JACK HARKAWAY Saga Volume 1
Author: Bracebridge Hemyng
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Description: Anthology containing: JACK HARKAWAY'S SCHOOLDAYS. JACK HARKAWAY AFTER SCHOOLDAYS. JACK HARKAWAY’S ADVENTURES AFLOAT AND ASHORE
Rights: Copyrights as per source stories

JACK HARKAWAY’S SCHOOLDAYS.

BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG (1841-1901)

Sourced from THE FIVE CENT WIDE AWAKE LIBRARY No. 1225 (All Chapters)and No. 76/1226. (Chapters 1 to 13).

{There was some damaged to the text in available on-line scans. Some corrections were made to Chapters 1 to 31 using a hard-copy of the first volume of the “FEDERAL BOOK COMPANY” Reprint series. A small amount missing text is indicated via [] in chapters 31 plus. Is also possible small amount of text was skipped in the THE FIVE CENT WIDE AWAKE LIBRARY typesetting from the original.}

THE FIVE CENT WIDE AWAKE LIBRARY No. 1225

JACK HARKAWAY’S SCHOOLDAYS.

CHAPTER I

SENT TO SCHOOL

AFTER an animated discussion between Mr. and Mrs. Scratchley upon some method of reforming their unruly adopted son, whose many pranks had become unbearable, they were in despair.

Mrs. Scratchley recounted a long list of his terrible doings about the bouse, and suggested various remedies, among them thrashing, all of which failed to meet the approval of Mr. Scratchley.

“Then he must go to school. He shall not play his pranks here any longer with impunity.” Mrs. Scratchley said, in an unmistakeable tone of decision.

“Very well, my dear; let us consider that settled. He shall go to school. Sit down and discuss the matter quietly. The question now is—where is he to go to?”

“Oh! bother!” exclaimed Mrs. Scratchley, who was in a bad temper. “There are plenty of schools! You can find one easily enough! I should not wonder if you should find one in the paper you have been reading. They are advertised.”

“A happy thought, my dear, for which I thank you,” said Mr. Scratchley, “I will at once refer to the advertising columns of this journal, and study the schoolastic announcements.”

Mrs. Scratchley stirred the fire, for it was a cold day in spring, and tried to compose her ruffled temper as well as she could.

While her husband is engaged in his pleasing duty, we will give a brief description of both, and introduce our hero, Jack Harkaway, to the reader.

Mr. Scratchley was a retired tradesman.

He had been a bookseller and stationer, but having made a competence, he married a widow, who also had some money, and bought a small house, standing in its own grounds, called the Elms, at Highgate.

The marriage was blessed with the birth of a daughter, who was christened Emily.

About this time he had an addition to his family, in the shape of a little boy, whom he said he had adopted.

He called him Jack Harkaway, declared he was the son of poor parents, with whom ho was acquainted, and took great credit to himself for his philanthropy.

The neighbors, on the other hand, when talking about the matter, expressed their opinion very plainly to the effect that so excellent a man of business as Mr. Scratchley would not have had anything to do with the boy unless he was well paid for it.

When he was old enough to understand what was said to him. Jack was informed that his father and mother were dead, and that he was indebted to his kind friends Mr. and Mrs. Scratchley, for the good home he enjoyed.

He ought to have been grateful but somehow or other, he did not evince any particular gratitude.

He was often disobedient, nearly always mischievous, and at times disrespectful, which was perhaps owing to the constant neglect and frequent severity of his guardians.

What little he knew Mr. Scratchley had taught him at odd times, and he was better informed than might have been expected from the rough tuition he was given. For which he had to thank his natural aptitude and intelligence, which were of a high order.

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Scratchley showed him much kindness.

Affection for him they had none; all their care was centered upon their pretty little daughter, Emily.

With the latter Jack Harkaway was always on the possible terms. They had the audacity to call themselves sweethearts; and Jack said, wherever he went or whatever became of him, he would think of her; and if it was within bounds of possibility, he would make her his dear little wife when they were old enough.

Every one who saw Jack declared that he was well-bred; the presumption in many minds was that the parents of the lad were gentlefolks, but when Mr. Scratchley was questioned on the point, he only said: “Poor creatures, very poor, very poor.”

If there was a secret about Jack’s birth Mr. Scratchley kept it with praiseworthy tenacity.

We left Mr. Scratchley reading the advertisement sheet of his paper in order to find out some school that would do for Jack.

“ ‘Education, commercial, highly recommended, particularly for French,’ ” he exclaimed, adding, “that won’t do. What does he want with French? and they’re sure to charge extra for that. Here’s another which seems more likely. ‘Education, twenty to twenty-four guineas per annum. No extras except laundress, six shillings per quarter.’ I like that. Very good. ‘No extras. No vacations unless wished.’ Very good also. Holidays a nuisance. ‘Quarter to commence front time of entrance. Locality healthy; airy bedroom: good bathing; large playground and cricketing field; gymnastics; laboratory.’ Reads very well, does it not, my dear?”

“Think so. But is not twenty guineas a large sum to pay for him?” queried Mrs. Scratchley.

“Well, no; on consideration, decidedly not. It is cheap. How they do it for the money I can’t make out.”

“Is that all?”

“Not quite. The advertisement goes on to say that there is ‘A liberal table; resident masters; French by Monsieur Bolivant; book-keeping by double entry. Reference to parents of children who have been years in the school, also to clergymen. Address the principal, Pemona House, Lillie Bridge, Herts.’ ”

“I should write immediately,” said Mrs. Scratchley.

“I will, do so without delay,” answered her husband.

“He must go to school.”

“I have already consented that he should do so,” returned Mr. Scratchley. “Allow me to ring the bell, and I will tell Polly to send him in here. First of all I will lecture him for poodling your cat.”

“Half-poodling,” corrected Mrs. Scratchley.

“I beg your pardon. When this is over I will put him through his paces, and you shall see what answers he makes to my questions.”

“I hate the sight of the boy.”

“That is wrong, my dear. I do not wish to assume the mantle of a goody goody preacher, but language is given us to conceal our thoughts. I have no strong regard for John Harkaway, yet no one hears me say so.”

“Well, well, say no more about it,” Mrs. Scratchley, answered testily. “Have him up.”

Mr. Scratchley rang the bell, which was answered by a smart, tidy-looking servant.

“Send Master John to me,” said her master.

“Yes, sir,” answered Polly.

Master John was at that moment engaged in the amiable pastime of cutting up horsehair and mixing it with salt, to be privately put in the cook’s bed; such innocent amusement being calculated to prevent her from enjoying her nocturnal rest.

“Oh! Master John,” said Polly, surprising him in the act, “whatever are you up to?”

“It isn’t for you, Polly, so you needn’t holloa before you’re hurt,” replied Jack.

“But it’s wrong to do such things, and cook, I’m sure, wouldn’t offend you.”

“Wouldn’t she? that’s all you know about it. I wanted some-bread and dripping for tea, and she locked up the dripping in the larder. What do you want prying about?”

“Master wants you in the drawingroom. He and misses are together.”

“That’s about Tabby, I half-poodled him, you know, to make him like the dog next door. Lend me a light, Polly; I’ll run up to my bedroom and pad my back with a towel, as I shall very likely get caned.”

“I hope not,” Polly said.

“It’s kind of you to say so, but I’ve had it so often before, I don’t mind much. It hurts as hard as nails, and I mean to kick, I can tell you.”

“Perhaps it won’t come to that.”

Taking the candle that Polly lighted for him, he ran to his bedroom, made the proposed alteration in the thickness of his jacket, and, after knocking at the door, entered the presence of his guardian.

“Come in, young man,” said Mr. Scratchley, “you and I have a bone to pick. What have you been doing to Mrs. Scratchley’s cat?”

“Improving its appearance, that’s all. It’s ever so much handsomer,” said Jack, who scorned to tell a falsehood.

“That is a matter of opinion. Your conduct is so very bad that we have decided upon sending you to school.”

“Glad of it,” said Jack.

“Glad, sir; glad! What do you mean?” said Mr. Scratchley. “Glad to leave a good, kind home amongst friends, and, yes, I will say it, benefactors. Glad to leave generous diet and occasional pocket-money.”

“Not much of that,” Jack said, with a laugh.

“God bless me! what ingratitude. Do you know what happened to ‘don’t care?’ ”

“Haven’t the pleasure of the gentleman’s acquaintance, but I believe he eventually married the princess, and lived happily over afterwards,” said Jack, with his usual precocity.

“Dear me, dear me!” cried Mr. Scratchley. “Now, sir, answer a few questions I am about to put to you. Let us begin with history; the history of your own country, sir. What were the manners and customs of the ancient Britons? Now we shall see what you remember of the teaching I have given you.”

“I should say that they had no manners—and their customs, to our modern ideas, were simply disgusting.”

“A very curious answer, very. Now, let me see-arithmetic. If a herring and a half cost three halfpence”——

“Why, one herring will cost a penny; that’s very old,” interrupted Jack, complacently.

“Silence, sir. I will try you in vulgar fractions. What is two-thirds of three-fourths of a penny? There, sir, answer me that.”

Mr. Scratchley leaned back in his chair, and looked placidly around him, as if he would convey to his wife:

“That is a poser, if you like.”

Jack thought half a minute, and then said:

“How much is it? Why, a halfpenny.”

“How do you make it out?”

