George Manville Fenn (continued 4)

Chapter Nineteen.

The Pest of the West.

The merchants of Bristol sent in a petition to His Majesty the King, saying that the trade of the port was being ruined, that their ships were taken, that the supplies of sugar and tobacco must run short, and that, while the ladies would suffer as to their coffee, there would soon be no snuff ground up for the titillation of the noses of the king’s liege subjects.

Always the same story—Commodore Junk, in command of a long, low, fast-sailing schooner, was here, there, and everywhere. This sugar and coffee-laden ship was plundered and burnt off Kingston port, so near that the glow of the fire was seen. That brig, full of choice mahogany logs, was taken near Belize. A fine Bristol bark, just out of the great port of South Carolina, full of the choicest tobacco-leaf, was taken the next week. And so on, and so on. Ships from Caracas, from the Spanish, French, and Dutch settlements, heavily-laden, or from England outward bound, were seized. All was fish that came to the pirate’s net, and if the vessels were foreign, so much the worse for them, the buccaneer captain dealing out his favours with fairly balanced hand till the shores of the great gulf and the islands that formed the eastern barrier rang with the news of his deeds.

Government heard what was said, and replied that five years before they had sent out a ship to capture Commodore Junk, that there was a severe engagement, and the captain was taken and hung, and afterwards gibbeted off the port where his deeds obtained most fame.

To which the Bristol merchants replied in a further petition that though it was as the Government stated, Commodore Junk’s body had been taken down from the gibbet soon after it was hung up, that he had come to life again, and that his deeds were now ten times worse than before.

Moreover, that somewhere or another on the western shores of the great Mexican Gulf, he had a retreat where he lived in great luxury when ashore; that maidens, wives, and widows had been captured and taken there to live a life of terrible captivity; that many bloody deeds had been done after desperate fighting, men being compelled to walk the plank or sent adrift in small boats far from land; and that, though spies had been sent out, no one had been able to discover the mysterious retreat, even the Indians who had been bribed to go returning with their heads minus their ears, or else with strange tales that the buccaneer was under the protection of the great thunder gods, whose home was in the burning mountains, and that it was useless to try to destroy him and his crew.

Moreover, the men of Bristol said that it was a crying shame that their ships and cargoes should not have adequate protection, seeing what a deal they paid to the revenue for the goods they imported, and that one of His Majesty’s ships ought to be more than a match for all the thunder gods in Central America, and His Majesty’s petitioners would ever pray.

The king’s minister of the time said that the men of Bristol were a set of old women, and that it was all nonsense about Commodore Junk; and for some months longer nothing was done. Then came such an angry clamour and such lengthy accounts of the crimes the buccaneer had committed that the Government concluded that they must do something, and gave their orders accordingly.

The result was that one day Captain Humphrey Armstrong walked along the Mall in his big boots, which creaked loudly over the gravel. The gold lace on his uniform glittered in the sunshine; and as he wore his cocked hat all on one side, and rested his left hand upon the hilt of his sword, which hung awkwardly across him, mixed up with the broad skirts of his coat, he looked as fine and gallant a specimen of humanity as was to be found in the king’s service.

The officers of the king’s guards, horse and foot, stared at him, and more than one pair of bright eyes rested with satisfaction on the handsome, manly face, as the captain went along smiling with satisfaction and apparently conceit.

It was with the former, not the latter, for the captain was on his way to Saint James’s Square, to keep an appointment at Lord Loganstone’s, and before long he was in earnest converse with Lady Jenny Wildersey, his lordship’s youngest daughter, one of the most fashionable beauties of her day.

“Yes,” said the captain, after nearly half an hour’s preliminary conversation. “It is in the course of duty, and I must go.”

“La!” said her ladyship, with a very sweet smile. “But couldn’t you send someone else!”

“At the call of duty!” cried the captain. “No. Besides, you would not wish me to stay under such circumstances as those.”

“La!” said her ladyship, as, after a show of resistance, she surrendered her lily-white hand, and suffered it to be kissed.

“And how long will it take you to capture this terrible buccaneer?”

“I shall be away for months,” said the captain.

“La!” said the lady.

“But I shall fight like some knight-errant of old, and fly back.”

“La!” said the lady.

“With the wings of my good ship,” said the captain, “and hasten to lay the trophies of my victory at my darling’s feet.”

“You will be sure to bring him?” said the lady.

“I hope he will fall in the fight,” said the captain.

“Then you are going to fight?”

“Yes, I am going out in command of a splendid ship with a crew of brave men, to attack and exterminate this horde of wasps, and I hope to do it like a man.”

“But will anybody bleed?”

“I fear so.”

“La! Will you be hurt?”

“I hope not. But I must run the risk; and if I come back wounded, it will be in your service, dearest, and then I shall claim my reward.”

“No,” said the lady, with one of her most winning looks. “I don’t believe you. Sailors are worse than soldiers, and you will fall in love with one of the lovely Spanish ladies out there, and forget all about poor little me.”

“Forget you!” cried the captain, passionately; “never! My love for you grows stronger every day; and as to beauty, was there ever a woman so beautiful as you?”

“La!”

Captain Humphrey was about to throw himself on his knees as well as his big boots would allow; but just then the door opened, and fresh visitors were announced, and though the topic of the captain’s appointment to the sloop of war Queen Jane, for the extermination of the West Indian buccaneers, formed the staple of the conversation, he had to leave at last with nothing warmer than a smile, but full of a great deal of hope.

For love had blinded the eyes of the stout captain lately introduced to the fashionable beauty, and welcomed on account of the fact that he had lately succeeded to the Devonshire estates of the Armstrongs, consequent upon the death of his cousin James, who had been killed in a duel arising out of some affair of gallantry, the husband of the lady in question objecting to Captain James Armstrong’s advances, and running him through the body.

So, deeply in love with as pretty a bit of artificiality as ever dressed, or rather believing himself deeply in love, Captain Humphrey joined his well-found ship at Falmouth, sailed for the far west and the land of the torrid sun; and the men of Bristol rubbed their hands, thought of their freights, and sat down to their ledgers, while they waited for the news of the hanging of Commodore Junk.

Chapter Twenty.

The Pirate Chase.

“It’s like hunting a will-o’-the-wisp on Dartmoor,” cried Captain Humphrey, as he sat in one of his ship’s boats, wiping the perspiration from his sun-scorched face. “One day I’m ready to swear it is all a myth, the next that there are a dozen Commodore Junks.”

For he had been out in the Mexican Gulf for six months, and was as far off finishing his task as on the day when he had reached Kingston harbour, and listened to the tales of the buccaneer’s last deeds.

But it was no myth. Put in where he would, it was to hear fresh news of the pirates. Now some unfortunate captain would arrive in a small boat, with his crew, suffering from heat, thirst, and starvation. Now the half-burned hull of a goodly argosy would be encountered on the open sea. At another time news would come of a derelict that had been scuttled but not sunk, and seen in such and such latitude.

Wherever he went Captain Humphrey was met with news, and at last with reproaches and almost insult by the authorities at the various ports at which he touched, for the way in which his task was being done.

For there was he with a small, swift-sailing ship, full of stout seamen, bravely officered, well-armed, and with guns big enough to blow all the schooners in the west to matchwood, while from the captain to the smallest powder-monkey all were red-hot with desire to meet the Commodore and give him a foe who knew how to fight.

Six months of following out clues, of going here and there where the schooner had been seen, or where it was expected, but never even to see the tail-end of that huge main-sail that caught the wind, laid the long schooner over, and sent her rushing through the water in a way that made all attempts at escape childish. In gale or calm it was always the same, and the masters of the many traders knew from experience that if the buccaneer’s schooner was in sight, they might as well heave-to as try to fly, for their capture was certain. Consequently, it was growing fast into a rule that when the long schooner fired a shot, it was the proper thing to lower sail or throw a vessel up in the wind, and wait, so as not to irritate the enemy by trying to escape.

Messages travelled slowly in those days, but all the same Captain Humphrey Armstrong had received a despatch hinting at a recall, and a friendly letter telling him that if he did not soon have something to show he would be superseded and in disgrace.

He was a rich man, and at the end of three months he did not scruple to offer rewards for information; he doubled his offer to the man who would bring him within reach of the Commodore’s schooner; and beginning with ten guineas, he went on increasing, as the time went on, till he reached a hundred, and, at last, when six months had passed, it was known all round the coast that Captain Armstrong would give a thousand guineas to be brought alongside the schooner.

Captain Humphrey ground his teeth when he was alone in his cabin, and he swore as a Devon captain could swear in those days; but it did no good, and in spite of all his struggles, he could only look upon Commodore Junk as a will-o’-the-wisp.

“What will Lady Jenny think?” he groaned. “And I meant to do so much!”

At last what he dreaded arrived. He sailed into port one day, to find his recall; and he went back on board ship, ordered all sail to be made, and, ignoring the order, determined to find the Commodore or die.

Chapter Twenty One.

The Black Schooner.

Commodore Junk’s schooner, with its enormous spars and sails, had been lying-to off the harbour of Saint Geronimo one afternoon, where she had taken in a good store of fresh fruit for her crew, while waiting the return of one of her officers who had been overland to Belize to pick up information that might be useful to the captain.

Bart Wrigley was silent that calm, still evening for a long time after the captain had spoken, and then—

“It’s a mistake, my dear lad,” he said angrily. “You do as you like, and I’ll follow you through with it, and so will the men; but I say it’s a mistake.”

“And why!” asked the captain, coldly. “Are you afraid to meet the ship!”

“Nay, I don’t know as I’m afraid,” said Bart; “but where’s the good? She’s twice stronger than we, and we shall get nothing but hard knocks.”

