

“Nonsense! You were dreaming.”

“Nay. I was wide awake as I am now, and as I turned and stared it said it again.”

“It said it?”

“Well, she said it.”

“Poll parrot,” said Abel, gruffly. “Go on with your work. Here’s the overseer.”

The young men worked away, and their supervisor passed them, and, apparently satisfied, continued his journey round.

“May have been a poll parrot,” said Bart. “They do talk plain, Abel, lad; but this sounded like something else.”

“What else could it be?”

“Sounded like a ghost.”

Abel burst into a hearty laugh—so hearty that Bart’s face was slowly overspread by a broad smile.

“Why, lud, that’s better,” he said, grimly. “I ar’n’t seen you do that for months. Work away.”

The hint was given because of the overseer glancing in their direction, and they now worked on together slowly, going down the row toward the jungle, at which Bart kept on darting uneasy glances.

“Enough to make a man laugh to hear you talk of ghosts, Bart,” said Abel, after a time.

“What could it be, then?”

“Parrot some lady tamed,” said Abel, shortly, as they worked on side by side, “escaped to the woods again. Some of these birds talk just like a Christian.”

“Ay,” said Bart, after a few moments’ quiet thought, “I’ve heared ’em, lad; but there’s no poll parrot out here as knows me.”

“Knows you?”

“Well, didn’t I tell you as it called to me ‘Bart! Bart!’”

“Sounded like it,” said Abel, laconically. “What does he want?”

For just then the overseer shouted, and signed to the gang-men to come to him.

“To begin another job—log-rolling, I think,” growled Bart, shouldering his hoe.

At that moment, as Abel followed his example, there came in a low, eager tone of voice from out of the jungle, twenty yards away—

“Bart!—Abel!—Abel!”

“Don’t look,” whispered Abel, who reeled as if struck, and recovered himself to catch his companion by the arm. “All right!” he said aloud; “we’ll be here to-morrow. We must go.”

Chapter Twelve.

In Deadly Peril.

It was quite a week before the two young men were at work in the plantation of young trees again, and during all that time they had feverishly discussed the voice they had heard. Every time they had approached the borders of the plantation when it ran up to the virgin forest they had been on the qui vive, expecting to hear their names called again, but only to be disappointed; and, after due consideration, Abel placed a right interpretation upon the reason.

“It was someone who got ashore from a boat,” he said, “and managed to crawl up there. It’s the only place where anyone could get up.”

“Being nigh that creek, lad, where the crocodiles is,” said Bart. “Ay, you’re right. Who could it be?”

“One of our old mates.”

“Nay; no old mate would take all that trouble for us, lad. It’s someone Mary’s sent to bring us a letter and a bit of news.”

It was at night in the prison lines that Bart said this, and then he listened wonderingly in the dark, for he heard something like a sob from close to his elbow.

“Abel, matey!” he whispered.

“Don’t talk to me, old lad,” came back hoarsely after a time. And then, after a long silence, “Yes, you’re right. Poor lass—poor lass!”

“Say that again, Abel; say that again,” whispered Bart, excitedly.

“Poor lass! I’ve been too hard on her. She didn’t get us took.”

“Thank God!”

These were Bart’s hoarsely whispered words, choked with emotion; and directly after, as he lay there, Abel Dell felt a great, rough, trembling hand pass across his face and search about him till it reached his own, which it gripped and held with a strong, firm clasp, for there was beneath Bart’s rough, husk-like exterior a great deal of the true, loyal, loving material of which English gentlemen are made; and when towards morning those two prisoners fell asleep in their chains, hand was still gripped in hand, while the dreams that brightened the remaining hours of their rest from penal labour were very similar, being of a rough home down beneath Devon’s lovely cliffs, where the sea ran sparkling over the clean-washed pebbles, and the handsome face of Mary smiled upon each in turn.

“Abel, mate, I’m ready for anything now,” said Bart, as they went that morning to their work. “Only say again as you forgive our lass.”

“Bart, old lad,” said Abel, hoarsely, “I’ve nought to forgive.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Bart, and then he began to whistle softly as if in the highest of spirits, and looked longingly in the direction of the jungle beside the mud creek; but three days elapsed before they were set to hoe among the coffee bushes again.

Bart let his chin go down upon his chest on the morning when the order was given, and the overseer saw it and cracked his whip.

“You sulky ruffian!” he cried. “None of your sour looks with me. Get on with you!”

He cracked his whip again, and Bart shuffled off, clinking his fetters loudly.

“Do keep between us, Abel, lad,” he whispered, “or I shall go off and he’ll see. Oh, lor’, how I do want to laugh!”

He restrained his mirth for a time, and they walked on to the end of the plantation and began their task at the opposite end to where they had left off, when the rate at which their hoes were plied was such that they were not long before they began to near the dense jungle, beyond which lay the mangrove swamp and the sea.

“I daren’t hope, Bart,” whispered Abel, so despondently that his companion, in a wildly excited manner, laughed in his face.

“What a lad you are!” he cried. “It’s all right; he’s waiting for us. It’s some, sailor chap from Dartmouth, whose ship’s put in at Kingston or Belize. Cheer up, mate!”

But it was all a mockery; and when they approached the jungle at last, hoeing more slowly for, much as they longed to go up at once, they knew that any unusual movement on their part, might be interpreted by watchful eyes into an attempt at escape, and bring down upon them a shot. Bart’s voice trembled and sounded hoarsely as he said playfully—

“Now, Abel, my lad, I’m going to talk to that there poll parrot.”

“Hush!” whispered Abel, agitatedly. “Keep on quietly with your work till we get close, and then call softly.”

“Oh, it’s all straight, lad,” whispered back Bart, chopping away and breaking clods, as his fetters clanked more loudly than ever. “Now, then, Polly! Pretty Polly, are you there?”

“Yes, yes, Bart. Abel, dear brother, at last, at last!” came from the jungle.

“Mary—Polly, my girl!” cried Abel, hoarsely, as he threw down his hoe; and he was running toward the jungle, where a crashing sound was heard, when Bart flung his strong arms across his chest and dashed him to the ground.

“Are you mad!” he cried. “Mary, for God’s sake keep back!”

The warning was needed, for from across the plantation the overseer and a couple of soldiers came running, every movement on the part of the prisoners being watched.

“Sham ill, lad; sham ill,” whispered Bart, as a piteous sigh came from the depths of the jungle.

“Now, then, you two. Fighting again!” roared the overseer, as he came panting up.

“Fighting, sir!” growled Bart; “rum fighting. He nearly went down.”

“He was trying to escape.”

“Escape!” growled Bart. “Look at him. Sun’s hot.”

The overseer bent down over Abel, whose aspect helped the illusion, for he looked ghastly from his emotion; and he had presence of mind enough to open his eyes, look about, wildly from face to face, and then begin to struggle up, with one hand to his head.

“Is it the fayver, sor?” said one of the soldiers.

“No. Touch of the sun,” said the overseer. “They’re always getting it. There, you’re all right, ar’n’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Abel, slowly, as he picked up his hoe.

“Sit down under the trees there for a few minutes,” said the overseer. “Lend him your water bottle, soldier. And you stop with him till he’s hotter. I’ll come back soon.”

This last was to Bart, playing, as it were, into the prisoners’ hands, for Bart took the water bottle; and as the overseer went off with his guard, Abel was assisted to the edge of the jungle where a huge cotton-tree threw its shade; and here Bart placed him on an old stump, trembling the while, as he held the water to his companion’s lips.

It was hard work to keep still while the others went out of hearing; but at last it seemed safe, and Abel panted out—

“Mary, dear, are you there?”

“Yes, yes, Abel. Oh, my dear brother, say one kind word to me!”

“Kind word? Oh, my lass, my lass, say that you forgive me!”

“Forgive you? Yes. But quick, dear, before those men come back.”

“Tell me, then,” said Abel, speaking with his back to the jungle, and his head bent down as if ill, while Bart leaned over him, trembling like a leaf, “tell me how you came to be here.”

“I came over in a ship to Kingston. Then I went to New Orleans. Then to Honduras. And it was only a fortnight ago that I found you.”

“But how did you come here?”

“I’ve got a small boat, dear. I asked and asked for months before I could find out where you were. I’ve been to other plantations, and people have thought me mad; but one day I stumbled across the sailors of a ship that comes here with stores from the station, and I heard them say that there were a number of prisoners working at this place; and at last, after waiting and watching for weeks and weeks, I caught sight of you two, and then it was a month before I could speak to you as I did the other day.”

“And now you have come,” said Abel, bitterly, “I can’t even look at you.”

“But you will escape, dear,” said Mary.

“Escape!” cried Abel, excitedly.

“Steady, lad, steady. ’Member you’re ill,” growled Bart, glancing toward the nearest sentry, and then holding up the bottle as if to see how much was within.

“Yes, escape,” said Mary. “I have the boat ready. Can you come now?”

“Impossible! We should be overtaken and shot before we had gone a mile.”

“But you must escape,” said Mary. “You must get down here by night.”

“How?” said Bart, gruffly.

“You two must settle that,” said Mary, quickly. “I am only a woman; but I have found means to get here with a boat, and I can come again and again till you join me.”

“Yes,” said Abel, decidedly; “we will contrive that.”

“But is it safe, lass, where you are?”

“What do you mean?”

“They telled us there was the crocodiles all along that creek, and sharks out beyond, if we tried to run.”

“Yes,” said Mary, calmly, “there are plenty of these creatures about.”

“Listen,” said Abel, quickly, and speaking as decidedly now as his sister. “Can you get here night after night?”

“Yes,” said Mary. “I have been here every night since I spoke to you last.”

“Then keep on coming.”

“Yes,” said Mary; “I will till you escape.”

“You have the boat?”

“Yes.”

“And provisions?”

“Yes; a little.”

“But how do you manage?”

“I am fishing if any one sees me; but it is very lonely here. I see nothing but the birds,” she added to herself, “and sharks and alligators;” and as she said this she smiled sadly.