“Easily enough. 2 X 3 = 6; then multiply three by four, which will equal twelve—6-12 = 1-2.”

“Very good. Jack, you are a sharp boy, and ought to get on in the world. You do credit to my teaching. I am about to give you a chance. You are going to a good school. Education makes the man in these days. Are you grateful? You ought to try and cultivate a grateful heart.”

“Of course I am grateful for all you do for me, and l am delighted at the idea of going to school,” answered Jack.

“Do you feel no compunction—no pang at the idea of leaving us—of quitting your home?” said Mr. Scratchley.

“Well, I can’t say that I do.”

“Oh! John, you must have a wicked, bad heart,” remarked Mrs. Scratchley.

“Why, ma’am,” said Jack, “it’s for my good to go to school. Mr. Scratchley has just told me so.”

“Ah! the day will come when you will be sorry for this.”

“Never mind, my dear, we all buy our experience, the young especially,” said Mr. Scratchly. “Let him buy his. Jack, fill my long clay pipe. I will smoke the pipe of peace, and you can then take your departure. Polly will give you your supper in the kitchen, and I shall expect you to be in bed in half-an-hour.”

Jack went to a cupboard, and got out a long pipe.

He seemed perfectly familiar with the operation, and filled the bowl carefully from a jar. He handed it to his guardian, and held a spill for him to light by.

“Will it go, sir?” asked Jack.

Mr. Scratchley took several long, enjoyable whiffs, and at last said:

“Very good. I am obliged to you. Think over the change which is about to take place in your life. You are going among strangers, John. Do you recognize that fact?”

“I rather like strangers. They give me sixpences,” answered Jack.

“What did I say? That boy has a mercenary disposition; he is all greed,” cried Mrs. Snatchley.

“You cant blame yourself for encouraging it, ma’am I don’t get much out of you.”

“What boldness; what baseness. Did I not give you a shilling at Christmas?”

“And borrowed eightpence back again the same night when we were playing speculation, and you wanted some money to buy counters?”

“Oh! you bad boy; you”——

She would have said something else, but at that moment, Mr. Scratchley’s pipe blew up with a loud explosion.

The bowl burst into twenty pieces, and one struck the good lady on the nose.

Mr. Scratchley rolled off his chair and fell on the carpet, crying loudly for help.

He had been hit in one or two places with the fragments of the pipe, and his face was blackened.

“Where’s that imp?” he exclaimed, picking himself up, as no one came to his assistance. “I’ll flay him! He’s put some explosive stuff in the bowl of my pipe, and rammed it down tight. It’s a wonder I’m alive. The young rascal! Where is he? I’ll assert my authority.”

He looked round for Jack; but that young gentleman had very discreetly retired, and was enjoying the spectacle from the outside through the friendly medium of the keyhole.

CHAPTER II

THE PRINCIPAL OF POMONA HOUSE

THE unexpected explosion which had just taken place was caused by some gunpowder which Jack had rammed into the bowl of pipe.

Fortunately, no one was hurt, and the fright soon passed off.

“This is abominable,” said Mr. Scratchley. “It must have been that dreadful boy.”

“I think so, too,” replied Mrs. Scratchley, rubbing her nose. “Are you going to pass it over?”

“Certainly not. It would be difficult, however, to catch him now; he is probably hiding. I shall wait till he is asleep; then I will steal into his room, tie his hands, and punish him as he deserves.”

“Will you?” thought Jack, who was listening outside.

He proceeded to the kitchen, and was at some pains to organize a temporary bed, while having his supper.

At length, he thought of the loft over the gardener’s house at the bottom of the garden, and supplying himself with a blanket, betook himself to this refuge and slept securely till morning.

Mr. Scratchley, however, did not neglect to write to the principal of Pomona House.

He requested this gentleman to give him a call at the Elms, if it was convenient for him to run up to town, and waited patiently for the reply.

In the meantime, Jack had seen Emily, and told her of his impending fate. Emily used to go to day school, and Jack was in the habit of calling for her at twelve and four respectively, to escort her home and carry her books.

“Emily,” said he, as they walked down the Highgate Road, “I’m going to school.”

“Where,” asked she, a pretty-looking brunette, with large lustrous eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“It’s quite time, Jack, but I’m verry sory,” cried Emily, with philosophical resignation.

“You won’t forget me, will you, Emmy?” Jack continued. And for the first time his voice quivered.

“Never, dear,” she answered.

“And you won’t speak to that brute, Bob Tamworth, next door but two?”

“No.”

“Nor let him kiss you?”

“If he does, I’ll box his ears,” answered Emily.

“And you’ll write to me?”

“Regularly once a week; perhaps twice, if I’m not busy, and I’ll tell you all that goes on.”

“Now I feel that I shall go away happy,” said Jack, “There is only one thing I want, and that is something to remind me of you, some keepsake, dear.”

“I don’t know what I can give you. There’s my ‘Mangnall’s Questions,’ but that’s too dry, isn’t it? If you were a girl, you could have my earrings, or or my lava brooch, or the bracelet with A. E. I., on it.”

“But I’m not a girl, you see,” answered Jack, regretfully.

“Oh, I know; have my camphor bag,” cried Emily.

“Splendid,” said Jack.

Emily hastily undid one button of her frock, and took out a small bag of blue satin, which contained a lump of camphor and which had been suspended round her neck by a piece of ribbon of the same color.

“Here, dear, put it on,” she said.

“Are you sure you can spare it?” Jack asked.

“Certain. Wear it, Jack dear, and think of me.”

“You ought to have something from me. Take my knife, and you can think of me when you are cutting your slate pencil,” he said.

“So I can, Jack.”

And she took the knife; but quickly gave him a halfpenny, as it is considered unlucky to have a knife presented to you; it cuts the friendship; at least, such is the superstition.

These important exchanges being effected, the young people were radiant with smiles.

Jack vowed inwardly that he would rather part with his heart than with the camphor bag, which was now his choicest treasure.

*

The principal of Pomona House was a gentleman named Lewis Crawcour.

There was a slight suspicion of the Jew in his appearance; but he would have disclaimed the insinuation strongly, had he heard it.

In person he was tall and fair; thin and wiry, with scrubby whiskers: a stoop in his back, a hat with a bit of crepe round it always, as if he were in a perpetual mourning for Queen Anne; a black frock coat, buttoned tightly up to the chin, so as to show just a little white tie, and give him a clerical appearance.

He had been a clerk in a shipping agent’s house at Liverpool.

The transition from the desk to the ferule is strange but easily explained.

He met and married the widow of the proprietor of a school, and was by her introduced into the new business, which he made pay.

He, unlike his wife, was rapacious in his pursuit of money, and the gratifications he deprived himself of made him exercise a severity to the boys which was unpleasant to the latter.

Mr. Crawcour ran up to town by a cheap train, having various matters of business to transact, and, in the evening, called upon Mr. Scratchley, hoping that he dined late, and would give him an invitation, as he had only regaled himself upon a penny bun and a glass of water since leaving home in the morning.

Jack was in the dining-room when this gentleman arrived, undergoing a severe lecture for having, when asked by Mrs. Scratchley to give her a pocket handkerchief which lay on the sofa, skillfully inserted a mouse which he had in a trap in his pocket.

The mouse ran over Mrs. Scratchley’s face and down her so that she nearly had a fit there and then.

“Come in, come in, I beg,” said Mr. Scratchley himself, opening the drawingroom door, and holding in the other hand the schoolmaster’s card.

“Do not disarrange the delightful privacy of your family circle for a humble laborer in the great cause of human improvement, sir,” said Mr. Crawcour.

“I will not, Mr. Crawcour. You shall be treated as one of ourselves. Mr. Crawcour—Mrs. Scratchley. My dear, this gentleman is the principal of Pomona House.”

“A very welcome visit,” replied Mrs. Scratchley.

“You are too good, madam,” the principal said, with a bow and a smile.

“I trust you are not in a hurry for an hour or two, because we dine directly, and if you will honor us with your company, we shall be more than proud, and we shall have an opportunity of conversing at our ease,” said Mr. Scratchley.

The principal was not in a great hurry, and would dine.

Looking round the room, he saw Jack, and proceeded to the sofa, where the lad was sitting, saying:

“My pupil, I presume?”

“Precisely,” replied Mrs. Scratchley.

“A very bad boy, sir. I hope your discipline is strict and wholesome.”

“Don’t blacken the lad. We should never start with a prejudice. Let Mr. Crawcour find him out. Let him find him out, that’s what I mean to say,” corrected her husband.

Mr. Lewis Crawcour did find him out sooner than he had expected, for he sat down by Jack’s side, and patted him on the head.

“I hope we shall be friends,” he observed. “For”—

But he did not complete his sentence.

With a subdued howl, he sprang from his seat, like one of the bounding brothers of Ispahan, and, placing his hand behind him, murmured, while his face was distorted with rage: “This is painful, extremely painful.”

“What has happened?” cried Mr. Scratchley.

“That boy has been up to his tricks again,” said his wife.

“Why,” said Jack, in astonishment, “if the gentleman hasn’t sat down upon the point of a packing needle! Who could have put it there? Come and sit here, sir.”

He moved on one side, and Mr. Crawcour sat down again, this time very carefully, still whining, “It is painful.”

Jack with dexterity managed at the same time, to insert something in his pocket, and when the principal wished to wipe the perspiration from his face, he took out what he thought was his pocket-handkerchief.