“Do you think I should be so mad as to attack such a ship as that on equal terms?”

“I dunno,” growled Bart: “May be. Where’s the good of fighting her at all?”

“Why do I pursue so many vessels, and take such revenge as I do!” said the captain. “Do you think I’ve forgotten mine and my brother’s wrongs!”

“No; you wouldn’t forget them,” said Bart, slowly; “but you’re going to run too much risk.”

“Not too much to gain such sweet revenge, Bart,” said the captain, excitedly; and the dark eyes which gazed at the rough, Devon man seemed to burn. “Do you know who commands this ship that has been hunting us these six mouths?”

“Yes; a brave officer in the king’s service.”

“A brave officer!” cried the captain, contemptuously.

“Well, that’s what they say; and that he has sworn to die or take us.”

“He—sworn!” cried the captain. “A brave captain! Did you and poor Abel find him so brave when you met him that night on the road to Slapton Lea?”

“What!” cried Bart. “No; ’tisn’t him!”

“That ship is commanded by Captain Armstrong,” said the captain, hoarsely; “by the man, Bart, who blasted my life; who sent my brother to his death out here, for it was through him poor Abel died.”

“No! Never!” cried Bart, incredulously.

“It’s true, Bart. I have just learned that it is he by Dinny, who has returned from Belize. She is commanded by the man I once thought I loved.”

“But you don’t love him now?”

“Love! Bart Wrigley, can you believe in a person’s nature being changed by cruelty and wrong.”

“No. Not yours,” growled Bart.

“Then you may believe it, Bart; and now the time has come, and I am going to have my revenge. Do you know what I am going to do?”

“You told me,” said Bart, roughly. “Fight.”

“Yes; but so as to spare my men, and to spare myself. Bart, I am going to teach the king’s grand officer what it is to trifle, and to treat those he holds beneath him as if they were meant for his pleasure, and made for that alone. I am going to destroy the ship of this grand officer, to scatter his men, and to take him prisoner if I can.”

“No!” said Bart, hoarsely. “Don’t do that.”

“Why!” cried the captain, mockingly. “Are you afraid that I shall be weak once more? Don’t be afraid, Bart. Mary Dell is dead, and it is the soul of her brother who moves this body, and he it is who will take a bitter revenge upon Captain Armstrong for slaying Mary Dell; for in spirit it is this he did.”

“You won’t kill him?” whispered Bart.

“Why not? Was Mary Dell spared? Was Abel, her brother, treated so tenderly that I should hold my hand?”

“But—” began Bart.

“Leave that to me, Bart Wrigley. Help me to get him into my power, and then he shall learn a truth which will make the traitor—the coward—wince. Brave officer of his Majesty the King! How brave you shall see. Now, do you understand why I mean to fight?”

“Yes,” said Bart, sadly; “I see. But think twice, my lad.”

“Bart!” cried the captain, passionately, “I’ve thought a hundred times; and if I were ashore, and could go there—”

“I know,” said Bart, gloomily. “You’d come out more and more savage and determined, as you always have been. Think twice, my lad. You’re rich; and you’re safe. Once more, why not throw it up now and let’s go home. I asks no more, captain. I’ve lived long enough to know all that; but come home now. There’s a life o’ peace yonder, and you can take it now; to-morrow it may be too late.”

“Let it be so then, Bart.”

“And you’ll come home—to old Devon once again?”

“No! I’m going to meet the captain face to face, Bart, and plant my heel upon his neck.”

Chapter Twenty Two.

News at Last.

Humphrey Armstrong sat in his cabin listening to the whirr of a beetle which had been attracted by the lights, and flown in through the open window, to make a bass to the treble hum of the mosquitoes which haunted the mouth of the river where the ship had anchored for the night.

The day had been intensely hot, and the cabin seemed ovenlike, as its occupant sat listening to the insect hum; and then to the strange croakings and rustling noises which came from the primeval forest on either side. Now and then a deep roar announced the presence of some huge creature of the cat tribe prowling in search of prey, and this would be followed by a distant answering call.

He walked to the window and looked out, to see the stars reflected in a blurred manner in the rushing waters of the river; while on either side he could see the bushes which fringed the muddy banks scintillating with the lamps of the fireflies. Now they died out, and there would be only a faint twinkle here and there; then, as if something had disturbed or agitated the wondrous insects, they would flash out into soft, lambent sparks of light which played about and darted and circled, and then once more died out, as if to give place to some other creature of their kind, which flashed out so broad a light that the leaves of the trees around could be plainly seen.

He had been away five days since the orders had come out for his return, in the vain hope that perhaps now he might at last encounter the buccaneer; but, so far, he had seen or heard nothing; and the pirate captain might have dropped out of sight, or never existed, on the evening when the captain searched creek after creek along the coast, till nightfall, when, for safety’s sake, he had anchored at the mouth of the muddy stream.

He was lost in thought, and was puzzling out an answer to the question: How was it that the buccaneer schooner contrived to avoid him?—when his trained ears detected the sound of a paddle, and he gazed keenly over the dark waters, wondering whether his watch on deck had heard it, and how long they would be ere they challenged the approaching party in their boat?

The question had hardly been mentally asked when he heard the challenge from on deck, and the paddling ceased. Then came a certain amount of shouting, and a conversation, muffled by the distance, followed, and the boat was allowed to approach.

A minute later the officer of the watch came down to announce the arrival of a couple of Indians bearing news.

“It’s the old story, sir, vamped up to get a bottle of rum; but I thought I’d better report it to you. Shall I kick them, and let them go!”

“No,” said the captain, shortly, for he was ready now to snatch at straws. “What does the man say?”

“There are two of them, sir; and they say the pirate vessel is to be found a day’s journey to the south, and that they have seen it lying at anchor.”

“Do they seem honest!”

“Honest as Indians, sir. I think it’s all made up.”

“I’ll come and see them.”

The captain rose and went on deck, where he found a couple of soft, brown, plump-looking Indians, with large, dreamy eyes and languid manner, seated upon their heels near the gangway, where they could give a glance from time to time at their canoe swinging by a frail-looking bark rope.

The men did not stir as the captain came up, but crouched in their old position, gazing up at him furtively.

“Now,” he said, sharply, “where is this pirate ship?”

The men looked at him vacantly.

“Commodore Junk!” said Humphrey.

“El Commodore Yunk; yes. Ship there.”

One of the Indians had caught his meaning, and pointed southward.

“Have you seen the ship?”

The men nodded quickly and pointed again.

“Why have you come here to tell us?”

The Indian stared, then looked at his companion, with whom he rapidly exchanged a few words, ending by turning back, holding out his hands, and exclaiming—

“El Commodore Yunk. Money. Rum.”

“There’s a frankness about this fellow that makes me disposed to believe him,” said Humphrey, grimly, as he smiled at the officer. “‘Commodore Yunk. Money. Rum.’ And the pointing seems to me as effective as the longest speech. Look here, can you understand? Show us—”

“Show—show—way—El Commodore Yunk.”

“Yes, that will do,” said the captain. “But mind this; if you play us false—here, show him!”

“Show—El Commodore Yunk,” cried the Indian, catching the last words. “Money—powd—rum.”

“You shall have plenty,” said Humphrey; “but make him understand that if he plays us false he shall be hung at the yard-arm.”

The officer of the watch, quite a young man, seemed to enjoy his task; for, catching up the signal halyards, he rapidly made a noose, threw it over the Indian’s head, and drew it tight. Then, pointing upward, he said slowly—

“If you cheat!”

“Hang um?” said the Indian, sharply.

“Yes. We shall hang you if you don’t show Commodore Junk.”

“Show El Commodore Yunk,” said the Indian, composedly.

“I think he understands us,” said the officer of the watch.

“Very well, then,” cried Humphrey. “Let’s start, then, at once. Now, then, south!” he cried to the man.

“South?” said the Indian.

“Yes, south!” cried the captain, pointing. “Show us the way.”

“Show. El Commodore Yunk. No.”

He shook his head, and pointed around him, and then to the lanterns, which shed a dim light over the scene.

“No. Dark,” he said.

“He means it is too dark to go,” said the second officer. “Look here, old brownskin. Light? sun?”

“Light—sun!” cried the Indian, eagerly, pointing to the east, and then seizing the thin rope which had been twisted round his neck, he ran to the gangway, slid down into his boat, made the cord fast, and came scrambling up again to secure the signal-line.

This done, he said a few words to his companion, and, going to the side, threw himself down under the bulwarks, and seemed to go to sleep at once.

“Yes; that’s plain enough,” said Humphrey. “He means to wait till daylight. Keep a strict watch. We may have found the right man at last.”

He need have been under no anxiety as to the two informers, for they lay motionless till daybreak, and then rose suddenly, looked sharply round, and, going forward, pointed to the rope which moored them in mid-stream.

Half an hour later the sloop was gliding slowly out of the mouth of the river; the lowered sails caught the cool, moist morning breeze, and, in obedience to the Indian’s directions which were embraced in the pointing of a brown hand southward, the king’s ship sailed steadily along the coast a few miles from the shore, which, with its sandy beach alternating with bold headlands that ran down from regularly-formed volcanic-looking peaks, and creeks, and river estuaries, fringed with palm and mud-loving growth, showed plenty of spots where a vessel might find a hiding-place, and which it would have taken a fleet of boats to adequately explore.

The Indian’s conduct increased the confidence of Humphrey; and as the day wore on the officers and crew, who had been for months chasing myths, began to look forward hopefully to an encounter with the pirates, and to believe that the preparations for action might not this time prove to have been in vain.