“Be careful, then,” said Abel. “Bart, old lad, we will escape.”

There was a loud expiration of the breath from the jungle, and Abel continued—

“I must get up and go on work, or they will be back. Mary, once more, you have a boat?”

“Yes.”

“And can come up here and wait?”

“Yes.”

Quick, short, decided answers each time.

“Then be cautious. Only come by night.”

“I know. Trust me. I will not be seen. I will do nothing rash. To-night as soon as it grows dark, I shall be here expecting you, for I shall not stir. At daybreak I shall go, and come again at night.”

“And mind the sentries.”

“Trust me, Abel. I shall not come now by day for six days. If at the end of six nights you have not been able to escape, I shall come for six days by day, hoping that you may be more successful in the daylight; for perhaps you will find that a bold dash will help you to get away.”

“But the risk—the risk?” panted Abel—“the risk, girl, to you!”

“Abel, dear, I am here to risk everything. I have risked everything to join you.”

“Yes,” he said, hoarsely. “But afterwards. If we do escape?”

“Leave the plans to me,” she said, with a little laugh. “I have boat and sail, and the world is very wide. Only escape. Take care; the men are coming back.”

Mary’s voice ceased; and Abel took hold of Bart’s arm, rose, raised his hoe, and walked with him to where they had left off work, to begin again slowly, the two men trembling with excitement now; for, as the overseer neared them, a bird began flying to and fro over the edge of the jungle, screaming wildly, evidently from the fact that somebody was hidden there.

The excitement of the bird, whose nest was probably somewhere near, did not, however, take the attention of the overseer, who came up, followed by the Irish sentry, stared hard at Abel, gave a short nod as if satisfied that one of his beasts of burden was not going to permanently break down, and then, to the horror of the young men, took off his hat, began fanning himself, and went and sat down in the very spot where Abel had talked with his sister!

“Hot, Paddy, hot!” he said to the soldier.

“Dinny, sor, av you plaze. Thrue for you, sor, and a taste of dhrink would be very nice for ye; but I shouldn’t sit there.”

“Why not?” said the overseer.

“Because the place swarms with them ugly, four-futted, scaly divils. I’ve gone the rounds here of a night, sor, and heard them snapping their jaws and thumping the wet mud with their tails till I’ve shivered again.”

“Yes, there’s plenty of them in the creek, Dinny.”

“Plinty, sor, ’s nothing to it. There niver seems to have been a blessed Saint Pathrick here to get rid of the varmin. Why, I’ve seen frogs here as big as turtles, and sarpints that would go round the Hill of Howth.”

“Well, look here, Dinny, cock your piece, and if you see anything stir, let drive at it at once.”

“Oi will, sor,” said the soldier, obeying orders; and, taking a step or two forward, he stood watchfully gazing into the dark jungle.

“Have you got your knife, Bart?” whispered Abel, whose face was of a peculiar muddy hue.

Bart nodded as he chopped away.

“Shall we make a rush at them, and stun them with the hoes?”

Bart shook his head.

“Mary’s too clever,” he whispered back. “She’s well hidden, and will not stir.”

“If that Irish beast raises his musket I must go at him,” whispered Abel, who was trembling from head to foot.

“Hold up, man. She heer’d every word, and won’t stir.”

“Silence, there. No talking!” cried the overseer.

“Let the poor divils talk, sor,” said the soldier. “Faix, it’s bad enough to put chains on their legs; don’t put anny on their tongues.”

“If I get you down,” thought Abel, “I won’t kill you, for that.”

“Against orders,” said the overseer, good-humouredly. “Well, can you see anything stirring?”

“Not yet, sor; but I hope I shall. Bedad, I’d be glad of a bit o’ sport, for it’s dhry work always carrying a gun about widout having a shot.”

“Yes; but when you do get a shot, it’s at big game, Dinny.”

“Yis, sor, but then it’s very seldom,” said the sentry, with a roguish twinkle of the eye.

“I can’t bear this much longer, Bart,” whispered Abel. “When I say Now! rush at them both with your hoe.”

“Wait till he’s going to shoot, then,” growled Bart.

The overseer bent down, and, sheltering himself beneath the tree, placed his hands out in the sunshine, one holding a roughly rolled cigar, the other a burning-glass, with which he soon focussed the vivid white spot of heat which made the end of the cigar begin to smoke, the tiny spark being drawn into incandescence by application to the man’s lips, while the pleasant odour of the burning leaf arose.

“Sure, an’ that’s an illigant way of getting a light, sor,” said the sentry.

“Easy enough with such a hot sun,” said the overseer, complacently.

“Hot sun, sor! Sure I never carry my mushket here widout feeling as if it will go off in my hands; the barl gets nearly red-hot!”

“Yah! Don’t point it this way,” said the overseer, smoking away coolly. “Well, can you see anything?”

“Divil a thing but that noisy little omadhaun of a bird. Sure, she’d be a purty thing to have in a cage.”

Abel’s face grew more ghastly as he gazed at Bart, who remained cool and controlled him.

“Bart,” whispered Abel, with the sweat rolling off his face in beads, “what shall we do?”

“Wait,” said the rough fellow shortly; and he hoed away, with his fetters clinking, and his eyes taking in every movement of the two men; while involuntarily Abel followed his action in every respect, as they once more drew nearer to their task-master and his guard.

“There’s a something yonder, sor,” said the soldier at last.

“Alligator!” said the overseer, lazily; and Abel’s heart rose so that he seemed as if he could not breathe.

“I can’t see what it is, sor; but it’s a something, for the little burrud kapes darting down at it and floying up again. I belayve it is one of they crockidills. Shall I shute the divil?”

“How can you shoot it if you can’t see it, you fool?” said the overseer.

“Sure, sor, they say that every bullet has its billet, and if I let the little blue pill out of the mouth o’ the mushket, faix, it’s a strange thing if it don’t find its way into that ugly scaly baste.”

The overseer took his cigar from his lips and laughed; but to the intense relief of the young men, perhaps to the saving of his own life, he shook his head.

“No, Dinny,” he said, “it would alarm the station. They’d think someone was escaping. Let it be.”

Dinny sighed, the overseer smoked on, and the hot silence of the tropic clearing was only broken by the screaming and chattering of the excited bird, the hum of insects, and the clink-clink, thud-thud, of fetters and hoe as the convicts toiled on in the glowing sun.

They kept as near as they dared to their task-master, and he smiled superciliously as he put his own interpretation upon their acts.

“The artful scoundrels!” he said to himself; “they want me to believe that they always work like this. Well, it helps the plantation;” and he smoked placidly on, little dreaming that every time Abel reversed his hoe, so as to break a clod with the back, the young man glanced at him and measured the distance between them, while he calculated how long to hold the handle of the tool, and where would be the best place to strike the enemy so as to disable him at once.

“You take the soldier, Bart,” said Abel, softly. “I’ll manage the overseer.”

“Right, lad! but not without we’re obliged.”

“No. Then, as soon as they’re down, into the wood, find Mary, and make for her boat.”

The heat was intense, the shade beneath the great cotton-tree grateful, and the aroma of the cigar so delicious that the overseer sank into a drowsy reverie; while the soldier gave the two convicts a half-laughing look and then turned to face the jungle, whose depths he pierced with his eyes.

Bart drew a long breath and gazed toward the dark part of the jungle, and there was an intense look of love and satisfaction in his eyes as he tried to make out the place where Mary lay, as he believed, hidden. The sight of the sentry on the watch with his gun ready had ceased to trouble him, for he had told himself that the clumsy fellow could not hit a barn-door, let alone a smaller mark; while Abel seemed to be less agitated, and to be resuming his normal state.

They were not twenty yards from the edge of the forest now, the sentry’s back was toward them, and the overseer was getting to the end of his cigar, and watching the watcher with half-closed eyes, and an amused smile upon his yellow countenance.

“Every bullet finds its billet,” he muttered to himself; and, stretching himself, he was in the act of rising, when the bird, which had been silent, uttered a shrill, chattering cry, as if freshly disturbed, and the soldier shouted excitedly—

“Theer, sor, I can see it. A big one staling away among the threes. For the sake of all the saints give the wurrud!”

“Fire, then!” cried the overseer; and the sentry raised his piece to the “present.”

Bart Wrigley had not been at sea from childhood without winning a sailor’s eyes. Dark as the jungle was, and more distant as he stood, it was not so black that he could not make out the object which had oaken the sentry’s notice, and at which he took aim.

One moment Bart raised his hoe to rush at the man; the next he had brought it down heavily on Abel’s boulders, sending him forward upon his face, and uttering a cry of rage as he fell.

It was almost simultaneous. The cry uttered by Abel Dell and the report of the sentry’s piece seemed to smite the air together; but Abel’s cry was first, and disarranged the soldier’s aim, his bullet cutting the leaves of the jungle far above the ground.

“Look at that now!” he cried, as he turned sharply to see Abel struggling on the ground, with Bart holding him, and the overseer drawing a pistol front his breast.

“Lie still!” whispered Bart. “It was not at Mary.”

Then aloud—

“Quick, here! water! He’s in a fit.”

As Abel grasped his friend’s thoughts he lay back, struggling faintly, and then half-closed his eyes and was quite still.

“It’s the sun, sir,” said Bart, as the overseer thrust back his pistol and came up. “Hadn’t we better get him back to the lines?”

“Yes,” said the overseer. “Poor devil! No, no! Back, back!” he roared, signalling with his hands as a sergeant’s guard came along at the double. “Nothing wrong. Only a man sick, and Dinny Kelly here had a shot at an alligator.”

“An’ I should have hit him, sor, if he hadn’t shouted. But think o’ that, now! The sun lights gentleman’s cigar one minute, and shtrikes a man down the next. But it’s better than the yaller fayver, anyhow.”

Five days had passed, and the prisoners were not sent again to the clearing, while, in spite of every effort, they found that their chances of eluding the guard set over them by night were small indeed.

Fettered by day, they were doubly chained by night. The building where they slept was strongly secured and guarded, and in spite of the newness of the settlement it was well chosen for its purpose, and stronger even than the prisoners thought.