It happened, however, to be the lamp rag, which Jack had put in the place of the spotless cambric.

Being rather in the shade, Mr Crawcour did not notice the mistake, but mopped his face prodigiously.

In a short time he was something of the color of a christy Minstrel.

“Rub under the ears, sir, and the throat,” said Jack, “you’re quite wet with perspiration.”

“Thank you, my young friend, I thank you,” answered the principal.

“Be off out of the room, you sir,” said Mr. Scratchley to Jack.

“What for? I want some dinner,” said Jack.

“Dine in the kitchen. It is not safe to have you in the room, you are so full of your tricks. Be off.”

“He makes me quite nervous,” remarked Mrs. Scratchley.

“He is of a perverse generation, but I forgive him, although it was painful,” said Mr. Crawcour, as his hand disappeared behind him again.

Jack took his departure.

“You’ll have a chance of paying him out, if he goes to your seminary,” observed Mr. Scratchley.

The principal grinned a ghastly grin.

“You are in favor of corporal punishment, I believe.”

“With modifications.”

“Come to the fire. Dinner will be up directly, and we can discuss terms, etc., while we have the time. You must be cold out there,” Mr. Scratchley went on.

“Thank you, I will avail myself of your kind offer.”

The principal came into the full blaze of the lights.

“Why, dear me, how very odd. I never observed it before,” said Mrs. Scratchley, staring at him.

“Observed what, madam?” asked the principal.

“Are you of negro extraction?”

“Of what, my dear madam? I did not come here to be insulted. No! I did not imagine that I should receive such treatment at the Elms, Highgate.”

“But you are black.”

“Black! What the d—— , that is, what on earth can you mean?” cried Mr. Lewis Crawcour, losing his temper, and going to the looking-glass.

He recoiled in affright.

Mrs. Scratchley had not exaggerated. He was black; and though his hair was smooth enough, such was the color of his face that anyone would have been justified in saying that if his grandfather’s grave were dug up, wool would be found there.

“It’s that boy again. I’ll bet a sovereign on it; and if it is, I’ll skin him,” said Mr. Scratchley.

“I have only used my pocket-handkerchief—observe the cambric,” said Mr. Crawcour.

But his countenance lighted up with a recognition of the truth when he produced the lamp-rag, and saw how he had been tricked.

“Oh!” he ejaculated, “another trick. Very well.”

Mr. Scratchley had to take the unfortunate principal to his bedroom, where, with the aid of soap and hot water, he restored himself to his pristine color.

“Avery lively-spirited boy,” he remarked, as they afterward descended the stairs.

“Don’t you feel annoyed?” asked Mr. Scratchley.

“Not in the least. What a fund of humor he possesses. I pride myself upon keeping my temper and never bearing malice. A man in my position, Mr. Scratchley, should be above the infirmities of temper, and rise superior to petty spites.”

In the passage leading to the drawingroom they met Master Jack.

“To show you that I have no animosity, I will shake hands with the boy,” said Mr. Crawcour. “Come hither, child. Will you shake hands with me?”

“If you don’t mind my glove,” replied Jack.

“Your glove! Take it off.”

“No, I can’t, because I’m doing something in the garden.”

“Never mind; now let us grasp one another by the hand in a truly Christian spirit.”

The principal was in an excellent humor, which the smell of a savory dinner being dished up helped to create.

He shook Jack’s extended hand, and the boy was off like a shot.

“Dear me!” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour. “How sticky my hand is.”

“What a smell of tar,” said Mr. Scratchley.

The principal went to the light, and saw that his hand was covered with pitch, which must have been smeared on Jack’s glove.

“Confound that boy!” he cried, angrily, forgetting his Christian charity.

There was nothing for it but to go up stairs again and have another wash with the aid of some lard.

In the meantime the cover was placed on the soup to prevent it from getting cold.

The principal felt a sense of relief when he found himself in his chair, but that feeling was superseded by another.

He started up, uttering an agonizing cry, for the seat of the chair, like the sofa, was stuck full of needles.

In his anger he struck at Jack, who was sitting near him, but the boy evaded the blow, and darted away from the table.

“A little soup, Mr. Crawcour?” said Mrs. Scratchley.

“I thank you, madam.”

Polly handed him a plate full of clear soup, on the surface of which several curiously-shaped black things were floating.

Mr. Crawcour did not like the look of them.

“It is gravy soup.”

“And these—these—pardon my rudeness—I know not their names.”

He held one up in his spoon.

“Good gracious me!” exclaimed Mrs. Scratchley, regarding the object with horror. “If it isn’t a black beetle got into the soup.”

“It isn’t a solitary one, madam,” the principal said with a sickly smile. “Its unfortunate example has been followed by the whole family.”

“How is this, Polly?” demanded Mr. Scratchley, sternly.

“I don’t know, sir. I left the soup in the passage for a moment while I got some more hot water for this gentleman.”

“It’s that boy,” said Mrs. Scratchley.

“He will break my heart. Fancy his filling the soup with black beetles. Take it away, Polly, and bring the fish.”

“Playful disposition,” remarked the principal, growing good-humored again at the prospect of fish.

Nevertheless there was a dangerous twinkle in his eye, which seemed to indicate that Jack Harkaway would not have an easy time of it when he reached Pomona House.

After this the dinner passed off quietly, and at dessert, the gentlemen hobnobbed over a bottle of fine old port.

It was soon settled that a sum of twenty-five guineas a year should be paid for him, which was to include books and everything.

“I detest extras. I like to know what I’ve got to pay,” said Mr. Scratchley.

“That is the feeling of most parents and guardians. I think you said you were the boy’s guardian?”

“I adopted him—same thing—knew his parents. I want to take credit to myself. ‘Do good by stealth, and blush to find is fame.’ That’s me, sir.”

“Admirable!” ejaculated the principal, turning up the whites of his eyes. “What a pity there are not more Scratchley in this world of ours.”

“My dear sir, don’t. I can’t bear it. No praise, I beg of you.”

“Estimable creature!” continued Mr. Crawcour.

“Give me your hand, sir. I feel it a privilege to be allowed to fraternize with such ashining light.”

They shook hands, and Mr. Scratchley said:

“Have we decided everything?”

“I think so. You place him absolutely in my power. No attention paid to complaining letters, should any such escape my vigilance, and reach you through the medium of the penny post.”

“You see that fire?” said Mr. Scratchley.

“I do.”

“Very well. That’s where they’ll go.”

“We understand one another. I trust I may rely upon your recommedation of my academy for young gentlemen, should any friends of yours wish to place their sons where they will have a sound commercial education, with all the advantages of a moral home.”

“Certainly.”

“When shall I expect the dear boy?”

“Tomorrow, I will bring him down myself. He shan’t stop here an hour longer than I can help. Now we have concluded.”

“Thank, you,” exclaimed Mr. Lewis Crawcour. “One more glass of this truly refreshing wine, and I will depart.”

The door opened and Jack put his head in.

“Goodnight, sir,” he said; “I’m going to bed, and please, I’ve brought the gentleman’s hat and umbrella.”

“Very thoughtful. Put it down,” replied Mr. Scratchley.

Jack did so, and went away, laughing at the funny figure he knew the schoolmaster would soon present.

Little Emily and her mamma were sitting together on the sofa, and as Jack exchanged a glance with her, she smiled.

“Not all bad,” remarked the principal. “The boy is respectful to you, and thoughtful. I am obliged to him for bringing me my hat.”

He wished Mr. Scratchley good-night, patted Emily on the head, and said with a sigh:

“Ah, how like my dear Letitia, my one—my only girl I mean. I have but two—a son and a daughter. They were always brought up in the fifth command men, bless them!”

Walking to the door which Mr. Scratchley held open for him, he put on his hat.

“This is strange,” he muttered. “It is unusually heavy and I fancy something is falling about me. How odd! I will remove it, and investigate this matter.”

He did so, and as he took off his hat about a pound of flour descended in a white cascade, rendering his glossy black coat as much like a miller’s as possible.

“At it again. I never did see such a boy. He has given you a rare turn, Mr. Crawcour,” said Mr. Scratchley, who could not help laughing at the terrible plight he was in.

“It is all very well to laugh, sir,” cried Mr. Crawcour, in a rage.

“Ha, ha, ha,” roared Mr. Scratchley.

“He, he, he!” came from the sofa, in feminine tones.

Even Mrs. Scratchley could not resist the infection, and Emily, who was as full of mischief as Jack, fairly roared with delight.

“If I thought there was any complicity on your part, sir,” continued the principal, white with rage, I’d—I’d”——

“Don’t forget the high principles you have been advocating,” interrupted Mr. Scratchley; “but it is aggravating. Never mind. It don’t matter; we will soon have it off with a brush.”

Suddenly he caught sight of Jack, who In the corner of the passage was convulsed with laughter at his own joke.

“Beg the gentleman’s pardon this instant.”

Jack did so with apparent penitence.

“And now brush him down.”

He handed Jack the clothes-brush, and the flour speedily disappeared; but while finishing him off in the passage, Jack contrived, with a piece of chalk, to write on his coat in large legible characters: “Please kick me.”

“Good-bye, my friend, I spoke warmly just now, but no matter, we understand one another,” said Mr. Crawcour.

“Certainly.”

“Peace be with you and with this house.”