It was within two hours of sundown, as the men were at their drowsiest moment—many being fast asleep—when, as they were rounding a rocky point feathered with glorious palms, beyond which the country ran up toward the mountains in a glorious chaos of piled-up rock, deep ravine, and fire-scathed chine, the principal Indian suddenly seized the captain’s arm and pointed straight before him to where, a couple of miles away, and looking as if she had just glided out of some hidden channel running into the land, there was a long, low, black-hulled schooner, spreading an enormous amount of canvas for so small a vessel; and as he saw the rake of the masts and the disproportioned size of her spars, Humphrey Armstrong felt a thrill of exultation run through him even as his whole crew was now galvanised into life, and he mentally repeated the words of the Indian—

“El Commodore Yunk.”

Yes; there could be no doubt of it. The shape and size of the vessel answered the description exactly, and no trader or pleasure vessel, foreign or British, would sail with so dangerously an overweighting rig as that.

“At last, then!” cried Humphrey, excitedly, as he stood gazing at the long, suspicious-looking craft; and his heart beat heavily, his face flushed, and the hands which held his glass trembled with eagerness.

The men made way to right and left as their captain strode aft and exclaimed—

“Bring the poor fellows here. They shall have their reward and go.”

“Was it treachery, or fear of the enemy?”

Humphrey asked himself this question as a shout came from the steersman, who, like the rest, had been gazing at the schooner, but who was the first to see and draw attention to a canoe being paddled rapidly for the shore.

No one had been attending to the two Indians, who had waited until the attention of all was bent upon the buccaneer, and then silently slipped over the side, glided down the rope, and cast off, to paddle shorewards.

There was good discipline on board ship even then, and at the call to quarters every man fell into place. The long gun was run in, loaded, run out, and directly after there was a puff of smoke, a loud report which went echoing among the mountains and through the densely-wooded ravines, as a round shot skipped over the water right in front of the schooner.

“Hurrah!” shouted the men, as they saw the long vessel alter her course a little.

“She surrenders,” said Humphrey to himself; and in the brief moments that followed he saw himself returning to England in triumph, his task done, and beautiful, fashionable Lady Jenny Wildersey welcoming him with open arms.

It was a puff of fancy, dissipated like the puff of smoke which came from the schooner’s bows; while, in company with the report that rumbled heavily away, came a round shot skipping over the calm surface of the sea, not forward like the summons to heave-to of the king’s ship, but straight at her hull, and so well-aimed that it tore through the starboard bulwark amidships and passed just in front of the mainmast, which it almost grazed.

“The insolent!” exclaimed Humphrey, turning purple with rage. “How dare he!”

As he spoke he raised his spy-glass to his eye, for something could be seen fluttering up the side of the great main-sail, and directly after a large black flag was wafted out by the breeze in defiance of a ship-of-war double the schooner’s size, and heavily armed, as well as manned by a picked and disciplined crew.

“Very good, Commodore!” cried Humphrey, with a smile. “You can’t escape us now. Gentlemen, the ball has opened. Down with her spars, my lads. Never mind her hull; we want that to take back to Falmouth, from whence she shall sail next time with a different rig.”

The men cheered and the firing commenced, when, to the annoyance of the captain, the wind dropped entirely, a dead calm ensued; night was coming on rapidly, as it descends in the tropic lands, and he had either to try and silence the schooner at long range, or man the boats and take her by boarding, a plan from which he shrank, knowing, as he did, that it could only be successful at a terrible cost of life, and this he dreaded for the sake of his men.

The sloop crept a little nearer in one of the puffs of wind that came from time to time, and the firing went on, Humphrey and his officers being astounded at the ability with which the schooner’s guns were served and the accuracy of their aim.

“No wonder that they’ve carried all before them among the merchantmen,” muttered Humphrey, as a shot came crashing into them, and three men were carried below disabled by splinters.

As he spoke he looked anxiously round, to make sure that the schooner would not be able to pass them in the approaching darkness, and then, feeling more and more that men who could serve their guns so well would be terrible adversaries in a case of boarding, and determined to spare his men till the schooner was disabled, he kept up the artillery duel till the only guide for laying their guns was the flash of the enemy’s pieces when some shot was fired.

By this time the fire of the buccaneers had proved so effective that the sloop’s bulwarks were shattered and her decks were slippery with blood, while her captain was fuming with rage at the unfortunate aim of his men; for, though the schooner had evidently been hit again and again, she seemed to have escaped the vital injury that a shot would have produced in one of her spars.

All at once, just as the darkness had become complete, the firing of the schooner ceased; and to have continued that on board of the sloop would have been wasting shot.

“Man the launch and jolly-boat!” said the captain sharply, and their crews waited with intense excitement the orders to go and board the schooner, a faint groan of disappointment arising as the men heard the instructions given to the two lieutenants to patrol on either side of the sloop, and be ready to attack and board only if the buccaneer should attempt to steal off in the darkness and escape.

The night wore on, with every one on the qui vive. Two more boats were ready waiting to push off and help in the attack on whichever side the schooner should attempt to escape; while, in the event, of an attack, the other patrolling boat was to come back to the sloop.

But hour after hour passed and no rushing of water was heard, no dip of long sweep, or creak of the great oar in the rowlock was heard; neither was a light seen; and the silence observed by the schooner was so profound that Humphrey, as he paced the deck, felt certain at last that she must have escaped; and, now that it was too late, he bitterly repented not attempting to capture the dangerous foe by a bold attack.

“She’s gone,” he groaned, “and I’ve lost my chance!”

He paced the deck in bitter disappointment, as he felt that he had let a prize slip through his fingers; and, as he waited, the night glided slowly by, till, slowly and tardily, the first signs of day appeared, and with a cry of joy Humphrey Armstrong ordered the signal of recall to be run up, for there, just as she had been last seen when night fell, lay the long, dark schooner, but without a man visible on board.

In a few minutes the two boats were alongside, and Humphrey gazed longingly at the prize he felt ready to give half his life to reach.

What should he do? Attempt to board her now that his four boats lay armed and ready for the fray?

The temptation was too great, and the order was given: the four boats to attack at once, the men receiving the command with a tremendous cheer, and their oars took the water at once; while, compelled by his position to remain on board, the captain feverishly watched the progress of his boats in the growing light, and frowned and stamped the deck in his anger as he saw the crews were exhausting themselves in a race to see which should first reach the silent, forbidding looking schooner.

He shouted to them to keep together, but they were beyond the reach of his voice, and matters seemed hopeless from the way in which they struggled, when a combined attack was requisite for success.

Then all at once the launch remained steady, and the smaller boats went off to right and left. Another minute and all were advancing together, so as to board in four different parts of the ship at once.

Humphrey Armstrong’s eyes flashed, his lips parted, and his breast heaved as he watched his men dash on with a faintly heard cheer; but there was no response, not a moving figure could be seen on board the schooner, and it was plain that she had been deserted during the night.

“Curse him for an eel!” cried the captain, fiercely, as he felt that he was about to capture a vessel and leave her cunning commander to man another, and carry on his marauding as of old; but he had hardly uttered his angry denunciation when his four boats raced up to the schooner, and in a moment she seemed alive with men.

Almost before the English captain could realise the fact, great pieces of iron, probably the schooner’s ballast, were thrown over into the boats, two of which were crushed through like so much paper, and the men as they sank left struggling in the water.

All that could be done was to rescue the drowning men; and as the two remaining boats were being overladen, and then made a desperate attack so as not to go back in disgrace, a furious fire of small-arms was poured from every port hole and from the schooner’s deck, till, unable to penetrate the stout boarding-netting triced up all around the vessel, cut at, shot at, and thrust back into their boats with boarding-pikes, the sloop’s two boats fell off, and began to slowly retrace their course.

The moment the way was clear Humphrey, who was almost beside himself with disappointment, begun pounding away at the buccaneer with his heavy guns; but instead of exciting a response he found that sails were being unfurled, and that, instead of the schooner being shut in, the bottom of the bay formed a kind of strait, and she was not in a cul de sac.

“She’ll escape us after all!” groaned Humphrey, as he ordered sail to be made, and the sloop began to forge ahead, firing rapidly the while, as the schooner began to leave her behind.

She was sailing right in, and before the sloop could follow there were the two boats to be picked up.

This was done, the removal of the wounded being deferred till the buccaneer was captured, and all the time a furious fire was kept up without effect, for the schooner seemed to sail right inland, and disappeared round a headland, the last they saw of the heavily-rigged vessel being when she careened over at right angles to the sloop and her shot-torn sails passed slowly behind the rocky bluff.

“Only into shelter!” cried Humphrey Armstrong, excitedly; and giving rapid orders, fresh sail was made, and men placed in the chains with leads to keep up communications as to the soundings, but always to announce deep water, the land seeming to rise up sheer from an enormous depth in the channel-like gulf they entered.

“She’s gone right through, sir, and will get away on the other side.”

The sloop sailed on, with the water deep as ever, and before long she rounded the head, to find the narrow channel had opened out into a beautiful lake-like bay with the dense primeval forest running right down to its shores.

But the greatest beauty of the scene to Humphrey Armstrong was the sight of the schooner lying right across his course a quarter of a mile away, and ready to concentrate her fire and rake the sloop from stem to stern.

“Curse him! no wonder he has had so long a career!” said Humphrey, stamping with rage as he watched the execution of his orders, and a well-directed fire was once more made to answer that of the buccaneer. “With such a ship, crew, and place of retreat, he might have gone on for years.”

The firing grew hotter than ever, and the schooner became enveloped in a cloud of smoke which elicited a burst of cheers from the sloop.

“She’s afire! she’s afire!” roared the men.