“We shall never get away by night, Bart,” said Abel, gloomily, “unless—”

He stopped and gazed meaningly at his companion.

“The knife?” responded Bart. “No, lad, we won’t do that. I shouldn’t like to go to Mary wet with blood.”

Abel’s countenance grew dark and deeply hard, for at that moment, in his despair and disappointment, he felt ready to go to any extremity, knowing, as he did, that his sister was waiting for him, holding out her hands and saying, “Come!”

Only another day, and then she would give up expecting them by night, and take to watching for them by day, when the attempt seemed hopeless.

And so it proved, for during the following week the prisoners were only once in the coffee-plantation, and so strictly watched that they felt that to attempt an evasion was only to bring destruction upon their hopes, perhaps cause Mary’s imprisonment for attempting to assist prisoners to escape.

“It’s of no use, Bart,” said Abel at last, despondently. “Poor girl! Why did she come?”

“Help us away,” said Bart, gruffly.

“Yes, but all in vain.”

“Tchah! Wait a bit.”

“Do you think she will still come and wait?” said Abel, dolefully.

“Do I think th’ sun ’ll shine agen?” growled Bart. “Here’s a fellow! Born same time as that there lass, lived with her all his days, and then he knows so little about her that he says, ‘Will she come agen?’”

“Enough to tire her out.”

“Tchah!” cried Bart again, “when you know she’ll keep on coming till she’s an old grey-headed woman, or she gets us away.”

Abel shook his head, for he was low-spirited and not convinced; but that night his heart leaped, for as he lay half asleep, listening to the thin buzzing hum of the mosquitoes which haunted the prisoners’ quarters, and the slow, regular pace of the sentry on guard outside, there was the faint rattle of a chain, as if some prisoner had turned in his unquiet rest, and then all was silent again, till he started, for a rough hand was laid upon his mouth.

His first instinct was to seize the owner of that hand, to engage in a struggle for his life; but a mouth was placed directly at his ear, and a well-known voice whispered—

“Don’t make a sound. Tie these bits of rag about your irons so as they don’t rattle.”

Abel caught at the pieces of cloth and canvas thrust into his hand, and, sitting up in the darkness, he softly bound the links and rings of his fetters together, hardly daring to breathe, and yet with his heart beating tumultuously in his anxiety to know his companion’s plans.

For an attempt it must be, Abel felt, though up to the time of their going to rest after the day’s work Bart had said nothing to him. He must have made a sudden discovery, and there was nothing for it but to obey in every way and trust to what was to come.

Abel felt this as he rapidly knotted the rag round his chains, and as he was tying the last knot he felt Bart’s hand upon his shoulder, and his lips at his ear.

“Quiet, and creep after me. Keep touching my foot so’s not to miss me in the dark.”

Abel’s heart thumped against his ribs as he obeyed, taking Bart’s hand first in a firm grip, and then feeling a short iron bar thrust between his fingers.

Then he became conscious from his companion’s movements that he had gone down upon his hands and knees, and was crawling toward the end of the long, low, stone-walled building that served as a dormitory for the white slaves whose task was to cultivate the rough plantation till they, as a rule, lay down and died from fever or some of the ills that haunted the tropic land.

Just then Bart stopped short, for there were steps outside, and a gleam of light appeared beneath the heavy door. Voices were heard, and the rattle of a soldier’s musket.

“Changing guard,” said Abel to himself; and he found himself wondering whether the sergeant and his men would enter the prison.

To add to the risk of discovery, there was a shuffling sound on the left, and a clink of chains, as one man seemed to rise upon his elbow; and his movement roused another, who also clinked his chains in the darkness and growled out an imprecation.

All this time Bart remained absolutely motionless, and Abel listened with the perspiration streaming from him in the intense heat.

Then there was a hoarsely uttered command; the light faded away, the steps died out upon the ear; there was a clink or two of chains, and a heavy sigh from some restless sleeper, and once more in the black silence and stilling heat there was nothing to be heard but the loud trumpeting buzz of the mosquitoes.

Softly, as some large cat, Bart resumed his crawling movement, after thrusting back his leg and touching Abel on the chest with his bare foot as a signal.

The building was quite a hundred feet long by about eighteen wide, a mere gallery in shape, which had been lengthened from time to time as the number of convicts increased, and the men had about two-thirds of the distance to traverse before they could reach the end, and at their excessively slow rate of progress the time seemed interminable before, after several painful halts, caused by movements of their fellow-prisoners and dread of discovery, the final halt was made.

“Now, then, what is it?” whispered Abel.

The answer he received was a hand laid across his mouth, and his heart began to beat more wildly than ever, for Bart caught his hand, drew it toward him, and as it was yielded, directed the fingers downward to the stone level with the floor.

Abel’s heart gave another bound, for that stone was loose, and as he was pressed aside he heard a faint gritting, his companion’s breath seemed to come more thickly, as if from exertion, and for the next hour—an hour that seemed like twelve—Abel lay, unable to help, but panting with anxiety, as the gritting noise went on, and he could mentally see that Bart was slowly drawing out rough pieces of badly-cemented stone—rough fragments really of coral and limestone from the nearest reef, of which the prison barrack was built.

Three times over Abel had tried to help, but the firm pressure of his companion’s hand forcing him back spoke volume, and he subsided into his position in the utter darkness, listening with his pulses throbbing and subsiding, as the gritting sound was made or the reverse.

At last, after what seemed an age, a faint breath of comparatively cool air began to play upon his cheek, as Bart seemed to work steadily on. That breath grew broader and fuller, and there was a soft odour of the sea mingled with the damp coolness of a breeze which had passed over the dewy ground before it began to set steadily in at the opening at which Bart had so patiently worked, for that there was an opening was plain enough now, as Abel exultantly felt.

In his inaction the torture of the dread was intense, and he lay wondering whether, if they did get out, Mary would still be waiting, expecting them, or their efforts prove to have been in vain.

At last, just when he felt as if he could bear it no longer, Bart’s hand gripped him by the shoulder, and pressed him tightly. Then in the darkness his hand was seized and guided where it hardly wanted guiding, for the young man’s imagination had painted all—to a rough opening level with the floor, a hole little larger than might have been made for fowls to pass in and out of a poultry-yard.

This done, Bart gave him a thrust which Abel interpreted to mean, “Go on.”

Abel responded with another, to indicate, “No; you go.”

Bart gripped him savagely by the arm, and he yielded, crept slowly to the hole, went down upon his breast, and softly thrust his head through into the dank night air, to hear plainly the sighing and croaking of the reptiles in the swamp, and see before him the sparkling scintillations of the myriad fireflies darting from bush to bush.

He wormed himself on, and was about to draw forth one hand and arm, but always moving as silently as some nocturnal beast of prey, when it suddenly occurred to him that the glow of one of the fireflies was unusually large; and before he had well grasped this idea there was the regular tramp of feet, and he knew that it was the lantern of the guard moving across to the prison barrack, and that they must come right past where he lay.

He must creep back and wait; and as the steps steadily approached and the tramp grew plainer he began to wriggle himself through, getting his arm well in and his shoulders beginning to follow till only his head was outside, and the dull light of the lantern seeming to show it plainly, when to his horror he found that some portion of his garment had caught upon a rough projection and he was fast.

He made a tremendous effort, but could not drag it free, for his arms were pressed close to his sides and he was helpless. If Bart had known and passed a hand through, he might have freed him, but he could not explain his position; and all the time the guard was coming nearer and nearer, the lantern-light dancing upon the rough path, until it would be hardly possible for the nearest soldier to pass him without stumbling against his head.

Discovery, extra labour, the lash, more irons, and the chance of evasion gone; all those displayed, as it were, before Abel Dell’s gaze as he thought of his sister waiting for them with that boat all plainly seen by the gleaming light of that lantern as the soldiers came steadily on.

It was absolutely impossible that the sergeant and his four men, whom the light had revealed quite plainly to Abel Dell, could pass him without something unusual occurred. The sergeant was carrying his lantern swinging at arm’s length, on his left side, and the bottom as he passed would only be a few inches above the prisoner’s head.

Abel knew all this as he pressed his teeth together to keep down the agonising feeling of despair he felt already as the men came on in regular pace, with the barrels of the muskets and their bayonets gleaming, and he expected to hear an exclamation of astonishment with the command “Halt!”—when something unusual did happen.

For all at once, just as the back of Abel’s head must have loomed up like a black stone close by the sergeant’s path, and the rays of light glistened on his short, crisp, black hair, there came a loud croaking bellow from down in the swamp by the crook, and Dinny exclaimed aloud:

“Hark at that now!”

“Silence in the ranks!” cried the sergeant fiercely; and then, as if the Irishman’s words were contagious, he, turning his head as did his men towards the spot whence the sound proceeded, exclaimed, “What was it?”

“One of them lovely crockidills, sergeant dear—the swate craytures, with that plisant smile they have o’ their own. Hark at him again!”

The same croaking roar arose, but more distant, as if it were the response to a challenge.

“Don’t it carry you home again sergeant, dear?”

“Silence in the—How, Dinny?” said the sergeant, good-humouredly, for the men were laughing.

“Why, my mother had a cow—a Kerry cow, the darlint—and Farmer Magee, half a mile across the bog, had a bull, and you could hear him making love to her at toimes just like that, and moighty plisant it was.”

“And used he to come across the bog,” said the sergeant, “to court her?”

“And did he come across the bog to court her!” said Dinny, with a contemptuous tone in his voice. “And could you go across the bog courting if Farmer Magee had put a ring through your nose, and tied you up to a post, sergeant dear? Oh, no! The farmer was moighty particular about that bull’s morals, and niver let him out of a night.”

“Silence in the ranks! ’Tention!” said the serjeant. “Half left!”

Tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp, and the men passed round the end of the building just as the alligator bellowed again.

Abel drew a long breath and rapidly drew himself through the hole—no easy task and Bart began follow, but only to stick before he was half-way through.