“When Jack’s out of it, not before,” exclaimed Mr. Scratchley.

“You will honor my establishment with your presence tomorrow.”

“About midday.”

“Fare-the-ewell,” said the principal, “and you, my young friend, “believe in the sincere regard of yours truly,” said Crawcour. “We shall meet again soon.”

The front door opened, and he went out.

Mr. Scratchley sat down in his armchair, and lighted his pipe, which this time he filled himself.

Every now and then he would shake with suppressed laughter, and burst into aloud guffaw.

He was thinking of the unlucky principal of Pomona House, and the unlucky tricks Jack had played upon him.

Mr. Lewis Crawcour walked leisurely along the Highgate Road, on the lookout for an omnibus.

He leaned against a lamp-post, as he thought he heard the sounds of one approaching in the distance.

“Very good port,” he murmured, “but beetles in soup are an abomination. A nice boy—a promising boy! I shall place him under my especial personal superintendence. Spare the rod, spoil the child. I will not spoil him—oh dear no! not at all! not in the least! not for worlds!”

And he smiled till he showed his gleaming teeth.

Suddenly he felt himself lifted up into the street.

He had been kicked.

Turning round, he saw a man who was laughing at him.

“This outrage, sir, in a Christian country, must be explained. You kicked me,” he said, furiously.

“I did,” replied the stranger.

“Your reason?”

“Because you asked me.”

“I asked you! Are you mad?”

“Take your coat off, and you will seen written on it in large letters ‘Please kick me.’ I could not refuse such a request, which entailed so little trouble upon me, and now you storm at, instead of thanking me.”

The principal took off his coat, and saw that what the stranger had said was true.

While rubbing off the chalk he exclaimed:

“I cannot thank you, sir, because this request was put on the back of my coat without my knowledge. But I cannot conscientiously blame you. I can only hope you may, before long, become the victim of a very painful practical joke.”

And, putting on his coat again, he walked away in high dudgeon.

“No,” he said to himself, “I most decidedly will not spoil that boy.”

He arrived home late at Lillie Bridge, and was not in the best of tempers.

There was a good deal of caning the next morning, and the boys went about in fear and trembling.

CHAPTER III

THE NEW BOY

HAVING conceived the idea of sending Jack to school, and made up his mind to do so, Mr. Scratchley did not lose much time in acting upon it.

In the morning at breakfast he said:

“Jack, do you fully realise the fact that you are going to school?”

“Yes, and I’m not sorry,” replied Jack.

“Not sorry!” cried Mrs. Scratchley, holding up her hands in a sort of pious horror; “this is ingratitude for you! Why, I’ve been a slave to that boy.”

“If you have, you’ve been paid for it,” Jack said, boldly.

Mrs. Scratchley gasped for breath.

“Paid for it!” she repeated. “Was there ever such audacity!”

“Leave him to me, my dear,” Mr. Scratchley exclaimed, mildly; “I will question him. Young man, by whom have we been paid? answer me that.”

“I don’t know; by somebody.”

“Who told you so?”

“The neighbors. They say your kindness, as you call it, to me is not disinterested. You were paid for adopting me, that is all I know. They may be right, they may be wrong. I give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“You are a most precocious, youth,” observed Mrs. Scratchley.

“He has been too much with grown up people, my dear,” said her husband; “that is what has spoilt him, but, depend upon it, he will get the nonsense knocked out of him at school.”

“If it is a good school,” replied Jack.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I am afraid it is too cheap to be good. I saw the advertisement of Pomona House you had underlined, and I tell you I don’t think much of it; but you need not attack me on the day I am going away. I thank you for all you have done for me. I am afraid I have given you some trouble.”

“I should think you had. Not until you are gone shall I know what peace is,” said Mrs. Scratchley.

“Leave him to me, my dear. I do wish you would not put your oar in,” exclaimed her husband.

“A nice way to talk to me, Mr. Scratchley,” answered his spouse, indignantly. “Put my oar in, indeed! I believe the boy has only been impertinent because you have encouraged him.”

There were two cats on the hearth asleep.

Jack took them up, and standing them on their hind legs, made them fight, exclaiming:

“Go it one; go it t’other.”

“How dare you, sir!” cried Mr. Scratchley.

“I was only talking to the cats,” returned Jack.

“You are incorrigible! and I shall request that extreme measures be taken with you,” continued Mr. Scratchley. “I am your guardian and your benefactor, in spite of what mischief-making neighbors may say; and I will defy anyone to prove that you do not eat the bread of charity.”

“If I do, it is not very nice of you to remind me of it,” Jack replied.

“Never mind, sir, never mind; prepare yourself to leave this house with me for your new school in two hours’ time. That is all you have to do. It is now ten; at twelve I shall be ready for you.”

Jack had done his breakfast, and, getting up, he left the table, rather glad to be released than otherwise.

When in disgrace upstairs, he usually went into the kitchen.

He did so on this occasion, and the housemaid said:

“Mrs. Marsh, next door but one, wants to see you, Master John before you go.”

“Does she? How did she know I was going?” answered Jack.

“Me and cook at Mrs. Marsh’s are friends, and I told her.”

“You women are always chattering about something,” he said.

“Oh, you ungrateful!” cried Sarah, “Here have I and missus been packing you up all the morning, and Cooky made a cake.”

“Is it plummy?”

“Beautiful! and the grocer has brought oranges, and nuts, and marmal. You’ll have such a hamper!”

“For the other boys to eat, I suppose; but I’ll go and see Mrs. Marsh.”

Jack got down from the dresser on which he had seated himself, and taking his hat out of the hall, went to Mrs. Marsh.”

This was an elderly widow lady, with no family, and suppossed to be rich, who had often shown the orphan boy acts of kindness.

He found her in the morning room feeding her canaries, of which she had several in a large handsome cage.

“Good morning, John,” said Mrs. Marsh. “So they are going to send you to school at last?”

“Yes,” replied Jack; “to receive a good commercial education with other sons of gentlemen at Pomona House, where are provided all the comforts of a home.”

He was quoting from the advertisement.

“It is my belief that you are the son of gentlefolks, whatever Mr. and Mrs. Scratchley may say to the contrary,” Mrs. Marsh replied. “You have it in your appearance, I fancy there is some secret about your birth and that your guardians are well paid for taking care of you.”

“I told Mr. Scratchley so this morning,” remarked Jack.

“What did he say?”

“Called me ungrateful and impudent.”

“Of course. He will not reveal the mystery at present. It is not likely; but I have no doubt you will know all some day.”

“I should like to see my mother if she is really living,” said Jack thoughtfully.

“I did not send for you to tell you anything which would unsettle your mind,” Mrs. Marsh continued. “I have always liked you; and since you saved my cat from the boys who were trying to drown it in the Hampstead Ponds, you have established a claim to my gratitude. There is a great deal of good in your character; of that I am persuaded. Be diligent and truthful. If you ever want a friend come to me, Do you hear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Marsh, and thank you very much.”

“Here’s a sovereign for you, and recollect I am your friend.”

Jack took the money, thanking her again, and went away, much pleased with his interview with the kind-hearted old lady.

Her allusion to his birth made him thoughtful for a time, but, boy-like, the impression soon faded away.

There was so much to be done and thought of that he could not give his mind to any one thing for any length of time.

At twelve o’clock a cab was at the door, and Mr. Scratchley went away with Jack to that far-off region known as the Eastern Counties Railway.

From thence they proceeded to Lillie Bridge, and were deposited at Pomona House with Jack’s baggage, consisting of a plain deal box, corded, and a small hamper.

Pomona House was quite at the extremity of the little town, and stood in its own grounds, being approached by a drive through laurels and other evergreens.

It was a plain brick-built house of large dimensions, in the George the Third style, having a variety of additional buildings in the rear, such as the laboratory, the studies of the sixth form, a fives court, and so on.

Mr. Scratchley was urbanely received by Mr. Lewis Crawcour, and introduced to his wife. He refused an invitation to stay to tea, and after partaking of mild refreshment in the shape of cake and wine, he recommended Jack to his new tutor’s care, gave him half-a-crown, told him to be a good boy and write, and shaking him by the hand, took his leave with the air of a man who had done a disagreeable duty, and had a weight off his mind.

It was a half-holiday, and the boys were roaming about as they pleased.

Some were in the cricketing field, and others were by the River Lea, which was not far off.

Some fished some rowed and some were bathing, all under the superintendence of a resident master, as Mr. Crawcour was found of boasting.

The principal took Jack into his study, and, opening a sort of bookcase, showed him about fifty canes of various sizes placed in holes prepared for them.

“Take care, Harkaway,” he said with a malicious grin, “that you do not make acquaintance with these. I call them my little persuaders.”

“I hope I shall not, sir,” said Jack, who felt a dismal foreboding that it would not be long before he did.

“Now come with me to the playground. It is a half-holiday,” continued the principal. “I have adopted a custom here which is in vogue in the army. Every recruit on joining his regiment has a comrade given him. Your comrade, or ‘chum,’ as my boys call it, will be a boy about your own age, named Thomas Harvey. He will initiate you in the ways of the school.”

“Thank you,” said Jack.

“Thank you, what?” cried Mr. Crawcour, indignantly, as he glanced warningly at the canes which glistened on his right. “Always say ‘sir’ when you address me. It is a title of respect due to your preceptor. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Jack, who was clever enough to see that he must conform to the rules of the school, and that nothing could be gained by resisting constituted authority.