Humphrey’s triumph was now at hand. The scourge of the western seas was at his mercy, and shrinking from attempting to board so desperate an adversary for the sake of his crew, he gave orders to lay the sloop right alongside of the schooner, where he could cast grappling-irons, and then pour his fire down upon her deck.

The orders were rapidly executed, and the sloop bore down right for the smoke-enveloped schooner with little fear of being raked now, for the pirates had ceased firing, and could be dimly-seen through the reek hurrying to and fro.

“Shall we give her one more salvo, sir?” asked the first officer, coming up to where Humphrey stood, trying to pierce the smoke with his glass.

“No, poor wretches! they’re getting fire enough. I hope she will not blow up, for I’d give anything to take her home unhurt.”

There was a perfect rush of flame and smoke now from the schooner, and once more Humphrey’s men cheered and shook hands together, even the wounded in the excitement of their triumph taking up the cry, when, just in the height of the excitement, and when the sloop was within a hundred yards of the enemy, the men in the chains among the rest gazing hard at the rising smoke, the war vessel careened over in answer to her helm in the evolution which was to lay her side by side with the burning schooner, and then there was a tremendous jerk which threw nearly every one off his feet.

Then, shivering from head to heel, the sloop slowly surged back us if to gather force like a wave, and in obedience to the pressure upon her sails, struck again, literally leaping this time upon the keen-edged barrier of rocks under whose invisible shelter the schooner lay; and then, as a yell of horror rose from the men, the unfortunate ship remained fixed, her masts, sail laden, went over the side with a hideous crashing noise, and all was confusion, ruin, and despair.

The moments required to turn a stately, sail-crowded ship into a state of chaos are very few, and to Humphrey Armstrong’s agony, as well aided by his officers, he was trying to do something to ameliorate their position, he saw how thoroughly he had been led into a cunningly-designed trap. The schooner had been artfully manoeuvred to place her behind the dangerous rocks, and, what was more, a glance at her now showed her sailing away from a couple of boats moored beyond them; and in each of which were barrels of burning pitch sending up volumes of blackened smoke.

“A trap! a trap!” he cried, grinding his teeth. “Let her be, my lads,” he roared. “Prepare for boarders!”

The men sprang to their pikes and swords, while a couple of guns were freed from the wreck of cordage, and sail which the shock had brought down.

These guns had hardly been trained to bear upon the schooner from the deck of the helpless sloop when a deadly fire was opened by the former—a fire of so furious a character that the confusion was increased, and in spite of the efforts of captain and officers, the men shrank from working at the guns.

What followed was one terrible scene of despairing men striving for their lives against a foe of overpowering strength. The fierce fire of the schooner, as she came nearer and nearer, was feebly responded to, and in a short time the deck streamed with blood, as the shot came crashing through the bulwarks, sending showers of splinters to do deadly work with the hail of grape. There was no thought of capture now; no need of bidding the men attack: following the example of their officers, and one and all doggedly determined to sell their lives dearly, the men dragged gun after gun round as those they worked were disabled, and sent a shot in reply as often as they could.

With uniform torn and bedabbled with blood, face blackened with powder, and the red light of battle in his eyes, Humphrey Armstrong saw plainly enough that his case was hopeless, and that, with all her pomp of war and pride of discipline and strength, his sloop was prostrate before the buccaneer’s snaky craft, and in his agony of spirit and rage he determined to wait till the pirates boarded, as he could see they would before long, and then blow up the magazine and send them to eternity in their triumph over the British ship.

But it was to destroy his men as well, and he felt that this should be the pirates’ work when all was over.

“No,” he muttered between his teeth, “it would be a coward’s act, and they shall die like men.”

The schooner’s sides were vomiting smoke and flame, and she was close alongside now. She had been so manoeuvred as to sail right round the end of the reef, whose position seemed to be exactly known, so that from firing upon the sloop’s bows, and raking from stem to stern, the firing had been continued as she passed along the larboard side round to the poop, which had been raked in turn, and here it was evident that the final attack was to be made.

It was not long in coming. Hardly had Humphrey seen the enemy’s intentions and gathered his men together, than the schooner’s side ground up against the shattered stern of the sloop. Heavy grappling-irons were thrown on board, and with a furious yelling a horde of blackened, savage-looking men poured on to the bloody splinter-strewn deck, and coming comparatively fresh upon the sloop’s exhausted crew, bore down all opposition. Men were driven below, cut down, stunned, and driven to ask for quarter; and so furious was the onslaught that the sloop’s crew were divided into two half helpless bodies, one of which threw down their arms, while the other, which included the captain and officers, backed slowly toward the bows, halting at every spot where they could make a stand, but forced to yield foot by foot, till their fate, it was plain to all, was to surrender or be driven through the shattered bulwarks into the sea.

It was a matter of minutes. The fight was desperate, but useless—Humphrey Armstrong and those around him seeming determined to sell their lives dearly, for no quarter was asked. They had given way step by step till there was nothing behind them but the shattered bulwarks, and then the sea, when, headed by their leader, the buccaneers made a desperate rush; there was the clashing of sword and pike; and, as sailor and officer fell, or were disarmed, Humphrey stepped in a half-congealed pool of blood, slipped, and went heavily backwards, the buccaneer’s lieutenant leaping forward to brain him with a heavy axe.

There was a rush, a fierce shout, Black Mazzard was thrust aside, and the Commodore sprang past him to plant his foot upon the fallen officer’s chest, while, the fight being over, the rest held their hands—the conquerors and conquered—to see what would be the captain’s fate.

“Now, Captain Armstrong,” cried the buccaneer leader, “beg for your wretched life, you cowardly dog!”

“Coward!” roared Humphrey, raising himself slightly on one hand, as with the other he swept the blood from his ensanguined face. “You cursed hound! you lie!”

The buccaneer shrank back as if from some blow; his foot was withdrawn from the wounded officer’s chest, he lowered the point of his sword, and stood gazing at his prostrate enemy wildly.

“The captain shirks the job, lads,” cried a coarse voice. “Here, let me come.”

It was Black Mazzard who spoke, and, drunken with rum and the spirit of the furious fight, he pressed forward, axe in hand.

Humphrey raised himself a little higher, with his white teeth bared in fierce defiance as he prepared to meet the deathblow he saw about to fall.

But at that moment the buccaneer caught his lieutenant’s uplifted arm.

“Enough!” he cried, fiercely; “no more blood. He is no coward. Bart—Dinny, take this gentleman ashore.”

Humphrey Armstrong did not hear the words, for his defiant act exhausted his failing strength, and he fell back insensible to all that happened for many hours to come.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Captain Humphrey comes to.

Captain Humphrey lay upon his back staring at his conscience. He was weak from loss of blood, weaker from fever; and he would have fared better if he had had proper medical treatment instead of the rough but kindly doctoring and nursing of Bart the surgeon, and Dinny the hospital nurse.

This was after three weeks’ doubtful journey, wherein Dinny said “the obstinate divil had tried all he knew to die.” And it was so ungrateful, Dinny said, after the captain had saved his life, and that of all the prisoners who had not also been obstinate and died.

Humphrey’s conscience was a great stone god full twelve feet high—an object that looked like a mummy-case set on end, as far as shape was concerned, but carved all over in the most wonderful way, the grotesque and weird bas-reliefs almost destroying the face, hands, and feet of the figure, flowing over them as they were, so that at first sight he looked upon a great mass of sculpture, out of which by degrees the features appeared.

The old artist who designed the idol had strange ideas of decorative effect. He had cut in the hard stone a fine contemplative face; but over it he had placed a gigantic headdress, whereon were stony plumes of feathers, wreaths, and strange symbols, while pendent in every possible direction about the body were writhing creatures and snakes, with variations of the human form, engaged in strange struggles, and amongst them human heads turned into bosses or decorations of the giant robe.

Humphrey Armstrong came partly to himself to see the cold, implacable face of this idol staring down at him from the gloom, ten feet from where he lay; and it seemed to him, by slow degrees, that this was his conscience sternly and silently upbraiding him for the loss of his ship and the lives of his men, destroyed by his want of skill as a commander.

Day after day, through his semi-delirium, did that great idol torture him, and seem, with its reproachful eyes, to burn into his brain.

Days passed, and by degrees he began to be aware that he was lying on a bed of comfortable rugs and skins, stretched in a curious room, whose walls were covered with hieroglyphics—thick, clumsy-looking hieroglyphics—not like those of Egypt, but carved with a skill peculiar to another race. Here and there were medallions of heads of gods or rulers of the land. Flowers of a peculiar conventional type formed part of the decorations or surrounded panels, in which were panthers, alligators, or human figures. In the centre of the wall to his right was a recess in which, clearly cut and hardly touched by time, were the figures of a king seated upon a leopard-supported throne—seated cross-legged, as in the East, and in a wondrous costume—while another figure presented to him what seemed to be the spoil of a number of dead and living figures who were trampled under foot.

The room was evidently a palace chamber, or a portion of a temple of great antiquity; and by degrees Humphrey realised that the ceiling was not arched or supported by beams, but by the great stones of which it was composed being piled one above the other, like a flight of steps, from the walls on either side till they met in the middle.

The floor was of stone, and there was a large opening on his left, facing the recess where the carving of the king ornamented the wall; and this opening, once a window, looked out upon the forest, whose dull, green, subdued twilight stole into the place.

It was a weird look-out—upon tree-trunks strangled by serpent-like creepers, which seemed to be contending with them for the life-giving light which filtered down from above through clouds of verdure; while other trees and other serpent-like creepers seemed in friendly co-operation to have joined hands against the walls of the building, which they were striving to destroy. Huge roots were thrust between the joints of stones and shifted them out of place. One liana waved a trailing stem through the window-opening as if in triumph, and to call attention to the feat of another creeper which had twisted itself completely round a great block, lifted it from one side, and held it suspended like a vegetable feat of strength.