“I’m at it again,” he whispered. “Natur’ made me crooked o’ purpose to go wrong at times like this.”

Abel seized his hands, as he recalled the incident at the cottage.

“Now,” he whispered, “both together—hard!”

Bart gave himself a wrench as his companion tugged tremendously, and the resistance was overcome.

“Half my skin,” growled Bart, as he struggled to his feet and stood by his companion. “Now, lad, this way.”

“No, no; that’s the way the soldiers have gone.”

“It’s the only way, lad. The dogs are yonder, and we couldn’t get over the palisade. Now!”

They crept on in silence, seeing from time to time glints of the lantern, and in the midst of the still darkness matters seemed to be going so easily for them that Abel’s heart grew more regular in its pulsation, and he was just asking himself why he had not had invention enough to contrive this evasion, when a clear and familiar voice cried, “Shtand!” and there was the click of a musket-lock.

What followed was almost momentary.

Bart struck aside the bayonet levelled at his breast, and leaped upon the sentry before him, driving him backward and clapping his hand upon his mouth as he knelt upon his chest; while, ably seconding him, his companion wrested the musket from the man’s hand, twisted the bayonet from the end of the barrel, and, holding it daggerwise, pressed it against the man’s throat.

“Hold aside, Bart,” whispered Abel, savagely.

“No, no,” growled Bart. “No blood, lad.”

“’Tis for our lives and liberty!” whispered Abel, fiercely.

“Ay, but—” growled Bart. “Lie still, will you!” he muttered, as fiercely as his companion, for the sentry had given a violent heave and wrested his mouth free.

“Sure, an’ ye won’t kill a poor boy that how, gintlemen,” he whispered, piteously.

“Another word, and it’s your last!” hissed Abel.

“Sure, and I’ll be as silent as Pater Mulloney’s grave, sor,” whispered the sentry; “but it’s a mother I have over in the owld country, and ye’d break her heart if ye killed me.”

“Hold your tongue!” whispered Bart.

“Sure, and I will, sor. It’s not meself as would stop a couple of gintlemen from escaping. There’s the gate, gintlemen. Ye’ve got my mushket, and I can’t stop you.”

“Yes, come along,” whispered Bart.

“What! and leave him to give the alarm?” said Abel. “We’re wasting time, man. ’Tis his life or ours.”

“Not at all, sor,” whispered the sentry, pleadingly. “I won’t give the alarm, on my hanner; and you can’t kill a boy widout letting him just say, ‘How d’ye do?’ and ‘Which is the way yander?’ to the praste.”

“Shall we trust him?” said Bart, in a low growl.

“No!”

“Then take me wid ye, gintlemen. Faix, ye might force me to go, for the divil a bit do I want to shtay here.”

“Look here,” whispered Bart; “it’s neck or nothing, my lad. If you give the alarm, it will be with that bayonet struck through you.”

“And would a Kelly give the alarm, afther he said on his hanner? Sure, you might thrust me.”

“Over with you, then, Bart,” whispered Abel; “I’ll stand over him here. Take the gun.”

Bart obeyed, and Abel stood with one hand upon the sentry’s shoulder, and the bayonet close to his throat.

“An’ is that the way you thrust a gintleman?” said Dinny, contemptuously, as Bart, with all a sailor’s and rock-climber’s activity, drew himself up, and dropped from the top of the wall at the side.

“Now, you over,” whispered Abel. “We shall take you with us till we’re safe; but so sure as you give warning of our escape, you lose your life!”

“Ah! ye may thrust me,” said the sentry, quickly. “Is it over wid me?”

“Yes; quick!”

The man scaled the gate as easily as Bart had done before him, and then Abel followed; but as he reached the top and shuffled sidewise to the wall, which he bestrode, there was the sound of a shot, followed by another, and another, and the fierce baying of dogs.

“Bedad, they’ve seen ye,” said the sentry, as Abel dropped down.

“They’ve been in the barrack,” whispered Bart.

“To be sure they have, sor; the sergeant was going round.”

“Quick, take his hand!” said Bart.

“No!” whispered Abel, levelling the bayonet.

“No, no; for my mother’s sake, sor!” cried the sentry, piteously. “She has only six of us, and I’m one.”

“Put away that bagnet!” said Bart, hoarsely. “Take his hand, and run!”

“That’s it, sor, at the double,” said the sentry, rising from his knees, where he had flung himself. “I’m wid ye to the end of the world. It’s a place I know, and—”

“Silence!” hissed Abel, as there was the loud clanging of a bell with the fierce yelping of dogs, and they dashed off, hand joined in hand, for the coffee-plantation, away down by the cane-brake and the swamp.

Chapter Thirteen.

The Pursuit.

The hue and cry rose louder and louder as the fugitives ran laboriously toward the jungle brake. Lights could be seen; a signal-gun was fired, and the little colony was up in arms, ready to hunt down the escaped criminals, lest they should take to the forest, from whence, after a time, they would issue forth as wild beasts. But in the darkness of that tropic night there would have been little danger of recapture but for those sounds which told the evading men that their greatest enemies were now afoot—those who could hunt them down without light or sight, but would track them by scent with the greatest ease.

“Hark at that, now!” said the Irishman, as he ran on, step by step with the escaping prisoners. “D’ye hear the dogs giving tongue? They haven’t got the scent right yet, me boys; but they’ll have it soon. G’long; ye don’t half run.”

He ceased speaking for a few moments, and then continued apologetically—

“Faix, and it’s meself forgot. Ye’ve got the bilboes an, and they make it bad running. There, d’ye hear the dogs? It’s like having the hounds back at home, before I ’listed for a soger, and got sent out here. Run, ye divils, run! But, I say: if we’re tuk, and it comes to a thrial—court martial, ye know—be fair to a boy, now, won’t ye?”

“What do you mean?” said Bart, gruffly.

“Remimber that it was you made me desart. I couldn’t help meself, could I?”

Bart did not answer, but kept on with his steady, lumbering trot, which was the more laborious to him from the shortness of his fetters making it difficult to him to keep up with his companions.

“Bedad, they’re well on the scent!” said the Irishman, gazing back as he ran; “and it’ll not be long before they’re up with us. What’ll we do at all?”

“Do?” said Bart, gruffly; “leave you to tell that cursed brute that we sha’n’t want his whip any more; for—”

“Hush!” cried Abel,

“Ay, I forgot,” said Bart, nodding his head.

“We’ll have to get up the trees before the dogs reach us, or it’ll be awkward for the whole three. They’ll forget to respect the king’s uniform in the dark. It’s no good, my lads; they’ll take us, and ye’ve had all your throuble for nothing. Faix, and I’m sorry for ye, whativer ye did, for it’s a dog’s life ye lead.”

“Silence, man,” whispered Abel. “Do you want the dogs to be on us?”

“Divil a bit, sor; but they’ll be down on us soon widout hearing us talk. Murther, but it’s a powerful shensh of shmell they have. How they are coming on!”

It was quite true. The dogs were after them with unerring scent, and but for the fact that they were in leashes so that those who held them back might be able to keep up, they would have soon overtaken the fugitives. They were at no great distance as it was, and their baying, the encouraging shouts of their holders, and the sight of the lanterns rising and falling in the darkness, helped the Irishman’s words to send despair into the fugitives’ hearts.

“Sure, and we’re in the coffee-tree gyarden!” said the sentry. “Oi know it by the little bits of bushes all in rows. Thin the wood isn’t far, and we’ll get up a tree before the bastes of dogs come up to us. Hark at the onnat’ral bastes; sure, it’s supper they think they’re going to have. Maybe they’d like to taste a Kelly.”

“Now, Bart, lad, quick! Shall we let him go?” cried Abel.

“And is it let me go?” said the sentry, excitedly. “You’d niver be such cowards. Let the dogs have fair-play.”

“Silence!” cried Abel, imperatively.

“Sure it’s meself that’s the most silent.”

“Abel!—Bart! This way!”

“To the left, lad,” cried Bart, for they had now reached the edge of the jungle; and just as despair was filling their breasts, for Mary made no sign, her voice proved her fidelity by its being heard some distance to their left.

“Thin it’s all right,” said Dinny, excitedly. “Ye’ve got friends waiting?”

“Silence, I say!” cried Abel.

“Sure, and I’ll hold my pace, and good luck to ye, for I heard the boy’s spache, and maybe he has a boat waiting down by the wather.”

“Will you be silent, man?” cried Abel, fiercely, as the baying of the dogs increased. “Bart, we must not go on, for it would be bringing the dogs upon someone else.”

“Not it,” said Dinny; “ye’ve plenty of time yet, maybe. Go along, me boys, and bad luck to the dogs, for they’ll be disappointed afther all!”

Abel gave a low, peculiar whistle like a sea-bird’s cry, and it was answered not twenty yards away.

“Here, quick!” came in the well-known voice; “I’m here. Jump; never mind the mud!”

They all jumped together, to find themselves in a miry place where Mary was waiting.

“This way,” she said. “I can guide you direct to the boat. Quick, or the dogs will be upon us!”

“Well done, boy!” cried Dinny. “That’s good. I knew there was a boat.”

“And now,” cried Abel, turning upon him, “off with that pouch and belt.”

“Certainly, sor,” replied Dinny, slipping off and handing his cartridge-bag.

“Now, back to your friends, and tell them we’re gone.”

“My friends!” cried Dinny. “Sure, there isn’t a friend among them.”

“Stop back, then, whoever they are.”

“But the dogs, sor!”

“Curse the dogs. Back, I say!”

“But, sor, they’re the most savage of bastes. They won’t listen to anny explanation, but pull a man down before he has time to say, Heaven presarve us!”

“Silence, and go!”

“Nay, sor, ye’ll tak’ me wid ye now? Quick! ye’re losing time.”

“Let him come, Abel,” whispered Mary.

“That’s well spoken, young sor. And if we’re to have whole shkins, let’s be getting on.”

The advice was excellent, for the sounds of pursuit were close at hand, and the dogs were baying as if they heard as well as scented their prey.