Mr. Crawcour then led the way to the meadow in which the boys were playing cricket, and beckoned to one, who immediately threw down the bat he was holding and came up at a jog trot.

“Harvey, I want to introduce you to your new friend, John Harkaway. He will be your comrade, or, as you boys in your slang call it, your ‘chum.’ Do you understand?”

“Do you understand?” was a pet phrase of Mr. Crawcour’s.

“Glad to see you, Harkaway,” said Tom Harvey, who was a stout, chubby-looking, fair-haired boy, about a year younger than Jack, with a good-natured expression and an honest open countenance not exactly indicative of talent, but nevertheless prepossessing.

“You shall be examined tomorrow to see what place you are to occupy in the school,” continued Mr. Crawcour. “Harvey will put you in the way of everything; so go and play.”

Mr. Crawcour patted Jack on the back in a paternal sort of manner, spoke a word or two to some boys who were standing by, and walked back to the house.

When the principal was out of sight, Harvey said to Jack:

“I’m busy now; you can come and fag out for me if you like, but I’m practising batting, and a fellow I know to be a good bowler is bowling for me.”

“I thought Mr. Crawcour said you would show me about the place,” said Jack.

“I can’t help what you thought,” said Harvey. “I tell you what I’m going to do. You’ll find you can’t do as you like here.”

“I don’t know about that. I generally contrive to do pretty well as I like wherever I am,” answered Jack, in his cool, philosophic manner.

“Oh, do you? Perhaps you’re very clever.”

“I’ll back myself against you any day in the week.”

“You’re rather cheeky for a new boy, aren’t you?” said Harvey in surprise.

“I don’t know,” said Jack, “you may be a better judge of cheek than I am. All I know is that I mean to take a look round by myself if you won’t come with me, and I dare say I can do just as well without you as I can with you.”

“You’re a cool fish,” cried Harvey.

“I never heard of a hot one,” answered Jack.

“You’ll get a jolly good hiding if you don’t mind what you’re about, before long.”

“I’ll chance a thrashing. If you want to give me one, you’d better try.”

Jack drew himself up, and clenched one fist as he spoke.

“It wouldn’t take me long. We don’t stand any nonsense here,” replied Harvey, growing rather red in the face.

“Nor do we where I come from.”

“Where’s that?”

“Find out and then you’ll know.”

Harvey stared at Jack in astonishment.

“I never saw a fellow like you,” he said.

“I thought I should teach you a thing or two,” replied Jack, with a faint smile. “But l am not above making myself useful, and if you like I’ll bowl to you.”

“Can you play at cricket?”

“I have played,” answered Jack, evasively.

Harvey ran off followed by Jack, and said to the boy who had been bowling for him:

“Here’s a new fellow. He is to be my chum, and he thinks he can bowl. Let him have a try.”

“All right,” replied the boy, whose name was Maple.

“I’m rather a swell, and can swipe pretty well,” continued Harvey to Jack, “so you’d better not send me any mild half volleys.”

Jack took off his jacket and sent in a good, swift round hand ball, which, oddly enough, went clean into the stumps, taking the center one.

“How’s that umpire?” cried Jack, with a smile.

“Middle wicket, sir,” replied Maple.

Harvey looked at Jack with astonishment.

“You’ll be in the eleven if you bowl like that.”

“Ah, it’s nothing. I didn’t try much that time. I thought you were such a swell bat, it was no use. Now I’m going for a walk round,” adding, as he threw the ball to Maple, “catch.”

Harvey did not seem inclined to follow him, so he walked off alone, as unconcernedly as if he was coming home from Highgate church, with Emily Scratchley by his side.

CHAPTER IV

JACK TAKES UP A POSITION

“THERE’S nothing like taking up a position when you go among fresh people,” he said, to himself, as he walked along. “If you want to be respected and looked up to, you must act in a manner calculated to gain it. I shouldn’t wonder if Harvey came after me.”

Nor was he wrong in his conjecture.

“You’d better go with him,” said Maple.

“Why?” asked Harvey sulkily.

“It’s only civil, to begin with, and he is just the cool sort of fellow to go and do some wonderful thing which will reach the chiefs ears,”—they called Mr. Crawcour the chief—“and then you will get into a row.”

“Perhaps you are right. I’ll go after him. Will you take the stumps and things in, and oil them a bit before you put them away.”

Maple nodded, and before Jack had gone far, he was overtaken by Harvey.

“I didn’t mean to be rough or rude just now,” he exclaimed, “but I was practising batting, and I expected you would not mind waiting.”

“Oh! don’t put yourself out on my account. I can paddle my own canoe.” Jack answered with a smile.

“I am at your service, now. Where do you want to go.”

“About the place. I’m new to it, and it’s just as well to know the ropes.”

“So it is.”

“And you give me any information about things in general I shall be obliged.”

“In the first place there is a gap in the hedge which will let us into the road, and a five minutes run will bring us us into Lillie Bridge, where there is as fine a confectioner’s shop as ever sold tarts and all sorts of sweet stuff.”

“A good idea,” Jack said.

“But”——

“What?”

“Have you got any money?”

“Lots,” Jack said. “Go ahead.”

“That’s right. I haven’t. My money burns a hole in my pocket—not that I ever have a fat lot to burn,” rejoined Harvey.

“We are not supposed to go into the road,” Harvey continued. “but the masters wink at it, if it not is done too openly. Lots of us do go.”

“On the principle of ‘it’s naughty but it’s nice’ I suppose.” Jack remarked. “How many masters are there?”

“Five with the chief—that’s Mr. Crawcour, you know, but he doesn’t do much, I don’t think he knows how. The cleverest master out-and-out is Mr. Mole. Bung we call him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It is a nickname. He was called Bung long before I came here. Then there is Pumpleton, who takes the middle classes, three and four, and Stoner, who has the youngest boys in the first and second forms.”

“Who is the fifth?”

“Bolivant the French master. We all hate him. He is such a sneak, always prying about and telling tales. If Mole or Pumpleton saw us in the town they would not report us, but Frogs would split at once. He’s bound to—he can’t hold anything, if telling it will get us into a shindy.”

“I’ll be even with Mons. Bolivant if he tries to perform upon me,” Jack said with a grin.

“I suppose you will sleep in our room,” continued Harvey. “There is a vacant bed.”

“How many beds altogether?”

“Six—three on each side.”

“What are the other fellows names?”

“There’s Filmer and Fisher, myself, Maple and Hunston. You’ll make the sixth. Hunston’s an awful bully, and can lick us all.”

“Oh! Hunston’s a bully, is he?” observed Jack making a mental note of the fact.

“Rather.”

“I don’t think he’ll bully me.”

“Oh, yes, he will. He makes a point of being down on new fellows,” replied Harvey.

“I have a conscientious objection to be bullied. If I deserve it, I don’t mind being licked, but I know how to use my fists, and shan’t keep my bands in my pockets if I am provoked.”

“You wouldn’t have much chance with Hunston, I’m afraid. He is bigger and stronger, and stands ever so much higher.”

“No matter,” answered Jack. “I have had a mill on Hampstead Heath with a donkey boy. He was stronger and bigger than I; his head was as hard as iron, and his fists like brickbats. He threw me four times, and yet I licked him, It’s skill that does it, and pluck and endurance.”

They were now in the High Street at Lillie Bridge, and Harvey led the way into a confectioner’s shop, where he was apparently well known, for the sharp tones of a woman’s voice was heard exclaiming; “It’s no use, Mr. Harvey, I won’t tick you another penny. I told you so, and I am surprised you should come again, when you know how much you owe; it is a caution to see you set to at raspberry tarts or cheesecakes! you never leave off while there’s one left; and where you put them is more than I can tell.”

“Who is that?” asked Jack.

“It’s only Mrs. Croy; she keeps the shop, and likes to scold me when I owe her anything,” replied Harvey.

When the good woman saw that her debtor had brought with him a customer with money, she was more civil, and showed them all her dainties.

They contrived, in a short space of time, to eat much more pastry than was good for them; and, in a state of repletion they retraced their steps, taking the river’s bank.

The river Lea is deep and treacherous in parts, and Mr. Crawcour had strictly forbidden those of his boys who could not swim to go on the water in a boat.

There were boats for hire, and the proprietor could not distinguish those who could swim from those who could not; so accidents happened occasionally.

In the school there was a tradition of a boy having been drowned once, a long time ago.

“Can you swim?” asked Harvey of his companion, as he walked along by the banks of the river.

“Yes; I learnt to swim up in the Highgate Ponds early in the morning before anyone was up.”

“I wish I could.”

“Can’t you?”

“No. I have tried to learn, but it is so difficult. We have a bathing-place, where it is shallow, and it is shut off from the deep part by hurdles. Pumpleton or Stoner generally comes with us. Of course the masters can’t be everywhere, and we are allowed a good deal of liberty for a private school, but they are always prowling about somewhere, and turning up at odd and inconvenient intervals.”

“How do you like the school on the whole?” asked Jack.

“Oh, pretty well. I was at school at Brighton once where they were much more strict than they are here. School isn’t like home, and one must have one’s miseries. I might be worse off.”

Talking in this way they spent the afternoon. Jack was not a great talker.

He preferred to let other people talk and so draw them out.

Harvey began to like him, and was ready to swear eternal friendship after being a couple of hours in his society.