For nature was asserting herself on every hand, the growth of the forest penetrating the chamber like an invading army of leaves and stems, and mingling with the works of man to their steady overthrow; while, facing it all, stern, implacable, and calmly watching the progress of destruction going on, stood the stone idol, the work of a race passed from the face of the earth, and waiting, as it had waited for hundreds of years, till the potent forest growth should lay it low!

For a time it was all a nightmare-like confusion to Humphrey; but with returning strength came order in his intellect, and he questioned Bart, who brought him food, and from time to time added carpets and various little luxuries of cabin furniture, which seemed strangely incongruous in that place.

“Who told you to bring those things here?” he said one day.

“Commodore Junk.”

“Why? Am I a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

“Am I to be shot?”

“Don’t know.”

“Where am I?”

“Here.”

“But what place is this?”

“Don’t know.”

“But—”

“Want any more wine or fruit?”

“No; I want my liberty.”

“Belongs to the captain.”

“Tell the captain I wish to see him.”

Bart said no more, but took his departure.

The prisoner was more fortunate with Dinny, who could be communicative.

“That’s it, captain, darlin’,” he said one day. “Don’t ye fale like a little boy again, and that I’m your mother washing your poor face!”

“Don’t fool, my good fellow, but talk to me.”

“Talk to you, is it?”

“Yes; you can talk to me.”

“Talk to ye—can I talk to ye! Hark at him, mate!” he cried, appealing to the great idol. “Why, I’m a divil at it.”

“Well, then, tell me how I came here.”

“Faix, didn’t I carry ye on my back?”

“Yes, but after the fight?”

“Afther the foight—oh! is it afther the foight ye mane? Sure, and it was the skipper’s ordhers, and I carried ye here, and Bart—you know the tother one—he brought in the bed and the rugs and things to make ye dacent. It’s a bit damp, and the threes have a bad habit of putting in their noses like the pigs at home; but it’s an illigant bed-room for a gintleman afther all.”

“It was the captain’s orders, you say?”

“Sure, an’ it was.”

“And where are we?”

“Why, here we are.”

“Yes, yes; but what place is this?”

“Sure, an’ it’s the skipper’s palace.”

“Commodore Junk’s?”

“Yis.”

“And what place is it—where are we?”

“Faix, and they say that sick payple is hard to deal wid. It’s what I’m telling you sure. It’s the skipper’s palace, and here it is.”

“My good fellow, you told me all that; but I want to know whereabouts it is.”

“Oh-h! Whereabouts it is, you mane!”

“Yes, yes.”

“Why, right away in the woods.”

“Far from the shore!”

“Ah, would ye!” cried Dinny, with a grin full of cunning. “Ye’d be getting all the information out of me, and then as soon as ye get well be running away.”

“Yes,” said Humphrey, “If I can.”

“Well, that’s honest,” cried Dinny. “And it’s meself would do it if I got a chance.”

“No,” said Humphrey, sadly; “I could not do that and leave my men.”

“Faix, and they’d leave ye if they got a chance, sor.”

“How are they all!”

“Oh, they’re getting right enough,” said Dinny. “Ye’ve been the worst of ’em all yerself, and if ye don’t make haste ye’ll be last.”

“But tell me, my lad, why am I kept in prison!”

“Tell ye why you’re kept in prison?”

“Yes.”

“An’ ye want to know! Well, divil a wan of us can tell, unless it’s the skipper’s took a fancy to ye bekase ye’re such a divil to fight, and he wants ye to jyne the rigiment.”

“Regiment! Why, you’ve been a soldier!”

“And is it me a sodjer! Why, ye’ll be wanting to make out next that I was a desarther when was only a prishner of war.” Humphrey sighed.

“Sure, and ye’re wanting something, sor. What’ll I get ye! The skipper said ye were to have iverything you wanted.”

“Then give me my liberty, my man, and let me go back to England—and disgrace.”

“Sure, and I wouldn’t go back to England to get that, sor. I’d sooner shtop here. The skipper’s always telling Bart to look afther ye well.”

“Why?” said Humphrey, sharply.

“Why?” said Dinny, scratching his head; “perhaps he wants to get ye in good condition before ye’re hung.”

“Hung?”

“Yis, sor. That’s what Black Mazzard says.”

“Is that the man who tried to cut me down with a boarding-axe?”

“That’s the gintleman, sor; and now let me put ye tidy, and lay yer bed shtraight. Sure, and ye’ve got an illigant cabin here, as is good enough for a juke. Look at the ornaments on the walls.”

“Are there any more places like this?”

“Anny more! Sure, the wood’s full of ’em.”

“But about here?”

“About here! Oh, this is only a little place. Sure, we all live here always when we ar’n’t aboard the schooner.”

“Ah, yes! The schooner. She was quite destroyed, was she not?”

“Divil a bit, sor. Your boys didn’t shoot straight enough. The ship ye came in was, afther we’d got all we wanted out of her. She was burnt to the wather’s edge, and then she sank off the reef.”

Humphrey groaned.

“Ye needn’t do that, sor, for she was a very owld boat, and not safe for a journey home. Mak’ yer mind aisy, and mak’ this yer home. There’s plinty of room for ye, and—whisht! here’s the captain coming. What’ll he be doing here?”

“The captain!” cried Humphrey. “Then that man took my message.”

“What message, sor?”

At that moment the steps which had been heard coming as it were down some long stone corridor halted at the doorway of the prisoner’s chamber, someone drew aside a heavy rug, and the buccaneer, wearing a broad-leafed hat which shaded his face, entered the place.

“You can go, Dinny.”

“Yis, sor, I’m going,” said Dinny, obsequiously; and, after a glance at the prisoner, he hurriedly obeyed.

There was only a gloomy greenish twilight in the old chamber, such light as there was striking in through the forest-shaded window, and with his back to this, and retaining his hat, the captain seated himself upon a rug covered chest.

“You sent for me,” he said, in a deep, abrupt tone.

Humphrey looked at him intently, the dark eyes meeting his, and the thick black brows contracted as the gaze was prolonged.

“You sent for me,” he repeated, abruptly; “what more do you want?”

“I will tell you after a while,” said Humphrey; “but first of all let me thank you for the kind treatment I have received at your hands.”

“You need not thank me,” was the short reply. “Better treatment than you would have given me.”

“Well, yes,” said Humphrey. “I am afraid it is.”

“Your cousin would have hung me.”

“My cousin! What do you know of my cousin!”

“England is little. Every Englishman of mark is known.”

Humphrey looked at him curiously, and for the moment it seemed to him that he had heard that voice before, but his memory did not help him.

“My cousin would have done his duty,” he said, gravely.

“His duty!” cried the captain, bitterly. “Your country has lost a treasure in the death of that man, sir.”

“Good heavens, man! What do you know—”

“Enough, sir. Let Captain James Armstrong rest. The name is well represented now by a gentleman, and it is to that fact that Captain Humphrey owes his life.”

The latter stared at the speaker wonderingly.

“Well, sir, why have you sent for me!”

“To thank you, Commodore Junk, and to ask you a question or two.”

“Go on, sir. Perhaps I shall not answer you.”

“I will risk it,” said Humphrey, watching him narrowly, “You spared my life. Why?”

“I told you.”

“Then you will give me my liberty?”

“What for?—to go away and return with another and better-manned ship to take us and serve the captain of the schooner as I have served you?”

“No. I wish to return home.”

“What for?”

“Surely you cannot expect me to wish to stay here!”

“Why do you wish to go home to meet disgrace?”

Humphrey started at having his own words repeated.

“To be tried by court martial for the loss of your ship! Stay where you are, sir, and grow strong and well.”

“If I stay here, sir, when I have full liberty to go, shall I not be playing the part of the coward you called me when I was beaten down?”

“You will not have full liberty to go, Captain Armstrong,” said his captor, quietly. “You forget that you are a prisoner.”

“You do not intend to kill me and my men?”

“We are not butchers, sir,” was the cold reply.

“Then what is your object in detaining us. Is it ransom?”

“Possibly.”

“Name the sum, then, sir, and if it is in my power it shall be paid.”

“It is too soon to talk of ransom, Captain Armstrong,” said his visitor, “you are weak and ill yet. Be patient, and grow well and strong. Some day I will talk over this matter with you again. But let me, before I go, warn you to be careful not to attempt to escape, or to encourage either of your men to make the attempt. Even I could not save you then, for the first man you met would shoot you down. Besides that risk, escape is impossible by land; and we shall take care that you do not get away by sea. Now, sir, have I listened to all you have to say?”

“One word, sir. I am growing stronger every day. Will you grant me some freedom?”

“Captain Armstrong is a gentleman,” said his visitor; “if he will give his word that he will not attempt to escape, he shall be free to go anywhere within the bounds of our little settlement.”

Humphrey sat thinking, with his brow knit and his teeth compressed.

“No,” he said; “that would be debarring myself from escaping.”

“You could not escape.”

“I should like to try,” said Humphrey, smiling.

“It would be utter madness, sir. Give me your word of honour that you will not attempt to leave this old palace, and you shall come and go as you please.”

“No, sir, I will remain a prisoner with the chances open.”

“As you will,” said the buccaneer, coldly; and he rose and left the chamber, looking thoughtful and absent, while Humphrey lay back on his couch, gazing hard at the great stone idol, as if he expected to gain information from its stern mysterious countenance.

“Where have I seen him before?” he said, thoughtfully; and after gazing at the carven effigy for some time he closed his eyes and tried to think, but their last meeting on the deck of the sloop was all that would suggest itself, and he turned wearily upon his side.