“All’s ready,” whispered Mary. “I heard the shots, and knew you were coming. Abel, your hand. Join hands all.”

Abel caught at that of his sister, at the same time extending his own, which was taken by Bart, and he in turn, almost involuntarily, held out his to Dinny.

In this order they passed rapidly through the jungle, along a beaten track formed by the animals which frequented the place, and one which during her long, patient watches had become perfectly familiar to Mary Dell, who threaded it with ease.

It was one wild excitement, for the dogs were now growing furious. The scent was hot for them, and ere the fleeing party had reached the creek the fierce brutes had gained the edge of the jungle, through which they dragged their keepers, who mingled words of encouragement with oaths and curses as they were brought into contact with the tangled growth.

But all the same the hunt was hot, and in spite of Mary’s foresight and the manner in which she guided her friends, the dogs were nearly upon them as the boat was reached.

“In first,” whispered Abel; but Mary protested and would have hung back had not Bart lifted her bodily in after wading into the mud, where he stood and held the side of the frail canoe.

“Now, Abe,” he whispered.

“I can hear them,” shouted a voice. “Loose the dogs. Seize ’em, boys, seize ’em!”

“Here, room for me?” whispered Dinny.

“No,” cried Abel, fiercely. “Keep back!”

“I’m coming wid you,” cried Dinny.

Bart caught him by the shoulder.

“No, no, my lad, we’re escaping; this is no place for you.”

“Be my sowl, this isn’t,” said Dinny, shaking himself free, and seizing the side of the boat he began to wade and thrust her from the shore. “In with you too.”

Bart said no more, but followed the Irishman’s example, and together they waded on into the muddy creek, only to get a few yards from the shore, as with a furious rush the dogs crushed through the canes and reeds, to stop, breast-deep, barking savagely.

“Purty creatures!” whispered Dinny. “Sure, and we musn’t get in yet, or, if we do, it must be together. Push her out.”

“Halt, there!” cried a loud voice, suddenly. “I have you. Down, dogs! Do you hear! Halt!”

“Kape on,” whispered Dinny.

“Make ready!” cried the same voice. “Present! Will you surrender?”

“Lie down, me darlins,” whispered Dinny. “Divil a bit can they see where to shoot.”

“Fire!” cried the same voice, and a dozen flashes of light blazed out of the cane-brake. There was a roar that seemed deafening, and the darkness was once more opaque.

“Anybody hit?” whispered Dinny. “Silence gives consint,” he added to himself. “Push along, and as soon as it’s deep enough we’ll get in. Ugh! bedad, it’s up to me chin all at wanst,” he muttered. “Can you give a boy a hand?”

A hand caught his wrist, and he was helped over the stern of the boat, dripping and panting, as Bart scrambled in simultaneously, and though the little vessel threatened to overset, it held firm.

Then another volley was fired, for the bullets to go bursting through the canes, but over the fugitives’ heads, and once more darkness reigned over the hurried buzz of voices and the furious baying of the dogs.

Order after order came from the soft marshy land at the edge of the creek, mingled with shouts at the dogs, which were now loose, and barking and yelping as they ran here and there at the side of the water, where their splashing could be heard by those in the boat, which was being propelled slowly and cautiously by Mary, who knelt in the prow and thrust a pole she carried down in the mud.

The baying of the dogs as they kept making rushes through the canes gave the pursuers some clue as to where the fugitives would be; and from time to time, after a command given to the escaping men to surrender, a volley was fired, the bright flashes from the muskets cutting the darkness, and showing where their danger lay.

It was slow work for both parties, the pursuers having to force their way painfully through the tangled growth, while the heavily-laden boat had to be propelled through what was in places little more than liquid mud full of fibrous vegetation, and what had been but a light task to Mary when she was alone, proved to be almost beyond her strength with so heavy a load.

“Are you going right?” whispered Abel at last, for they were hardly moving, and it seemed to him that they were running right in among the growth that whispered and creaked against the boat.

“Yes; be patient,” was the stern reply.

“I can see them. They’re wading yonder in the mud up to their waists.”

“There they are,” came from apparently close at hand, and the dogs burst out more furiously than ever. “Now, then, you scoundrels, we can see you. Give up.”

“Faith, and it’s a cat he is,” whispered Dinny. “What a foine senthry he’d make for night duty!”

“Surrender!” shouted the same voice, “or we’ll blow you out of the water.”

“The ugly, yellow-faced divil!” muttered Dinny.

“Now, then, come ashore, and I will not be so severe with you.”

“Hark at that, now,” whispered Dinny to Bart. “It’s a baby he thinks ye, afther all.”

“Curse them! Fire then, sergeant,” cried the overseer. “No mercy now.”

“Down, dogs!” roared the man again. “Quick, there—fire!”

A rattling volley from close at hand rang out, and it was followed by utter silence, as if those ashore were listening.

“Curse your stupid fellows, sergeant! Why don’t you make them fire lower?”

“If they fired lower, we should have hit the dogs, sir.”

“Hang the dogs! I wanted you to hit the men. Now, then, fire again.”

There was the rattling noise of the ramrods in the barrels as the men loaded, and once more silence. The sinuous nature of the muddy creek had brought the fugitives terribly near to the dense brake; but Mary’s pole remained perfectly motionless, and there was nothing to be done but wait till the party moved on, when there would be a chance to get lower down towards the open sea; while, after the next quarter of a mile, the creek opened out into quite a little estuary dotted by sandbanks and islets of bamboos and palms.

“Now I have them!” cried the overseer, suddenly. “Bring a gun, sergeant. I can pick off that fellow easily.”

“Faith, and what a foine liar he would make wid a little training,” whispered Dinny. “Why, I can’t even see my hand before me face.”

“Hush,” whispered Bart, and then he half started up in the boat, for there was a sudden splashing, a shout, and the piteous yelping and baying of a dog, which was taken up in chorus by the others present.

Yelp—bark—howl, accompanied by the splashing and beating of water, and rustling of reeds and canes, and then a choking, suffocating sound, as of some animal being dragged under water, after which the dogs whined and seemed to be scuffling away.

“What’s the matter with the dogs?” said the overseer.

“One of those beasts of alligators dragged the poor brute down,” said the sergeant. “It struck me with its tail.”

There was a rushing, scuffling noise here, and the heavy trampling of people among the tangled growth, growing more distant moment by moment, in the midst of which Mary began to use her pole, and the boat glided on through the thick, half-liquid mud.

“Sure, an’ it’s plisant,” said Dinny, coolly; “the dogs on one side, and the crockidills on the other. It isn’t at all a tempting spot for a bathe; but I’ve got to have a dip as soon as we get out of this into the sea.”

“What for?” whispered Bart.

“Bekase I’m wet with fresh wather and mud, and I’m a man who likes a little salt outside as well at in. It kapes off the ugly fayvers of the place. Do you want me to catch a cowld?”

“Silence, there!” said Mary, gruffly, from her place in the prow; and for quite an hour she toiled on through the intense darkness, guiding the boat from the tangle of weedy growth and cane into winding canal-like portions of the lagoon, where every now and then they disturbed some great reptile, which plunged into deeper water with a loud splash, or wallowed farther among the half-liquid mud.

The sounds ashore grew distant, the firing had ceased; and, feeling safer, the little party began to converse in a low tone, all save Dinny, whose deep, regular breathing told that he had fallen fast asleep in happy carelessness of any risk that he might run.

“How came you out here?” said Bart from his seat, after another vain effort to take Mary’s place.

“Ship,” she said laconically, and with a hoarse laugh.

“But who gave you a passage?” said Abel.

“Gave? No one,” she said, speaking in quite a rough tone of voice. “How could I find friends who would give! I worked my way out.”

“Oh,” said Bart; and he sat back, thinking and listening as the pole kept falling in the water with a rhythmic splash, and the brother and sister carried on a conversation in a low tone.

“I suppose we are safe now,” said Mary. “They never saw the boat, and they would think you are hiding somewhere in the woods.”

“Yes; and because they don’t find us, they’ll think the alligators have pulled us down,” replied Abel. “Where are we going?”

“To get right down to the mouth of this creek, and round the shore. There are plenty of hiding-places along the coast. Inlets and islands, with the trees growing to the edge of the sea.”

“And what then?” said Abel.

“What then?” said Mary, in a half wondering tone.

“Yes; where shall we go?”

There was an interval of silence, during which the boat glided on in the darkness, which seemed to be quite opaque.

“I had not thought of that,” said Mary, in the same short, rough voice which she seemed to have adopted. “I only thought of finding you, Abel, and when I had found you, of helping you to escape.”

“She never thought of me,” muttered Bart, with a sigh.

“Good girl,” said Abel, tenderly.

“Hush! Don’t say that,” she cried shortly. “Who is this man with you?” she whispered then.

“One of the sentries.”

“Why did you bring him?”

“We were obliged to bring him, or—”

“Kill him?” said Mary, hoarsely, for her brother did not end his sentence.

“Yes.”

“You must set him ashore, of course.”

“Yes, of course. And then?”

“I don’t know, Abel. I wanted to help you to escape, and you have escaped. You must do the rest.”

“You’re a brave, true girl,” said Abel, enthusiastically; but he was again checked shortly.

“Don’t say that,” cried Mary, in an angry tone.

“What’s she mean?” thought Bart; and he lay back wondering, while the boat glided on, and there was a long pause, for Abel ceased speaking, and when his deep breathing took Bart’s attention and he leaned forward and touched him there was no response.

“Why, he’s fallen asleep, Mary!” said Bart, in a whisper.

“Hush, Bart don’t call me that!” came from the prow.

“All right, my lass!” said the rough fellow. “I’ll do anything you tells me.”

“Then don’t say ‘my lass’ to me.”

“I won’t if you don’t wish it,” growled Bart. “Here, let me pole her along now.”

“No; sit still. Is that man asleep?”

“Yes; can’t you hear? He’s fagged out like poor old Abel. But let me pole the boat.”