Jack picked up a quantity of information in a small space of time.

The school contained at the time between sixty and seventy boys, and was supposed to be in a flourishing condition.

They had tea, breakfast and dinner at long tables in the schoolroom, which was a spacious, barn-like building, specially erected by Mr. Crawcour. Each master presided at a table.

Jack and his friend had just time to wash and brush their hair in their lavatory, another independent erection at the back of the school, containing thirty basins all in a row, fitted with hot and cold water, when the bell rang for tea.

The bell was a large one, hung in a belfry erected at the entrance of the school.

“Where shall I sit?” asked Jack.

“Go up to the chief’s table; he will put you right,” answered Harvey.

He directed him to a table at the head of the room, where saw Mr. and Mrs. Crawcour, with Miss Letitia and Master Jeremiah, who had been described by Harvey as “Jerry,” a cheeky young brute, whom fellows are afraid to lick, because he goes and tells his father, who doesn’t say anything at the time, but puts a black mark against you in his memory.

“So sure as you lay a hand on Jerry, you’ll get caned within a fortnight. All the fellows will tell you so.”

There were a few other boys at the principal’s table, very small ones, who were supposed to be under Mrs. Crawcour’s personal supervision.

Jack soon saw what they were doing; and looking down, noticed a rather long leg extended for the express purpose of tripping him up.

Without hesitation he gave it a deliberate kick on the shin, which made its owner draw it back again, with a subdued cry of pain.

“I’ll make you remember this,” said a voice, “or my name’s not Honston.”

Jack passed on, saying to himself:

“It’s odd I should make an enemy of Hunston. He is the bully Harvey was telling me about, and is cock of our dormitory. I am afraid I shall have my work cut out for me here.”

When he approached the chief’s table, Mr. Crawcour looked up.

“Oh, Harkaway. My dear, the new boy. This boy is Harkaway.” he said.

“Come and sit here, Harkaway,” said Mrs. Crawcour, a very ladylike, and not at all bad-looking woman, between thirty and forty years of age.

Her hair was dark, her features regular and classic. Her complexion pale, her eyes full, but wicked.

Being a slight judge of character, Jack saw at a glance that she could be a firm friend, but a most determined enemy.

It was a beautiful, but a very cold, cruel face.

Yes; cruel is the word to be used in describing Mrs. Crawcour’s expression.

Jack sat down in the chair she indicated, which was next to Letty, who was fair and more resembled a pretty wax doll than anything else.

“That is it; that will do,” said Mr. Crawcour. “Tonight I will have you put through your paces—examined, I mean, and will see what part of the school you are to be placed in; and you will sit at the table of that master in whose class you are. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

There were large plates filled up with bread and butter everywhere.

Near Lotty was a pot of marmalade.

Taking up the bread and butter, Jack politely offered it to Letty, and then the marmalade.

She thanked him, and having attended to her he helped himself.

As he was inserting his spoon for the second time in the marmalade pot, Jerry saw what was going on.

“Don’t take that,” he said.

“Thank you; don’t apologize,” replied Jack. “I prefer jam, but marmalade will do if you have nothing else.”

Jerry was too much astonished to speak.

The other boys looked at him open-mouthed.

Such audacity took their breath away.

“My son means,” continued the principal, whose attention was attracted to what was going on, “that the sweets are intended for the members of my family, and not for my pupils.”

“You should put a label on it then!” returned Jack.

“Don’t be so insolent, sir,” said Mr. Crawcour. “You are not at home now, and you shall not do as you like.”

Turning to Mrs Crawcour, Jack said:

“As I am not allowed to have my tea in peace, ma’am, and as I have no wish to create a disturbance, or to be the cause of any unpleasantness before a lady, may I beg permission to leave the table?”

“You can go if you wish it,” replied Mrs. Crawcour, with a half smile.

“Sit still, sir,” cried Mr. Crawcour.

“I have the permission of the lady of the house,” answered Jack.

“Let him go; I ask it.” said Mrs. Crawcour to her husband.

“What am I to do? Have you settled the conflict of authority?” Jack said to the master.

Mr. Crawcour waved his hand.

He was white with rage, and would not trust himself to speak.

The schoolmaster was obliged to obey his wife, for Mrs. Crawcour was a woman of firm and determined will, and her husband would not have seriously contradicted or thwarted her fo the world.

Jack having by her aid carried his point, was again an object of interest as he walked out of the schoolroom.

“Like my luck,” he muttered. “Mr. Crawcour is my enemy now. I think he was so before, on account of the practical jokes I played him; but there is no mistake about it now. It is war between us, and if I don’t look out I shall go to the wall.”

He went into the playground, and amused himself by cutting his name on the trunk of a tree.

After tea some of the boys came out, and others remained indoors.

Harvey was the first to speak to him.

“What have you been doing? I heard Mole and Pumpleton talking about the way you set the chief down. It was lovely, Mole said.”

“They didn’t treat me with the consideration I thought I was entitled to, so I went away.”

“It’s a wonder there wasn’t a chyaike.”

“What is that?” asked Jack.

“A jolly shindy. There is one thing, though. The chief never forgets. If I were you I’d pad my jacket.”

“I like to let people now that I’ve arrove.”

“That’s not grammatical.”

“No, but it’s a fact,” replied Jack, laughing.

“You shinned Hunston badly, and he swears he’ll let you have it,” continued Harvey.

“It wasn’t my fault. He shouldn’t have put his foot in my way.”

In a short time Jack was sent for, and conducted to the schoolroom, from which all traces of tea had disappeared.

Each boy had a bookshelf and a locker, and some were arranging their contents, others reading, some writing.

At the head of the spacious hall-like room, the principal and Mr. Mole were standing together.

Mr. Crawcour did not appear to have thought any more of the incident at the tea-table.

He was calm and serene.

“He had sent for Harkaway,” he said, “to examine him. Mr. Mole would try him and find out what he knew.”

The examination proceeded.

History succeeded geography; then came arithmetic, writing, spelling; Latin or French he knew little or nothing of.

“I think, sir, that Harkaway is sufficiently intelligent and forward to be placed in the third class,” said Mr. Mole.

“So be it,” answered the principal. “He will be under Mr. Pumpleton. Pray call him.”

Mr. Pumpleton was called.

“You sent for me, sir,” he said.

“I did, Mr. Pumpleton. We have decided that this boy, Harkaway, shall be in your third class. I have given him the books he requires, also a locker; item, a bookshelf.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go, Harkaway,” continued Mr. Crawcour, “with your kind friend Mr. Pumpleton, who will assist your budding mind to emerge from its state of germination, and blossom fully. Go. If he seems harsh, remember that he has his duty to perform. The child must not be spoiled because the rod is spared. I am determined that when you quit Pomona House School, you shall be a perambulating advertisement of the admirable success of the system of education I pursue.”

Mr. Crawcour stopped to wipe his face, which was beaming with a mild benevolence, which he flattered himself was his distinguishing characteristic.

Mr. Pumpleton and Jack went away together. Turning to his first master, the principal continued:

“You, Mole, are a B. A. Oxon. I say so in my circulars; therefore it must be so. You can bear independent testimony to my largeness of heart. Why it is as large as—as—as large as a bullock’s. I love my boys, Mole, and I think they look upon me as a father. May God bless our efforts!”

The principal was affected even to tears. He squeezed Mr. Mole’s arms, and went silently out of a side door, without speaking another word.

“Talk about Pecksniff,” muttered Mr. Mole, “he beats him all hollow. He is a wonderful humbug, and I shall have to tell him so one of these days.”

The evening passed in putting Jack in the way of the school.

He was told what lessons to prepare, and had a sheet of paper, with the time for everything marked on it.

“At nine you will have a ration of Dutch cheese and bread. Beer is only allowed to the big boys in the fifth and sixth classes,” said Mr. Pumpleton, “and recollect that our friendship depends upon yourself. I will do my best to advance you. If you are lazy, disobedient, or unpunctual, I shall have to complain to the principal.”

“I will do my best, sir,” returned Jack, who felt attracted towards his tutor.

Indeed Mr. Pumpleton was a favorite with the boys. He was kind and considerate, and really took pains with them.

The masters were not allowed to touch the boys.

They could tell them to learn lessons, to write out and translate lessons, and they could control their liberty by keeping them in; but all corporal punishment was inflicted by Mr. Crawcour in his study.

It was there that he brought his little persuader into use.

There was not a boy in school who did not dread this study.

They all avoided being complained of to the principal if they could help it.

At last bedtime came.

With all his self-possession, Jack could not help feeling a little uncomfortable.

He knew that there was room for a great deal of tyranny in a dormitory.

Hunston, the bully of the room, was already his enemy, and he might have the whole room against him, with the exception of Harvey, whom he felt sure was his friend.

“I’ll show you the way to our dormitory,” said Harvey, after prayers. “Don’t be nervous.”

“About what?” asked Jack with apparent unconcern.

“Hunston. Be firm, and as you are a stout-built follow, he may think you an awkward customer, and let you alone.”

“All right,” said Jack; “don’t be alarmed about me. I can take my own part.”

And they ascended the stairs together.

CHAPTER V

HUNSTON THE BULLY

IN many things does a school resemble the great world. It is, in fact a small world, the reflex of the larger.

We often see men, who by the mere fact of confidence, rather than merit, force their way past more deserving men, and by their bluster and annoyance, take a place for which they are totally unfitted.