“He seemed to have heard of our family, and his manner was strange; but I can’t think now,” he said, “I am hot and weak, and this place seems to stifle me.”

Almost as he spoke he dropped asleep—the slumber of weakness and exhaustion—to be plunged in a heavy stupor for hours, perfectly unconscious of the fact that from time to time the great curtain was drawn aside and a big head thrust into the dim chamber, the owner gazing frowningly at the helpless prisoner, and then entering on tiptoe, to cross to the window and cautiously look out before returning to the couch, with the frown deepening as the man thought of how narrow the step was which led from life to death.

He had advanced close to the couch with a savage gleam of hatred in his eyes when Humphrey Armstrong moved uneasily, tossed his hands apart, and then, as if warned instinctively of danger, he opened his eyes, sprang up, and seized a piece of stone close by his side, the only weapon, within grasp.

“Well,” said Bart, without stirring, and with a grim look of contempt, “heave it. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, it’s you!” said the prisoner, setting down the stone and letting himself sink back. “I was dreaming, I suppose, and thought there was danger.”

He laid his feverish cheek upon his hand, and seemed to fall asleep at once, his eyes closing and his breath coming easily.

“Trusts me,” muttered Bart. “Poor lad! it ar’n’t his fault. Man can’t kill one as trusts him like that. I shall have to fight for him, I suppose. Always my way—always my way.”

He seated himself at the foot of the couch with his features distorted as if by pain, and for hour after hour watched the sleeper, telling himself that he could not do him harm, though all the time a jealous hatred approaching fury was burning in his breast.

Chapter Twenty Four.

The Prison Life.

“Not dying, Bart?”

“No, not exactly dying,” said that worthy in a low growl; “but s’pose you shoots at and wings a gull, picks it up, and takes it, and puts it in a cage; the wound heals up, and the bird seems sound; but after a time it don’t peck, and don’t preen its plumes, and if it don’t beat itself again’ the bars o’ the cage, it sits and looks at the sea.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I says, captain; and, after a time, if you don’t let it go, that gull dies.”

“Then you mean that Captain Armstrong is pining away?”

“That’s it.”

“Has he any suspicion of who we are?”

“Not a bit.”

“And you think he’s suffering for want of change?”

“Course I do. Anyone would—shut up in that dark place.”

“Has he complyned?”

“Not he. Too brave a lad. Why not give him and his lads a boat, and let them go!”

“To come back with a strong force and destroy us.”

“Ah, I never thought of that! Make him swear he wouldn’t. He’d keep his word.”

“But his men would not, Bart. No; he will have to stay.”

“Let him loose, then, to run about the place. He can’t get away.”

“I am afraid.”

“What of?”

“Some trouble arising. Mazzard does not like him.”

“Ah! I never thought o’ that neither,” returned Bart, gloomily. “Black Mazzard’s always grumbling about his being kept.”

The buccaneer took a turn or two up and down the quarters he occupied in the vast range of buildings buried in the forest, a mile back from the head of the harbour where his schooner lay; and Bart watched him curiously till he stopped, with his face twitching, and the frown deepening upon his brow.

“He will not give his word of honour not to attempt to escape, Bart,” said the captain, pausing at last before his follower.

“’Tar’n’t likely,” said Bart. “Who would? He’d get away if he could.”

“The prisoners cannot escape through the forest; there is no way but the sea, and that must be properly watched. Due notice must be given to all that any attempt to escape will be followed by the punishment of death.”

“I hear,” said Bart. “Am I to tell the captain that?”

“No. He must know it; but I give him into your charge. You must watch over him, and protect him from himself and from anyone else.”

“Black Mazzard!”

“From any one likely to do him harm,” said the captain, sternly. “You understand?”

“Yes. I’m going,” replied Bart, in a low growl, as he gazed in his leader’s eyes; and then, with a curious, thoughtful look in his own, he went out of the captain’s quarters and in the direction of the prison of the king’s officer.

Bart had to go down the broad steps of an extensive, open amphitheatre, whose stones were dislodged by the redundant growth of the forest; and, after crossing the vast court-yard at the bottom, to mount the steps on the other side toward where, dominating a broad terrace overshadowed by trees, stood a small, square temple, over whose doorway was carved a huge, demoniacal head, defaced by the action of time, but with the features still clearly marked.

As Bart neared the building a figure appeared in the doorway for a moment, and then passed out into the sunshine.

“Hullo, my lad!” it exclaimed. “You there?”

Bart nodded.

“Been putting in the last six barr’ls of the sloop’s powder, and some of these days you’ll see the sun’ll set it all alight, and blow the whole place to smithereens! Where are ye going?”

“Yonder, to the prisoners.”

“Poor divils!” said Dinny. “Hadn’t ye better kill the lot and put ’em out of their misery? They must be tired of it, and so am I. Faix, and it’s a dirthy life for a man to lead!”

“Don’t let the skipper hear you say that, my lad,” growled Bart, “or it may be awkward for you!”

“I’ll let annybody hear me!” cried Dinny. “Sure, an’ it’s the life of a baste to lead, and a man like that Black Mazzard bullying and finding fault. I’d have sent one of the powdher-kegs at his head this morning for the binifit of everybody here, only I might have blown myself up as well.”

“Has he been swearing at you again!”

“Swearing! Bedad, Bart, he said things to me this morning as scorched the leaves of the threes yonder. If you go and look you can see ’em all crickled up. He can swear!”

Bart slouched away.

“It’s a divil of a place!” muttered Dinny; “and it would make a wondherful stone-quarry; but I’m getting sick of it, and feeling as if I should like to desart. Black Mazzard again!” he muttered, drawing in his breath sharply. “I wish his greatest inimy would break his neck!”

Dinny walked sharply away, for the lieutenant seemed to have been gathering authority since the taking of the sloop, and lost no opportunity of showing it to all the crew.

Meanwhile, Bart had continued his way between the two piles of ruins, his path leading from the dazzling glow of the tropic sunshine into the subdued green twilight of the forest.

Here, at the end of some fifty paces, he came to the external portion of the building which formed Captain Humphrey’s prison, and entering by a fairly well-preserved doorway, he raised a curtain, half-way down a corridor, passed through, and then came abreast of a recess, at the end of which was another broad hanging, which he drew aside, and entered the temple-chamber, where Humphrey lay sleeping on a couch.

As Bart approached he became aware of a faint rustling sound, as of someone retreating from the window among the trees, and starting forward, he looked out. But all was still; not a long rope-like liana quivering, no leaf crushed.

“Some monkey,” muttered Bart, and turning back, he gazed down with a heavy frown at the frank, handsome face of the young officer, till he saw the features twitch, the eyes open and stare wonderingly into his; and once more the prisoner, roused by the presence of another gazing upon his sleeping face, suddenly sprang up.

“You here?”

“Yes, sir, I’m here,” said Bart.

“What for? Why?”

“Nothing much, sir; only to tell you that you can go.”

“Go?” cried the captain, excitedly.

“Yes, sir. Captain Junk’s orders—where you like, so long as you don’t try to escape.”

“But I must escape!” cried Humphrey, angrily. “Tell the captain I will not give my parole.”

“He don’t want it, sir. You can go where you like, only if you try to escape you will be shot.”

Humphrey Armstrong rose from where he had been lying, and made as if to go to the door, his face full of excitement, his eyes flashing, and his hands all of a tremble.

“Go!” he said, sharply. “Send that man who has acted as my servant.”

“Servant!” muttered Bart, as he passed the curtain; “and him a prisoner! Dinny called hisself his turnkey, but said as there was no door to lock. Here! hoi! Dinny!”

“What do you want with him?” said a fierce voice; and he turned, to find the lieutenant coming out of one of the ruined buildings.

“Prisoner wants him,” said Bart, sturdily. “Here, Dinny, Captain Armstrong wants you.”

“Ay, ay,” cried Dinny, who seemed to divine that Mazzard was about to stop him, and ran hastily on; while the lieutenant, who was half-drunk, stood muttering, and then walked slowly away.

“Not so well, sor!”

“Wine—water!” panted Humphrey, hoarsely. “I tried to walk to the door and fell back here.”

“Sure, an ye’re out of practice, sir,” said Dinny, hastening to hold a vessel of water to the prisoner’s lips. “That’s better. Ye’ve tuk no exercise since ye’ve been betther.”

“Ah!” sighed Humphrey; “the deadly sickness has gone. This place is so lonely.”

“Ay, ’tis, sor. One always feels like an outside cock bird who wants a mate.”

“Sit down and talk to me.”

“Sure an’ I will, wid pleasure, sor,” said Dinny, eagerly. “There’s so few gintlemen to talk to here.”

“Tell me about your commander.”

“An’ what’ll I tell you about him?”

“What kind of a man is he?”

“Sure, and he’s as handsome as such a little chap can be.”

“Has he a wife here?”

“Woife, sor? Not he!”

“A troop of mistresses, then, or a harem?”

“Divil a bit, sor. He’s riddy to shoot the boys whiniver they take a new wife—Ingin or white. I belave he hates the whole sex, and thinks women is divils, sor. Why, he hit Black Mazzard once, sor, for asking him why he didn’t choose a pretty gyurl, and not live like a monk.”

“Is he brave?”

“Yes, sor; and I wouldn’t anger him if I were you.”

“Not I,” said Humphrey. “There, the sickness has passed off. Now, help me out into the sunshine.”

“Help ye out?” said Dinny, looking puzzled.

“Yes; into the bright sunshine. I seem to be decaying away here, man, and the warm light will give me strength.”