“No; she’ll drift now with the current and we shall be carried out to sea. If the people yonder saw us then they would not know who was in the boat. You have escaped, Bart?”

“Ay, we’ve escaped, my—”

“Hush, I say!” cried Mary, imperiously; and Bart, feeling puzzled, rubbed one ear and sat gazing straight before him into the darkness where he knew the girl to be, his imagination filing up the blanks, till he seemed to see her standing up in the boat, with a red worsted cap perched jauntily upon her raven-black hair, and a tight blue-knitted jacket above her linsey-woolsey skirt, just as he had seen her hundreds of times in her father’s, and then in Abel’s boat at home on the Devon shore.

All at once Bart Wrigley opened his eyes and stared. Had he been asleep and dreamed that he and Abel had escaped, and then that he was in the Dell’s boat, with Mary poling it along?

What could it all mean? He was in a boat, and behind him lay back the soldier with his mouth open, sleeping heavily. On his left was Abel Dell, also sleeping as a man sleeps who is utterly exhausted by some terrible exertion. But that was not the Devon coast upon which the sun was shedding its early morning rays. Dense belts of mangrove did not spread their muddy roots like intricate rustic scaffoldings on southern English shores, and there were no clusters of alligators lying here and there among the mud and ooze.

It was true enough. They did escape in the night, and Mary had been there ready to help them with a boat; but where was she now? and who was this sturdy youth in loose petticoat-canvas trousers, and heavy fisherman’s boots?

Bart stared till his eyes showed a ring of white about their pupils, and his mouth opened roundly in unison for a time. Then eyes and mouth closed tightly, and wrinkles appeared all over his face, as he softly shook all over, and then, after glancing at Abel and the Irish soldier, he uttered a low—

“Haw, haw!”

The figure in the boat swung round and faced him sharply, glancing at the two sleeping men, and holding up a roughened brown hand to command silence.

“All right,” said Bart, half-choking with mirth; and then, “Oh, I say, my lass, you do look rum in them big boots!”

“Silence, idiot!” she whispered, sharply. “Do you want that strange man to know?”

“Nay, not I,” said Bart, shortly, as he too glanced at Dinny. “But I say, you do look rum.”

“Bart,” whispered Mary, fiercely, and her eyes flashed with indignant anger, “is this a time to fool?”

“Nay, my lass, nay,” he said, becoming sober on the instant, “But you do look so rum. I say, though,” he cried, sharply, “what’s gone of all your beautiful long hair?”

“Fire,” said Mary, coldly.

“Fire! what!—you’ve cut it off and burnt it?” Mary nodded.

“Oh!” ejaculated Bart, and it sounded a groan.

“Could girl with long hair have worked her passage out here as a sailor-boy, and have come into that cane-brake and saved you two?” said Mary, sharply; and as Bart sat staring at her with dilated eyes once more, she bent down after gazing at Dinny, still soundly sleeping, and laid her hand with a firm grip on her brother’s shoulder.

He started into wakefulness on the instant, and gazed without recognition in the face leaning over him.

“Don’t you know me, Abel?” said Mary, sadly.

“You, Mary?—dressed like this!”

He started up angrily, his face flushing as hers had flushed, and his look darkened into a scowl.

“What else could I do?” she said, repeating her defence as she had pleaded to Bart. Then, as if her spirit rebelled against his anger, her eyes flashed with indignation, and she exclaimed hoarsely, “Well, I have saved you, and if you have done with me—there is the sea!”

“But you—dressed as a boy!” said Abel.

“Hush! Do you want that man to know?” whispered Mary, hoarsely. “My brother was unjustly punished and sent out here to die in prison, while I, a helpless girl, might have starved at home, or been hunted down by that devil who called himself a man? What could I do?”

“But you worked your passage out here as a sailor?” whispered Abel.

“Ay, and she could do it, too—as good a sailor as ever took in sail; and, Mary, lass, I asks your pardon for laughing; and if I wasn’t such a big ugly chap, I could lie down there and cry.”

He held out his great coarse hand, in which Mary placed hers to return his honest clasp, and her eyes smiled for a moment into his, while Abel sat frowning and biting his lips as he glanced at Dinny.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, hesitatingly. “It seems—”

“Heigh—ho—ho! Oh, dear me!” cried Dinny, opening his eyes suddenly, making Mary start and Abel mutter a curse.

There was only one of the two equal to the emergency, and that was Bart, who gave his knee a sounding slap and cried aloud—

“Jack Dell, my lad, you’ve behaved like a trump, and got us away splendid. I on’y wish, Abel, I had such a brother. Hallo, soger, where shall we set you ashore?”

“Set me ashore?” said the Irishman, nodding at Mary; “what for?”

“What for?” cried Bart. “To go back.”

“I’m not going back,” said the Irishman, laughing. “Sure, I want a change.”

“Change!” cried Abel. “You can’t go with us.”

“Sure, and you forced me to come, and ye wouldn’t behave so dirthily as to send me back?”

“But we’re escaping,” said Bart.

“Sure, and I’ll escape too,” said Dinny, smiling. “It’s moighty dull work stopping there.”

“But you’re a soldier,” said Abel.

“To be sure I am—a sowldier of fortune.”

“You’ll be a deserter if you stop with us,” growled Bart.

“The divil a bit! Ye made me a prishner, and I couldn’t help meself.”

“Why, I wanted you to go back last night!” growled Bart.

“To be ate up entoirely by the ugly bastes of dogs! Thank ye kindly, sor, I’d rather not.”

Dinny looked at Mary and gave her a droll cock of the eye, which made her frown and look uneasy.

“Sure, Misther Jack,” he said, coolly, “don’t you think they’re a bit hard on a boy?”

“Hard?” said Mary, shortly.

“Av coorse. They knocked me down and took away me mushket and bagnet, and there they are in the bottom of the boat. Then they made me get over the gate and eshcape wid ’em; and, now they’re safe, they want to put me ashore.”

“We can’t take you with us,” said Abel, shortly.

“Aisy, now! Think about it, sor. Ye’re going for a holiday, sure; and under the circumstances I’d like one too. There! I see what ye’re a-thinking—that I’d bethray ye. Sure, and I’m a Kelly, and ye never knew a Kelly do a dirthy thrick to anyone. Did I shout for help last night when you towld me not?”

“You were afraid,” growled Bart.

“Afraid!—me afraid! Did ye ever hear of a Kelly who was afraid? No, sor; I said to meself, ‘The poor boys are making a run for it, and I’ll let them go.’ Sure, and I did, and here ye are.”

“It would not be wise to go near the shore now,” said Mary, in a whisper to her brother. “You have nothing to fear from him.”

Abel glanced at the happy, contented face before him, and then turned to Bart.

“What do you say?” he asked.

“There’s no harm in him,” said Bart, with a suspicious look at the Irishman.

“Sure, an’ ye’ll find me very useful,” said Dinny. “I was at say before I ’listed, so I can steer and haul a rope.”

“Can you keep faith with those who trust you?” said Mary, quickly.

“An’ is it a Kelly who can keep faith, me lad? Sure, an’ we’re the faithfullest people there is anny where. And, bedad! but you’re a handsome boy, and have a way wid you as’ll make some hearts ache before ye’ve done.”

Mary started, and turned of a deep dark red, which showed through her sun-browned skin, as she flashed an angry look upon the speaker.

Dinny burst into a hearty laugh.

“Look at him,” he said, “colouring up like a girl. There, don’t look at me, boy, as if ye were going to bite. I like to see it in a lad. It shows his heart’s in the right place, and that he’s honest and true. There, take a grip o’ me hand, for I like you as much for your handsome face as for the way you’ve stood thrue to your brother and his mate. And did ye come all the way from your own counthry to thry and save them?”

Mary nodded.

“Did ye, now? Then ye’re a brave lad; and there ar’n’t many men who would have watched night after night in that ugly bit o’ wood among the shnakes and reptiles. I wouldn’t for the best brother I iver had, and there’s five of ’em, and all sisters.”

Mary smilingly laid her hand on Dinny’s, and gazed in the merry, frank face before her.

“I’ll trust you,” she said.

“And ye sha’n’t repent it, me lad, for you’ve done no harm, and were niver a prishner. And now, as we are talking, I’d like to know what yer brother and number noinety-sivin did to be sint out of the counthry. It wasn’t murther, or they’d have hung ’em. Was it—helping yerselves?”

“My brother and his old friend Bart Wrigley were transported to the plantations for beating and half-killing, they said, the scoundrel who had insulted and ill-used his sister!” cried Mary, with flashing eyes and flaming cheeks, as she stood up proudly in the boat, and looked from one to the other.

“Wid a shtick?” said Dinny, rubbing his cheek as he peered eagerly into Mary’s face.

“Yes, with sticks.”

“And was that all?”

“Yes.”

“They transported thim two boys to this baste of a place, and put chains on their legs, for giving a spalpeen like that a big bating wid a shtick?”

“Yes,” said Mary, smiling in the eager face before her; “that was the reason.”

“Holy Moses!” ejaculated Dinny. “For just handling a shtick like that. Think o’ that, now! Why, I sent Larry Higgins to the hospital for sivin weeks wance for just such a thing. An’ it was a contimptibly thin shkull he’d got, just like a bad egg, and it cracked directly I felt it wid the shtick. And what did you do?” he added sharply, as he turned to Mary. “Where was your shtick?”

“I struck him with my hand,” said Mary, proudly.

“More sorrow to it that it hadn’t a shtick in it at the time. Sint ye both out here for a thing like that! Gintlemen, I’m proud of ye. Why didn’t ye tell me before?”

He held out his hands to both, and, intruder as he was, it seemed impossible to resist his frank, friendly way, and the escaped prisoners shook hands with him again.

“And now what are ye going to do?” said Dinny, eagerly.

“We don’t know yet,” said Abel, rather distantly.