So at school. The pretentious boy, who asserts his strength and becomes a bully, is held in fear as well as hatred, and allowed to do very much as he pleases.

He resembles a small king, and the other boys and his immediate circle are his subjects.

This was the case with Hunston, who called himself the cock of the dormitory in which Jack Harkaway was to sleep.

He exercised implicit sway over all his companions, who, though they detested him, did not dare to disobey him.

There often comes a time, though, when such characters as these meet with opposition, and if conquered, they present a miserable appearance until their unabashed natural impudence enables them to put a good face on their overthrow.

The boys were allowed half an hour to say their prayers, undress, and get into bed, before Mr. Stonor, the junior master, came to take their candles away.

Mr. Mole attended to the sixth form, who lived in the small rooms or studies, built expressly for them, of which we have previously spoken.

When Jack came into the room with Harvey, Hunston looked at him curiously.

“So you’re the new boy, are you?” he exclaimed.

“I suppose you were new once!” answered Jack.

“Don’t talk to me like that, or you’ll get something you don’t like!” cried Hunston, angrily.

“How do you want me to talk to you?”

“In a respectful manner. You seem to think you can do as you please here, but you’ll find you’re mistaken.”

“I generally manage to have my own way wherever I am,” answered Jack.

“Do you? Then understand one thing, I’m cock of this room.”

“I’m much obliged to you for the information, though I don’t see exactly how it interests me.”

Harvey, Filmer, and Maple sat down on the sides of their beds, enjoying this controversy.

Fisher, who was a nervous, delicate, little boy, undressed himself, and then knelt down by the bedside to say his prayers.

“I thought I told you, Fisher, that I would not have any more of that nonsense!” exclaimed Hunston.

“What nonsense?” said Fisher, rising and trembling violently.

“Why, saying prayers. We have had them down stairs and if you want to say any more, do it when you are in bed.”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind. You did not last night, and my mother told me always to do so,” replied Fisher.

“I won’t have it. Get into bed!” said Hunston.

Walking across the room, Jack, whose face flushed a little, touched Fisher on the shoulder.

“What is your name?” he said.

“Fisher.”

“Very well. If you were doing anything wrong I would not interfere, but you are distinctly in the right in this instance. Never fear to do right. Go on with what you were doing. No one shall interfere with you.”

Fisher looked at him with admiring astonishment. He could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses, and stood shivering at the post of his bed, doubtful how to act.

“Oh! that’s how the wind blows, is it?” answered Hunston. “You’re what Mole calls a moral philosopher. You’re going to be the Don Quixote of the school, are you, to redress everybody’s grievances? Who are you when you are at home, and what are you?”

“Not the slave of a bully, anyhow,” answered Jack.

The two boys glared defiantly at one another.

“I don’t understand cheek, especially from a new boy,” returned Hunston; “and if you are so cocky, I shall have to knock some of the nonsense out of you.”

“You are perfectly at liberty to try.”

“Fisher, get into bed,” said Hunston.

“Fisher, stay where you are,” said Jack.

But Fisher was so well acquainted with Hunston’s imperious temper and arbitrary behavior, that he dared not to refuse to obey him.

Accordingly he turned down the sheets and got into bed.

“Lucky for you, my boy!” said Hunston, with a short laugh, adding, “Now you see who is master here.”

“Not yet,” replied Jack.

“Oh, well, you wont be long before you do. I have time to teach you a lesson, and its your fault if you don’t learn it.”

“I have only one thing to tell you at present,” replied Jack, “and that is I always say my prayers night and morning. I intend to do so tonight, and I will not put up with any interference from any one in so sacred a matter.”

Maple was one of those boys, who are called “sneaks.”

Any dirty work that Hunston wanted done was performed at once by Maple.

Seeing Jack’s attitude, he said:

“Give it him! You can lick him!”

“What has my quarrel with this bully got to do with you? I shall have to pull your young ear for you,” exclaimed Jack.

“Touch him if you dare!” cried Hunston.

“I have no wish to take any part in a disturbance tonight,” jack replied; “I am a new boy. It is my first night here, and I cannot compliment you on the hospitality you have shown me.”

“I told you he was afraid of you,” whispered Maple. There was a slight pause after this, as the time was running on, and the boys began to undress themselves.

Jack took off his jacket and knelt down as he said he would.

He had not been on his knees a second before a boot whizzed past his head.

“Who threw that boot at me?”

“Do you want to know?” asked Hunston.

“If I didn’t, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I did.”

“Oh, you did, did you,” said Jack between his teeth. Jumping over his bed he came face to face with the bully, and without any further parley, dealt him a blow in the face that sent him backwards several yards.

The excitement amongst the other boys was intense.

They expected a terrible scene; a hand-to-hand fight, and that Mr. Stoner would come in the midst of it.

Hunston fell heavily against Maple’s bed, which fortunately broke his fall.

Picking himself up with a rather dizzy sensation, he looked at Jack.

“Although you’re a new boy,” he said, “you seem to know that I can’t fight you tonight, as the masters will be here directly and we shall all get into a row.”

“I am willing to risk that.”

“You hit me unawares, too, in a cowardly way. If you told me you were going to do so, I should have been ready for you.”

“Did you tell me anything about the boot which you shied at me when I was saying my prayers?” asked Jack.

“Nevermind. I’ll be even with you. We will have it out before long,” said Hunston, scowling at him.

“Just let me alone; that’s all I want,” Jack answered.

He knelt down again, and this time was not interfered with.

Hunston had had enough of the first encounter, to wish for a repetition of the attack, which had made his head ache, and, he feared, given him a black eye.

When Harkaway had finished his devotions, he rose and began to undress.

Hunston was already in bed, as were the other boys.

“I don’t wish to be disagreeable,” said Jack, “and never have any ill-feeling after a spar with a fellow. If you all like to be jolly, I’ll put you up to a good thing.”

“What is that?”

“I have a hamper with cakes and things in it, and I see they have placed it under my bed. Can’t we rig up a light when the candle’s taken away, and have a feast?”

“Of course we can. I have a bit of candle in my pocket,” Harvey returned.

“And I have some matches,” said Filmer.

“All right. What do you say, Hunston?”

“The other fellows may do as they like. I don’t want any of your grub,” replied Hunston.

“Come, don’t be surly. If I punched your head tonight, you shall have a chance of punching mine tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

“Anyhow, let’s have a truce tonight. It is my first appearance on this festive scene, and I mean to go at the things myself, and should like you and the others to join me.”

“Do, Hunston,” said Maple, whose mouth watered at the idea.

Thus urged by his follower, Hunston complied ungraciously.

“Very well, we will have a truce, as you call it; but mind, it makes no difference in our dislike for one another.”

“I don’t dislike you, old fellow,” said Jack, generously.

“I hate you like steam, and I don’t mind telling you,” answered Hunston, with a vindictive look.

“Well, after the nose-ender I gave you, I can’t wonder at it. We shall be good friends enough, I have no doubt, when we have fought it out.”

At that moment Mr Stoner entered, and seeing all in bed but Jack, who was taking off his socks, said:

“Make haste, my boy. You should have been in bed before this.”

“I don’t want the light. You can take it,” replied Jack.

“That is not the way to speak to me,” cried Mr. Stoner, angrily.

“Leave it, then, if you don’t want to take it.”

“I shall report you for misconduct. You are a new boy. What is your name?”

“Harkaway.”

“I shall make some allowance for the novelty of your position, but you must not be rude to one in mine.”

“I did not mean to be rude,” said Jack.

“Go to bed and don’t argue. I will have no arguing,” cried Mr. Stoner.

He took up the candle, and hastily left the room in a pet.

“I say,” exclaimed Harvey, when the candle was gone, “you’re a caution. I never heard any one talk to people as you do.”

“Didn’t you?” replied Jack, with a quaint smile. “Oh, I can talk to them like a Dutch uncle. Will he come back?”

“Who, Stoner?”

“Yes.”

“Not he,” said Harvey. “He’ll be getting down to the sixth form studies or to his own room, and having a pipe and a glass of grog with some of the other masters. They say they never have any peace until they see the back of us.”

“I’m sure we don’t, till we see their back,” said Hunston, who was recovering his good temper.

No schoolboy mind could fail to be mollified at the prospect of surreptitious delicacies, eaten in forbidden hours.

At all events, his was not proof against the temptation.

CHAPTER VI

THE PRIVATE FEAST

WHEN the coast was clear, Harvey got out of bed, as did the other boys; a candle was lighted, and the hamper drawn out into the middle of the room.

Being the founder of the feast, Jack presided.

First of all he carefully untied the strings which fastened the hamper, and produced its contents.

Cakes, apples, oranges, jams, biscuits and sweets, made a capital spread.

A pocket-knife, handed from one to the other, enabled them to cut the cake and scoop out the jam.

“This is jolly,” said Filmer.

“Stunning!” remarked Harvey, with his mouth fall of raspberry jam.

Even Hunston condescended to smile, and he ate as heartily as any of them.

When the enjoyment was at its height, a stealthy footstep was heard in the passage.

Fisher, who was placed near the door to guard it, heard it.

“Look out!” cried he, in a low tone.

“It’s Stoner come back!” exclaimed Hunston.

“He’s always spying about, the brute!” said Harvey, in a tone of disgust.