“Shure, an’ if I do, Black Mazzard will pison me wid a pishtol-ball.”

“I have the captain’s consent,” said Humphrey.

“Sure, and ye’re not deludhering a boy, are ye, sor?” said Dinny.

“No, no, my man, it is right. Help me; I did not know I was so weak.”

“An’ is it wake?” said Dinny, drawing the prisoner’s arm well through his own. “Sure, and didn’t I see gallons o’ blood run out of ye? Faix, and there was quarts and quarts of it; and I belave ye’d have died if I hadn’t nursed ye so tenderly as I did.”

“My good fellow, you’ve been like a good angel to me,” said Humphrey, feebly. “Hah! how glorious!” he sighed, closing his eyes as they stepped out of the long corridor into the opening cut through the forest, and then between the two piles of ruins into the glorious tropic sunshine.

“Will it be too warrum?” said Dinny.

“Warm! No, man, my heart has been chilled with lying there in the darkness. Take me farther out into the bright light.”

“Sure, and it’s the sun bating ye down ye’ll be havin’,” said Dinny. “Look at that, now!”

Dinny was gazing back at the pile of ancient buildings, and caught sight of a face in the shadow.

“Yes, I am trying to look,” said Humphrey, with a sigh; “but my eyes are not used to the light.”

“Sure, an’ it’s the captin, and he’s kaping his oi on us,” said Dinny to himself. “Well, all right, captain, darlin’! I’m not going to run away.”

“What place is this?”

“Sure, an’ it’s meself don’t know, sor. Mebbe it’s the palace that the American good payple built for Christyphy Columbus. Mebbe,” continued Dinny, “it’s much owlder. Sure, and it shutes the captin, and we all live here whin we don’t live somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?” said Humphrey, looking at Dinny wonderingly as he grasped his arm and signed to him to wait and give him breath.

“Well, I mane at say, sor, doing a bit o’ business amongst the ships. Ah, look at her, thin, the darlin’!” he muttered, as a woman appeared for a moment among the lianas, held up her hand quickly to Dinny, and turned away.

“What woman was that!” said Humphrey, hastily.

“Woman, sor!”

“Yes; that woman who kissed her hand to you.”

“An’ did she kiss her hand to me, sor!”

“Yes, man, you must have seen.”

“Sure, an’ it must have been Misthress Greenheys, sor.”

“Mistress Greenheys!”

“A widow lady, sor, whose husband had an accident one day wid his ship and got killed.”

“And you know her!”

“We’ve been getting a little friendly lately,” said Dinny, demurely. “There, sor, you’re getting wake. Sit down on that owld stone in the shade. Bedad, it isn’t illigant, the cutting upon it, for it’s like a shkull, but it’s moighty convanient under that three. That’s better; and I’ll go and ask Bart to bring ye a cigar.”

“No, stop,” said Humphrey. “I want to talk to you, man. That woman’s husband was murdered, then?”

“Murdered! Faix, and that’s thrue. Sure, an’ someone hit him a bit too hard, sor, and he doied.”

“Murdered by these buccaneers!” said Humphrey, excitedly, and he looked wildly around him, when his eye lighted on the trim, picturesque figure of the little woman, who was intently watching them, and he saw her exchange a sign with his companion.

“The key of life—the great motive which moves the world,” said Humphrey to himself; and he turned suddenly on Dinny, who had his hand to his mouth and looked sheepish.

“You love that woman,” he said, sharply.

“Whisht, captin, dear!” said Dinny, softly; and then in a whisper, with a roguish leer, “sure, it isn’t me, sor; it’s the darlin’s took a bit of a fancy to me.”

“Yes, and you love her,” said Humphrey.

“Och, what a way ye have of putting it, sor! Sure, and the poor crittur lost her husband, and she’s been living here iver since, and she isn’t happy, and what could a boy do but thry to comfort her!”

“Are you going to marry her, Dinny?” said Humphrey, after a pause.

“Faix, an’ I would if I had a chance, sor; but there’s two obshticles in the way, and one of ’em’s Black Mazzard.”

“Then, why not take her, Dinny!”

“Tak’ her, sor?”

“Yes; from this wretched place. Escape.”

“Whisht! Don’t say that word aloud again, darlin’, or maybe the captin’ll get to hear. Sure, and I belave that the great big sthone gods shticking up all over the place gets to hear what’s said and whishpers it again to the captin, who always knows everything that goes on.”

“Take her, and help me to escape,” whispered Humphrey, earnestly.

“Whisht, man! Howld your tongue. Is it wanting to see me hanging on one of the trees! Eshcape?”

“Yes. I am a rich man, and if you can get me away I’ll reward you handsomely.”

“Hark at him!” said Dinny, scornfully. “Why, I should have to give up my share of what we’ve got shtored up here. Why, sor, I daresay I’m a richer man than yourself. Eshcape! and after all I’ve shworn.”

Dinny turned away and began cutting a stick.

“Tell me,” said Humphrey, “are there many of my men here?”

“Jist twenty, sor.”

“And how many are there of the pirates!”

Dinny laughed with his eyes half shut.

“Shure, sor, what d’ye tak’ me for? Ye don’t think I’m going to tell ye that!”

Humphrey sighed, and was silent for a time; but an intense desire to know more about the place was burning within him, and he began to question his companion again.

“Are the prisoners in one of these old temples!”

“Yes. On the other side of the big pyrymid yonder, sor; but ye can’t get to them widout going a long way round.”

“Are there many women here besides that Mistress Greenheys?”

“Sure, yis, there is a dozen of ’em, sor. Not half enough, but just enough to kape the min quarrelling; and there’s been no end of bother about the women being kept in the place.”

Chapter Twenty Five.

Plans of Escape.

Humphrey Armstrong was weaker from his wounds than he believed; but the change from being shut up in the dim temple-chamber with the great stone idol for company to the comparatively free open air of the forest clearing rapidly restored the elasticity of his nature, and gave him ample opportunities for studying the state of affairs.

He found that the buccaneers went out but seldom, and that when expeditions were made they would be fairly divided. At one time the captain would be in command, at another the lieutenant, so that their settlement was never left unprotected.

As far as he could judge, they were about a hundred in number, and great dilapidated chambers in the range of temples and palaces formed admirable barracks and means of defence, such as in time of need could easily be held against attack.

But Humphrey’s great idea was escape; and to accomplish this it seemed to him that his first need was to open up communication with his men.

This he determined to accomplish, for with the liberty given it seemed to be a very easy thing to walk to some heap of stones at the edge of the forest and there seat himself till he was unobserved, when he could quietly step into the dense thicket, and make his way to where his followers were imprisoned.

He had not long to wait, for it seemed that, after being closely watched for the first few days, the latitude allowed to him was greater. He had but to walk to the edge of the forest and wait, for the opportunity was sure to come.

Easy as it appeared though in theory, it proved less so in performance, and it was not till after several attempts that he felt one day sure of success.

It was soon after mid-day, when the great amphitheatre and the grotesquely ornamented ruins with their huge heads and shadowy trees were baking in the sun. The men who were often idling about had sought places where they could indulge in their siesta, and a silence as of the grave had fallen upon the place.

Humphrey Armstrong had walked to a pile of ruins beneath one of the trees, and seated himself upon a huge stone sculptured round with figures writhing in impossible attitudes, and one and all wearing highly ornamental head-dresses of feathers.

He lay back there as if half drowsy with the heat, and with half-closed eyes looked watchfully round to see whether he was observed. But as far as he could see the place was utterly deserted. Bart, who was often here and there giving a kind of supervision to the buccaneers’ settlement, and seeing that people from the barracks did not collect near the captain’s quarters, seemed to be absent. Dinny, who had been to him an hour before, had gone off on some duty with Dick Dullock, and everything pointed to the fact that this was the opportunity so long sought.

He hesitated no longer; but after casting another glance round at the dark, shadowy nooks among the trees and ruins, all of which seemed purply-black in contrast with the blazing glare of sunshine, he softly slid himself back from the stone and dropped down among the undergrowth, and raised his head to peer among the leaves.

He obtained a good view of the great amphitheatre and the surrounding ruins, but all was still. No one had seen him move, and not a leaf was stirring.

Trifles seemed magnified at those moments into great matters, and with his nerves strung up to the highest pitch of tension he started, for all at once something moved away by the edge of the forest on his left. But it was only a great butterfly which fluttered over the baking stones, above which the air seemed to quiver, and then, with its brightly-painted wings casting a broad shadow, it crossed the ruined amphitheatre and was gone.

Humphrey Armstrong crept from behind his resting-place right to the shelter of the trees at the edge of the forest, and his spirits rose as he found how easy an evasion seemed to be. He had only to secure the co-operation of half a dozen of his men, take advantage of the listlessness of the buccaneers some such hot day as this, make their way down to the shore, seize a boat, and then coast along till a settlement was reached or a ship seen to take them aboard.

It was very simple, and it seemed easier and easier as he got farther away from the ruins and his prison. On his right the forest was dense, but the buccaneers had cut down and burned numbers of trees so as to keep them back from encroaching farther on the old buildings; and along here among the mossy stumps Humphrey Armstrong crept.

But it was easy—nothing seemed more simple. Already he saw himself round on the other side of the ruins, holding communication with his fellow-prisoners and making plans, when, to his great delight, he found that he had hit upon what was evidently a way to the other side of the ancient ruins; for he suddenly came upon a narrow passage through the dense forest growth, literally a doorway cut in the tangle of creepers and vines that were matted among the trees. It must have been an arduous task, but it had been thoroughly done—the vines having been hewn through, or in places half divided and bent back, to go on interlacing at the sides, with the result that a maze-like path ran in and out among the trees.