“That’s jist me case,” said Dinny. “I’m tired of sogering and walking up and down wid a mushket kaping guard over a lot of poor divils chained like wild bastes. I tuk the shilling bekase I’d been in a skrimmage, and the bowld sergeant said there’d be plinty of foighting; and the divil a bit there’s been but setting us to shoot prishners, and I didn’t want that. Now, ye’ll tak me wid ye, only I must get rid o’ these soger clothes, and—look here, what are ye going to do wid thim chains?”

“Get rid of them,” said Abel, “when we can find a file.”

“I did not think of a file,” said Mary, with a disappointed look.

“There’s plinty of strange plants out in these parts,” said Dinny, laughing, “but I never see one that grew files. Only there’s more ways of killing a cat than hanging him, as the praste said when he minded his owld brogues wid a glue-pot. Come here.”

He took off his flannel jacket, folded it, and laid it in the bottom of the boat, but looked up directly.

“Ye’ve got a bit o’ sail,” he said, “and there’s a nice wind. Where are you going first?”

Mary looked at her brother, and Abel glanced at Bart.

“Ye haven’t made up yer minds,” said Dinny, “so look here. About twenty miles out yander to the west there’s a bit of an island where the overseer and two officers wint one day to shute wild pig and birds, and I went wid ’em. Why not go there till ye make up yer minds? It’s a moighty purty place, and ye’re not overlooked by the neighbours’ cabins, for there’s nobody lives there at all, at all, and we can have it our own way.”

“Wild pig there?” said Abel, eagerly.

“Bedad, yis, sor; nice swate bacon running about on four legs all over the place, and fruit on the trees, and fish in the say for the catching. Oh, an’ it’s a moighty purty little estate!”

“And how could we find it?” cried Mary.

“By jist setting a sail, and kaping about four miles from the shore till ye see it lying like a bit o’ cloud off to the south. Sure, and we could hang our hammocks there before night, and the mushket here all ready to shoot a pig.”

“Yes,” said Mary, in response to a glance from her brother.

“Then I’ll hoist the sail,” said Bart.

“Nay, let the boy do it,” said Dinny, “and you come and sit down here. I’ll soon show you a thing as would make the sergeant stare.”

Dinny drew a large knife from his pocket, and a flint and steel. The latter he returned, and, taking the flint, he laid his open knife on the thwart of the boat, and with the flint jagged the edge of the blade all along into a rough kind of saw.

“There!” he said; “that will do. That iron’s as soft as cheese.”

This last was a slight Hibernian exaggeration; but as Mary hoisted sail, and Abel put out an oar to steer, while the little vessel glided swiftly over the sunlit sea, Dinny began to operate upon the ring round one of Bart’s ankles, sawing away steadily, and with such good effect that at the end of an hour he had cut half through, when, by hammering the ring together with the butt of the musket, the half-severed iron gave way, and one leg was free.

“Look at that, now!” said Dinny, triumphantly, and with an air of satisfaction that took away the last doubts of his companions. “Now, thin, up wid that other purty foot!” he cried; and, as the boat glided rapidly toward the west, he sawed away again, with intervals of re-jagging at the knife edge, and soon made a cut in the second ring.

“Keep her a little farther from the shore, Abel,” said Mary, in a warning tone, as the boat sped westward.

“Ye needn’t mind,” said Dinny, sawing away; “the inhabitants all along here are a moighty dacent sort of folk, and won’t tell where we’re gone. They’re not handsome, and they’ve got into a bad habit o’ wearing little tails wid a moighty convanient crook in ’em to take howld of a tree.”

“Monkeys?” said Mary, eagerly.

“Yes, Masther Jack, monkeys; and then there’s the shmiling crockidills, and a few shnakes like ships’ masts, and some shpotted cats. There’s nobody else lives here for hundreds o’ miles.”

“Then you are safe, Abel,” said Mary, with the tears standing in her eyes.

“Yes, Ma— yes, Jack,” cried Abel, checking himself; and then meaningly, as he glanced at Bart, “you’re a brother of whom a man may well be proud.”

“Ay,” cried Bart, excitedly, “a brother of whom a man may well be proud.”

“Hurroo!” cried Dinny. “Howlt still, my lad, and I’ll soon be through.”

And the boat sped onward toward the west.

The island was found just as the Irishman had foretold, and as evening approached, without having even sighted a sail on their way, the little boat began coasting along, its occupants eagerly scanning the low, rock-reefed shore, above which waved a luxuriant tropic growth, but for some time no landing-place was found, while, though the sea was calm, there was a heavy swell to curl up and break upon the various reefs in a way that would have swamped their craft had they attempted to land.

The last fetter had been laboriously sawn through, Dinny having persisted in continuing the task, and he now sat resting and watching the shore with a critical eye.

All at once, upon sailing round a jagged point to which they had to give a wide berth on account of the fierce race which swept and eddied among the rocks, a pleasantly-wooded little bay opened out before them with a smooth sandy shore where the waves just creamed and glistened in the sun.

“Look at that, now,” said Dinny. “That’s where we landed; but I was ashleep after pulling a long time at the oar, and I disremembered all about where we went ashore.”

“How beautiful!” said Jack, gazing thoughtfully at the glorious scene, and asking herself whether that was to be her future home.

“An’ d’yer caal that beautiful?” said Dinny, contemptuously. “Young man, did ye iver see Dublin Bay?”

“No,” said Jack, smiling in the earnest face before him.

“Nor the Hill of Howth?”

Jack shook his head.

“Then don’t call that beautiful again in me presence,” said Dinny.

“Puts me in mind of Black Pool,” said Bart, thoughtfully.

Further conversation was checked by the interest of landing, the boat being run up on the shore and hidden among the rocks, not that it was likely that it would be seen, but the position of the fugitives and the dread of being retaken made them doubly cautious, Bart even going so far as to obliterate their footprints on the sand.

“Now, then,” said Dinny, “you’ve got the mushket and the bagnet, and those two make one; but if I was you I’d cut down one of them bamboos and shtick the bagnet an that, which would make two of it, and it would be a mighty purty tool to kill a pig.”

The hint was taken, Bart soon cutting down a long, straight lance shaft and forcing it into the socket of the bayonet.

“Then next,” said Dinny, “if I was captain I should say let’s see about something to ate.”

“Hear that, Abel?” said Bart.

“Yes. I was thinking of how we could get down some cocoa-nuts. There are plenty of bananas.”

“Hapes,” put in Dinny; “and there’s a cabbage growing in the heart of every one of thim bundles of leaves on the top of a shtick as they call palms; but them’s only vegetables, captain, dear, and me shtomach is asking for mate.”

“Can we easily shoot a pig—you say there are some,” said Abel.

“And is it aisily shoot a pig?” said Dinny. “Here, give me the mushket.”

He held out his hand for the piece, and Abel, who bore it, hesitated for a moment or two, and glanced at Jack, who nodded shortly, and the loaded weapon was passed to the Irishman.

“Ye doubted me,” he said, laughing; “but niver mind, it’s quite nat’ral. Come along; I won’t shoot anny of ye unless I’m very hungry and can’t get a pig.”

He led the way through an opening in the rough el if, and they climbed along a narrow ravine for some few hundred yards, the roar of the sea being hushed and the overhanging trees which held on among the rifts of the rocks shutting out the evening light, so that at times it was quite dusk. But the rocky barrier was soon passed, and an open natural park spread before them, in a depression of which lay a little lake, whose smooth grassy shores were literally ploughed in every direction with shallow scorings of the soil.

“Look at that now,” said Dinny in a whisper, as he pointed down at some of the more recent turnings of the soft earth. “The purty creatures have all been as busy as Pat Mulcahy’s pig which nobody could ring. Whisht! lie down, ye divils,” he whispered, setting the example, and crouching behind a piece of rock.

The others hid at once, and a low grunting and squeaking which had suddenly been heard in the distance increased loudly; and directly after a herd of quite two hundred pigs came tearing down through a narrow opening in the rocky jungle and made straight for the lake.

They were of all sizes, from little plump fellows, half the weight of ordinary porkers, to their seniors—the largest of which was not more than half the dimensions of an English pig.

They trotted down to the water side, where they drank and rolled and wallowed at the edge for a few moments, and then came back in happy unconsciousness of the fate which awaited one of their number, and passing so near the hidden group that Dinny had an easy shot at a well fed specimen which rolled over, the rest dashing on through the trees squealing as if every one had been injured by the shot.

“We sha’n’t starve here,” said Dinny, with a grin of satisfaction, and before many minutes had passed a fire was kindled in a sheltered nook, where the flame was not likely to be seen from the sea, and as soon as it was glowing, pieces of the pig, cut in a manner which would have disgusted a butcher, were frizzling in the embers.

Chapter Fourteen.

“Master Jack.”

They had been a month on the island, leading a dreamy kind of existence, and had begun to sleep of a night deeply and well without starting up half a dozen times bathed in sweat, and believing that the authorities from Plantation Settlement were on their track and about to take them by surprise. The question had been debated over and over again—What were they to do? but Dinny generally had the last word.

“Why, who wants to do anything? Unless a man was in Ireland, where could he be better than he is here, with iverything a man could wish for but some more powder and a wife. Eh! Master Jack, ye handsome young rascal, that’s what ye’re always thinking about.”

“Jack” gave him an angry look, and coloured.

“Look at him!” cried Dinny. “There’s tell-tales. Niver mind, lad, it’s human nature, and we’re all full of it, and a good thing, too. Now come and get some cocoa-nuts, for the powder’s growing very low and we shall have to take to pig hunting instead of shooting when its done.”

“Jack” hesitated, and then, as if suddenly making up his mind, accompanied the Irishman to the nearest grove where the cocoa palms grew close down to the sea.

Here Dinny rolled up the sleeves of his coarse and ragged shirt, and climbed one tree as a lad does a pole; but the fruit when he reached it was immature, and he threw only one of the great husks down.

“We don’t want dhrink, but mate,” said Dinny, selecting another tree, and beginning to climb; but the day was hot, there was a languid feeling induced by the moist atmosphere, and Dinny failed three times to reach the glorious green crown of leaves where the nuts nestled, and slid down again, sore in body and in temper.