The moment he was in this path the glare of the sunny day was exchanged for a dim greenish-hued twilight, which darkened with every step he took. Overhead a pencil of sunshine could be seen from time to time, but rarely, for the mighty forest trees interlaced their branches a hundred and fifty feet above his head, and the air was heavy with the moist odour of vegetable decay.

The forest path had evidently been rarely used of late, for the soft earth showed no imprints, the tender sickly growth of these deep shades had not been crushed; and as Humphrey realised these facts, he glanced back, to see how easily his trail could be followed—each step he had taken being either impressed in the vegetable soil or marked by the crushing down of moss or herb.

The sight of this impelled him to additional effort, so that he might gain some definite information about his people, and perhaps seek them by night, when once he had found the means of communication. In this spirit he was hurrying on when he came suddenly, in one of the darkest paths, upon a figure which barred his way, and it was with the addition of a rage-wrung savage exclamation that he uttered his captor’s name.

There was a dead silence in the dark forest as these two stood face to face, buried, as it were, in a gloomy tunnel. After Humphrey’s impatient ejaculation, drawn from him in his surprise, quite a minute elapsed; and then, half-mockingly, came in a deep, low voice—

“Yes! Commodore Junk!”

Humphrey stood glaring down at the obstacle in his path. He was tall and athletic, and, in spite of his weakness and the tales he had heard of the other’s powers, he felt that he could seize this man, hurl him down, and plant his foot upon his chest; for the buccaneer captain was without weapons, and stood looking up at him with one hand resting upon his hips, the other raised to his beardless face, with a well-shaped, small index finger slightly impressing his rounded cheek.

“Yes,” he said again, mockingly, “Commodore Junk! Well, Humphrey Armstrong, what mad fit is this?”

“Mad fit!” cried Humphrey, quickly recovering himself. “You allowed me to be at liberty, and I am exploring the place.”

The buccaneer looked in his eyes, with the mocking smile growing more marked.

“Is this Captain Humphrey Armstrong, the brave commander sent to exterminate me and mine, stooping to make a miserable excuse—to tell a lie!”

“A lie!” cried Humphrey, fiercely, as he took a step in advance.

“Yes, a lie!” said the buccaneer, without moving a muscle. “You were trying to find some way by which you could escape.”

“Well,” cried Humphrey, passionately, “I am a prisoner. I have refused to give my parole; I was trying to find some way of escape.”

“That is more like you,” said the buccaneer, quietly. “Why? What do you require? Are you not well treated by my men?”

“You ask me why,” cried Humphrey—“me, whom you have defeated—disgraced, and whom you hold here a prisoner. You ask me why!”

“Yes. I whom you would have taken, and, if I had not died sword in hand, have hung at your yard-arm, and then gibbeted at the nearest port as a scarecrow.”

He was silent, and the buccaneer went on—

“I have looked back, and I cannot see you placing a cabin at my disposal, seeing me nursed back from the brink of death, treated as a man would treat his wounded brother.”

“No,” cried Humphrey, quickly; “and why have you done all this when it would have been kinder to have slain me on that wretched day?”

“Why have I done this!” said the buccaneer, with the colour deepening in his swarthy face. “Ah, why have I done this! Perhaps,” he continued bitterly, “because I said to myself: ‘This is a brave, true, English gentleman;’ and I find instead a man who does not hesitate to lie to screen his paltry effort to escape.”

Humphrey made a menacing gesture; but the buccaneer did not stir.

“Look here, sir,” he continued. “I am in this place more powerful among my people than the king you serve. You smile; but you will find that it is true.”

“If I am not killed, sir, trying to make some effort to escape.”

“Escape!” cried the buccaneer, with his face lighting up. “Man, you have been warned before that you cannot escape. The forest beyond where we stand is one dense thicket through which no man can pass unless he cut his way inch by inch. It is one vast solitude, standing as it has stood since the world was made.”

“Bah!” cried Humphrey, scornfully. “A determined man could make his way.”

“How far!” cried the buccaneer. “A mile—two miles—and then, what is there?—starvation, fever, and death—lest in that vast wilderness. Even the Indians cannot penetrate those woods and mountains. Will you not take my word!”

“Would you take mine,” said Humphrey, scornfully, “if our places were changed! I shall escape.”

The buccaneer smiled.

“You have an easy master, captain,” he said, quietly; “but I would like to see you wear your chains more easily. Humphrey Armstrong, you cannot escape. There is only one way from this place, and that is by the sea, and there is no need to guard that. Look here,” he cried, laying his hand upon the prisoner’s arm, “you have been planning this for days and days. You have lain out yonder upon that stone by the old palace, calculating how you could creep away; and you found your opportunity to-day, when you said to yourself, ‘These people are all asleep now, and I will find my way round to where my men are prisoners.’”

As he spoke Humphrey changed colour and winced, for the buccaneer seemed to have read his every thought.

“And then you came upon this path through the forest, and you felt that this was the way to freedom.”

“Are you a devil?” cried Humphrey, excitedly.

“Perhaps,” was the mocking reply. “Perhaps only the great butterfly you watched before you started, as it lazily winged its way among the broken stones.”

Humphrey uttered an exclamation, and gazed wildly in the dark, mocking eyes.

“Never mind what I am, captain, but pray understand this—you cannot escape from here. When you think you are most alone, there are eyes upon you which see your every act, and your movements are all known.”

“I will not believe it,” cried Humphrey, angrily.

“Then disbelieve it; but it is true. I tell you there is no escape, man. You may get away a few miles perhaps, but every step you take bristles with the threatenings of death. So be warned, and bear your fate patiently. Wait! Grow strong once more.”

“And then!” cried Humphrey, excitedly. “What then?”

“Ah, yes,” said the buccaneer, who assumed not to have heard his words, “you are still weak. That flush in your face is the flush of fever, and you are low and excited.”

“Dog! You are mocking me!” cried Humphrey, furiously, for he felt the truth of every word that had been said, and his impotence maddened him.

“Dog!” cried the buccaneer as furiously.

“Yes; wretched cut-throat—murderer,” cried Humphrey—“miserable wretch, whom I could strangle where you stand!”

The buccaneer turned of a sallow pallor, his brow knit, his eyes flashed, and his chest heaved, as he stood glaring at Humphrey; but the sudden storm of passion passed away, and with a smile of pity he said softly—

“You call names like a petulant boy. Come, I am not angry with you, let us go back to your room. The heat of this place is too much for you, and to-morrow you will be down with fever.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Humphrey, angrily.

“It is true,” said the buccaneer. “Come.”

“There’s something behind all this,” cried the young man, excitedly. “We are alone here. I am the stronger; and, in spite of your boasting, there is no one here to help. You shall speak out, and tell me what this means.”

His gesture was threatening now; but the buccaneer did not stir.

“I am not alone,” he said, quietly. “I never am without someone to protect me. But there, you shall be answered. Why have I had you tended as I have? Well, suppose I have said to myself, ‘Here is a brave man who should be one of us.’”

“One of you!” cried Humphrey, with a scornful laugh.

“Suppose,” continued the buccaneer, with his nether lip quivering slightly, “I had said to myself, ‘You are alone here. Your men obey you, but you have no friends among them—no companions whom you can trust. Why not make this man your friend?’”

Humphrey smiled, and the buccaneer’s lip twitched slightly as he continued—

“You are fevered and disappointed now, and I shall not heed your words. I tell you once for all that you must accept your fate here as others have accepted theirs. I need not tell you that for one to escape from here would be to bring ruin upon all. Hence every one is his brother’s guardian; and the Indians for hundreds of miles around, at first our enemies till they felt my power, are now my faithful friends.”

Humphrey laughed mockingly.

“You laugh, sir. Well it is the laugh of ignorance, as you will find. It is no idle boast when I say that I am king here over my people, and the tribes to north and south.”

“The Indians too?” said Humphrey.

“Yes, the Indians too, as you found to your cost.”

“To my cost?”

“To your cost. Your ship was in my way. You troubled me; and your people had to be removed. Well, they were removed.”

“The treacherous hounds!” cried Humphrey, grinding his teeth as he recalled the action of the two Indians, and their escape.

“Treacherous! No. You would have employed men to betray me; it was but fighting you with your own weapons, sir; and these you call treacherous hounds were true, brave fellows who risked their lives to save me and mine.”

Humphrey was silent.

“Come, Captain Armstrong; you will suffer bitterly for this. There are chills and fevers in the depths of this forest which seize upon strangers like you, especially upon those weakened by their wounds, and I do not want to lose the officer and gentleman who is to be my friend and help here, where I am, as it were, alone.”

“Your friend and help!” said Humphrey, haughtily. “I am your prisoner, sir; but you forget to whom you are speaking. How dare you ask me to link my fate with that of your cut-throat band—to share with you a life of plunder and disgrace, with the noose at the yard-arm of every ship in His Majesty’s Navy waiting to end your miserable career? I tell you—I tell you—”

He made a clutch at the nearest branch to save himself, for his head swam, black spots veiled in mist and strangely blurred seemed to be descending from above to form a blinding veil before his eyes. He recovered himself for a moment, long enough to resent the hand stretched out to save him, and then all was blank, and with a hoarse sigh he would have fallen heavily but for the strong arms that caught him, held him firmly for a few moments, and then a faint catching sigh was heard in the stillness of the forest, as Humphrey Armstrong was lowered slowly upon the moss and a soft brown hand laid upon his forehead, as the buccaneer bent down upon one knee by his side.

“Want me?” said a deep low voice; and the buccaneer started as if from a dream, with his face hardening, and the wrinkles which had been smoothed reappearing deeply in the broad forehead.