“A failure, Dinny!” said Jack.

“Failure! yes. Can’t ye see it is?” said the Irishman sourly, as he bent down and softly rubbed the inner sides of his knees. “Here, I’m not going to do all the climbing. You have a turn.”

“Jack” shook his head.

“No skulking!” cried Dinny; “fair-play’s a jool, me lad, so up you go. Ye’re younger and cleverer wid yer arms and legs than I am. Why, ye ought to go up that tree like a monkey.”

“Jack” shook his head and frowned.

“No,” he said, “I’m no climber. Let’s go back.”

“Widout a nut, and ready to be laughed at? Not I, me lad. Now, then, I shall have to tak ye in hand and mak a man of ye. Up wid ye.”

He caught the youth by the arm, and drew him, half-resisting, toward the tree.

“No, no, Dinny. Nonsense! I could not climb the tree.”

“Bedad, an’ ye’ve got to climb it!” cried Dinny. “Now, thin, take howld tightly, and up you go.”

“Loose my arm,” said Jack, speaking in a low voice, full of suppressed anger.

“Divil a bit. Ye’ve got to climb that three.”

“Loose my arm, Dinny,” said Jack again.

“Ye’ve got to climb that three, I tell ye, boy. Now, thin, no skulking. Up wid ye.”

“Jack” hung back, with the colour deepening in his cheeks, and a dark look in his eyes, which Dinny could not interpret and, half in anger at the lad’s opposition, half in playful determination, he grasped the youth firmly, and forced him toward the tree.

In an instant Jack flung himself round, with his eyes flashing, and before the Irishman could realise what was coming he went staggering back from the fierce blow he received in his chest, caught his heels against the husk of an overgrown nut, and came down heavily on the sand.

Dinny was an Irishman, and he had received a blow.

“Bad luck to ye, ye arbitrary young divil!” he cried, springing up. “It’s a big bating ye want, is it, to tache ye manners! thin ye shall have it.”

Jack trembled with indignation and excitement, but not with fear, for his cheeks were scarlet instead of pale. A blow had been struck, and he knew that no Irishman would receive one without giving it back with interest, and the only way out of the difficulty was to run, and he scorned to do that.

Quick as lighting he snatched a knife from his pocket, threw open the blade, and held it across his chest, half turning from his assailant, but with the point so directed that, if Dinny had closed, it could only have been at the expense of an ugly wound.

“Look at that now!” cried Dinny, pausing with hands raised to grip his adversary; “and me widout a bit o’ shtick in me fist. Ye’d shting, would ye, ye little varmint! Put down yer knoife and fight like a man. Bah!” he cried contemptuously, as his anger evaporated as rapidly as it had flashed up, “ye’re only a boy, and it’s no dishgrace to have been hit by one o’ yer size. I could nearly blow ye away. There, put away yer knoife and shake hands.”

A hail from the cluster of trees which they made their camp, and Bart and Abel came into sight.

Jack closed his knife with a sigh of relief, and dropped it into his pocket.

“An’ ye won’t shake hands?” said Dinny, reproachfully.

“Yes, I will, Dinny,” cried Jack, warmly, holding out his hand; “and I’m sorry I struck you.”

“That’s handsome, me lad,” cried the Irishman, gripping it tightly. “I’m not sorry, for it don’t hurt now, and I’m glad ye’ve got so much fight in ye. Ye’re a brave lad, and there’s Irish blood in ye somewhere, though ye’re ignorant of the fact. Hallo, captain! what ye’re going to do?”

Abel strode up with Bart at his side, looking curiously from one to the other.

“I want to have a talk with you two,” said Abel, throwing himself on the sand. “Sit down.”

“Did he see?” said Jack to himself, as he took his place a little on one side.

“A talk, and widout a bit o’ tobacky!” said Dinny, with a sigh. “What is it, captain, dear?”

“Bart and I have been thinking over our position here,” said Abel, “and we have determined to go.”

“To go!” said Dinny. “Why, where would ye foind a bether place?”

“That has to be seen,” said Abel; “but we can’t stay here, and we want to know where the nearest port to which we could sail and then get ship for home.”

“Get ship for the prison, ye mane!” cried Dinny, indignantly. “They’d send the lot of us back, and in less than a month you and Bart there would be hoeing among the bushes, young Jack here would be thried and punished for helping ye to escape, and as for me—well,” he added, with a comical grin, “I don’t, know what they’d do with me, but I’m sure they wouldn’t give me my promotion.”

“But we shall starve if we stay here,” said Abel, sternly.

“And is it shtarve wid you two such fishermen? Get out wid ye! Let’s build a hut before the rainy time comes, and settle down. Here’s as foine an estate as a gentleman need wish to have; and some day wan of us ’ll go for a holiday to Oireland or Shcotland, and persuade four illigant ladies to come wid us and be married; and what more could a boy wish for then, eh, Masther Jack? What do you say, Bart?”

“That we must go,” said Bart, gruffly.

“Let’s think it over first,” said Dinny. “At all events ye can’t go for months to come; for ye’d be taken for eshcaped prisoners at wanst; so, as we’ve got no vittles, let’s tak the boat and go out and catch some fish.”

Abel frowned, and seemed disposed to continue the discussion; but everyone else was silent, and he rose slowly, ready enough, from old associations, to obey a command. So the little party walked slowly down toward where the boat lay hidden, ready to row it out to the edge of one of the weed-hung reefs, where fish were plentiful; and in spite of the roughness of their hooks and lines a pretty good dish could always be secured.

They had reached the end of the ravine, where the trees and bushes grew thickly, and Jack, who was first, was in the act of passing out on to the sands of the little bay, when a great hand seized him by the shoulder, and he was dragged back.

His hand went to his pocket again in the instinct of self-defence, for it seemed to be a repetition of Dinny’s attack; but, turning sharply, he found that it was Bart who had dragged him back among the trees, and stood pointing seaward, where the solution of their difficulty appeared in, as it were, a warning to escape; for at about half a mile from the shore a white-winged cutter was coming rapidly toward the little bay; and as she careened over they could see that she was occupied by at least a dozen men.

“Quick, the boat!” cried Abel, excitedly.

“Are ye mad!” cried Dinny. “They could see us, and would be here before we could got round the point.”

“Right,” growled Bart.

“It’s the cutter from the settlement,” said Dinny, watching the coming vessel. “She sails like the wind, and, bedad, it’s wind they’ve got of where we are, and they’ve come to fetch us. Now, thin, boys, the divil a bit will I go back, so who’s for a foight?”

The sight of the cutter seemed to chase away all discontent with their position, bringing up, as it did, the recollection on the part of one of months of longing to give freedom to brother and friend; on the part of the other three, of long periods of toilsome labour in chains, and of wearisome keeping guard over the wretched convicts, sickening in the tropic sun. The island suddenly assumed the aspect of a paradise, from which they were to be banished for ever; and stealing silently back to their little camp, the fugitives hastily did what they could to destroy traces of their presence, and then turned to Abel to ask what next.

“The woods,” he said. “We must hide while we can, and when they hunt us to bay we must fight for it.”

“No,” said Jack, quickly. “They will think we are in the woods, as being the most likely place for us to hide. We should be safer among the rocks in the cliff side, and should be able to watch the cutter as well.”

“It’s a born gin’ral ye are,” said Dinny, enthusiastically.

“Right, Abel, lad; Jack’s right,” growled Bart; and Abel acceded with a nod of his head.

“You are lightest,” he said. “Go first, Jack. Steal down by the side of the cliff, and get a good way round.”

“No,” said Jack, “there is neither time nor need. We must stay where we are, and wait and see which way they go. It will be time then to retreat.”

“Hark at him! Sure, and if I wasn’t certain that there’s Oirish blood in his veins, I’d say his grandfather was the Juke o’ Marlbrook.”

“Right,” growled Bart; and they drew back among the rocks and waited, lying down so as to be well hidden, Jack climbing a little way up the slope above them, and getting into a position which commanded the ravine leading down to the bay.

They had not long to wait before voices were heard coming up from the shore, and soon after the overseer made his appearance, in company with a young officer, both carrying pieces over their shoulders, and followed by half a dozen soldiers in their flannel undress.

They were chatting and smoking, and quite off their guard, taking matters so leisurely that the watcher felt doubtful as to their intentions, and lay trying to catch the bent of their conversation, as they went on toward the interior of the little island, their voices dying out in the distance, before he attempted to stir.

When he drew himself slowly back and crept through the bushes till he rejoined his companions, every mouth parted to ask for news; and anxiety, mingled with the stern determination painted in their faces, told of the stubborn resistance that their pursuers might expect before they had achieved their ends.

“They have gone right on into the woody part.”

“Yes, the gin’ral’s right,” said Dinny.

“But I have my doubts of their intentions,” said Jack.

“And so have I—big doubts,” said Dinny; “so I won’t thrust them.”

“I don’t think they’ve come in search of you,” continued Jack.

“Not come in search of us?” said Abel, excitedly.

A shot rang out from the distance, followed immediately by another.

“That proves it,” said Jack. “It is a shooting party.”

“Av course it is,” cried Dinny, laughing. “I could have told ye that, only I didn’t think of it. It’s the pigs they’re after, and they’re making free wid our flocks and herds.”

“What a relief!” said Abel, wiping the sweat from his brow. “What shall we do next?”

“Keep in hiding; but I’ll climb up till I can see their cutter. It may be near our boat.”

“A born gin’ral,” said Dinny, giving his head a roll and gazing approvingly at Jack. “There’ll be two or three left in charge of their boat, and—what would you do next?”

Jack held up his hand, and softly retraced his course up the steep slope; and they could trace him from time to time by the waving of the leaves, but he went so cautiously that he was not seen once; and while they kept their eyes fixed upon one spot the bushes and leaves were seen to rustle softly some distance higher up.

Then they saw no more, but lay listening to the distant shouts and firing which reached their ears again and again, till, to the surprise of all three, Jack suddenly came upon them from behind.