“Put the things away, and get into bed—anywhere—quick!” whispered Hunston.

This command was obeyed in an instant.

Jack pushed the hamper under the bed.

The boys took what they were eating, and placed it under the sheets, and in less than a minute all were in bed and apparently snoring.

Then the door opened.

Mr. Stoner looked in.

There was nothing to arouse his suspicion.

“How you boys snore,” he said; “I shall recommend that you have no supper in future. It is bad sor growing lads to eat just as they are going to bed, Hunston!”

No answer.

He went to Hunston’s bed, and shook him by the shoulder.

Hunston looked up, and rubbed his eyes.

“Time to get up?” he muttered. “Oh! it’s you, sir. What is it? Case of house on fire?”

“Nonsense. I thought I saw a light in this room as I was crossing the yard, and what—God bless me! what a strong smell of oranges.”

“It’s that new boy, I expect, sir. Perhaps he’s got some under his pillow,” spitefully remarked Maple, who could not resist the temptation of speaking.

“What, are you awake?” said Mr. Stoner. “Learn to exercise charity, and do not be in such a hurry to denounce your friends. It is a bad point in your character which I have noticed before, Master Maple.”

“Please, sir; I didn’t mean, sir,” began Maple.

Mr. Stoner cut him short.

“Hold your tongue, and go to sleep,” he interrupted, “and don’t let me have occasion to come up here again, or you’ll be sorry for it.”

With this he went away saying, “Goodnight.”

“That’s a narrow shave,” cried Hunston.

“What I call a squeak, and no mistake,” remarked Maple.

“I’ll give it to you, Maple, for trying to put him on to me,” exclaimed Jack. “You saw me put a pot of jam and a bit of orange under my pillow. Suppose he’d come and searched.”

“What a lark, if he had. He’d have confiscated the lot.”

Further utterance on the part of Maple was interrupted by the sudden arrival of a well-directed orange in his mouth. This was dexterously thrown by Jack, and it rather loosened his teeth.

“Perhaps you’ll shut up in future,” he said. “And now let’s go on with the banquet; who says more cake? We don’t want the light. Twist the blinds so as to let in the moonbeams.”

This was done, and the feast proceeded, but not with so much zest as before. The edge was taken off their appetite, and even schoolboys cannot always be eating.

They were not destined, however, to enjoy themselves in peace.

By some means or other, a boy named Sandiman, who was the captain of the adjoining room, in which were eight boys, contrived to find out what was going on.

His spies had given him notice of Mr. Stoner’s second visit and withdrawal, and organizing his forces, they armed themselves with pillows and entered the neighboring dormitory, with a rush.

“We want some of your grub,” said Sandiman.

“Then you want what you won’t have. Pillows, my boys; pillows or bolsters, and let them have it!” replied Hunston.

Instantly all was confusion.

Jack and all his friends were quickly engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict, which raged most furiously in the vicinity of his own bed, because the hamper was there, and for that they were fighting.

Blows fell thick and fast, and Jack’s prowess with his bolster was much admired.

Hunston and Harkaway were irresistible. They fought like Gog and Magog, the giant warders of the Tower of London, and gallantly defended the hamper.

All at once Sandiman’s bolster burst, and a shower of feathers flew all about the room.

Rendered weaponless, he was forced to beat a retreat in dire dismay, knowing that the next morning there would be a strict inquiry, and that his pocket-money would be stopped until he had paid for the damage done to his master’s property, if he was not severely punished into the bargain.

Seeing their leader retreat, and pushed by Hunston and Jack, the others of No. 2 room, though superior in numbers, began to give way.

In a short time they were in the passage and the room was clear.

“Good-bye,” said Hunston, sneeringly.

“Wouldn’t you like an orange or a slice of cake? Don’t say no. The oranges are fizzing, and the cakes so jolly plummy.”

A howl of derision from his followers greeted this speech.

But No. 2 room was badly beaten.

They sneaked back to their quarters discomfited, and made no reply.

It is hard for a cock to crow when his wings are clipped.

“Now, I think I’ll try get to sleep,” said Jack. “If you fellows want any more grub, you know where it is, and can help yourselves.”

“Need I look out any more?” asked Fisher, who was getting very cold.

“No; turn in.” replied Hunston.

“What a mess Sandiman made with his feathers. There’ll be a jolly row about that. I’m smothered with them,” remarked Fisher.

No one seemed disposed to enter into the matter, and he soon followed the example of the others, and went to sleep.

In about an hour’s time, however, Sandiman and a trusty follower crept into the dormitory.

His errand was not pillage.

He had his nearly empty bolster, and he picked up the feathers as well as he could, and refilled it.

When this was done he crept back again.

He wouldn’t have minded taking Jack’s good things in a fair fight, but he would not have stolon an orange while the boys were sleeping.

CHAPTER VII

SETTLING DOWN

The next morning Jack woke up in a fright.

The hideous din of a large bell was ringing in his ears, and he thought he had never heard anything so discordant.

“Time to get up,” he said, to himself, rubbing his eyes, and rolled out of bed.

None of the other boys moved.

He found that the bell rang once at seven, and again at a quarter and half past.

The old stagers never got up till the second bell, finding a quarter of an hour quite time enough to dress in.

Having a chance to speak to Hunston, Jack said:

“Are we friends?”

“I don’t know,” was the surly answer. “There is no row on at present, but I can’t tell how long it will be before there is.”

“Oh, all right; you can be disagreeable as you like. I am prepared to meet you any way—friend or foe. It does not matter a halfpenny to me,” replied Jack.

He found it easier to go through his lessons than he had expected, and work was so judiciously mixed up with play, that the school studies did not seem a bit tedious.

His fondness for learning and natural aptitude, coupled with his excellent memory, soon recommended him to Mr. Pumpleton, his master.

A tutor always takes pleasure in instructing a clever pupil.

In a few days he had settled down completely, and felt perfectly at home.

Harvey was his great friend and companion, as Mr. Crawcour had intended him to be.

Hunston, though unfriendly to Jack, was not positively hostile, though it was easy to see that only a spark was required to fire the magazine and produce au explosion.

He did not think it fit to interfere with either Fisher’s or Jack’s praying, and that source of quarrel was done away with.

In another part of the town Lillie Bridge was a rival school kept by Dr. Begbie.

The doctor’s boys considered themselves infinitely superior to Mr. Crawcour’s.

Innumerable conflicts took place between them when they met in the town.

In the first place, Mr. Begbie was a doctor, and a university man. His first master was a wrangler, who gave a classical education for the sum of fifty guineas per annum, exclusive of extras, paid quarterly.

So the boys of Oxford House called the Pomona House boys cads and snobs, and insulted them whenever they met.

They refused to play them at cricket when challenged on the ground that they only played with gentlemen.

This insult only served to intensify the feud.

If a boy came home with a black eye, or a bruised nose, from a walk in the town, Mr. Crawcour would smile and say nothing to him.

The same leniency was exhibited by Dr. Begbie to his boys.

Mr. Crawcour once said “Good morning,” coming out of church to the doctor, who quaintly took snuff and remarked placidly to his mathematical master, who was by his side. “What strange people there are about to-day.”

One afternoon Harvey and Jack were walking in a lane looking for birds’ nests, though it was rather late in the season.

Suddenly they heard a scuffling, and, looking before them, saw a fight proceeding.

When in the field the Pomona boys wore caps of the Cambridge color, a light blue, while the boys of Dr. Begbie had always the dark blue of Oxford.

It was easy to count four dark caps and two light.

“Hullo!” said Harvey. “Some of our fellows getting a thrashing from Begbie’s skunks.”

“Odds against them,” remarked Jack; “only two to one; that’s nothing; we’re used to that. Jog along; we must have a cut in.”

The fight, for such it was, between the rival factions was an unequal one and the timely arrival of aid altered the aspect of affairs very materially.

“Wire in,” said Jack, whose expressions were generally more forcible than elegant. At the same time he sent one of the “skunks” as they called the Oxford boys, rolling into a ditch and prepared to attack another.

In a few minutes the opponents were beaten and scattered; one lay insensible in the road, and the others flow in all directions.

“Bravo!” cried one of the triumphant side; “you can use your fists. What is your name?”

“Harkaway.”

“I’m captain of the school and my name is Collinson,” replied the other. “You have rendered me a service to-day by coming up in the nick of time; and if you want a friend you’ll find one in me. I can fight as well as any one, but those cowardly fellows always go about in batches, and two to one is not fair.”

“What are you going to do with this one?” asked Jack, pointing to his fallen foe.

“You have settled him. That cut you gave him under the ear did his business. Leave him where he is. He won’t hurt.”

“Cut his coat tails off, and paint him black and blue,” suggested Jack.

“Paint him? How?”

“I have just bought a box of water colors; make a palette of one of his hands; there is some water in that puddle.”

“Have you the colors with you?”

“In my pocket.”

“By Jove! that’s a bright idea,” said Collinson. “You’re a genius.”

“First of all we’ll have his tails; that’s spolia opima, or the spoils of war.”

And Jack very neatly cut off his coat tails near the waist.

He wore a cutaway coat, which was not improved by the process.

Jack speedily prepared his colors, and laying on alternate stripes of black and blue, made his victim present a most remarkable appearance.

He painted him black around the neck, and gave him blue ears.

On his nose a great patch of red, and he picked out his eyebrows with white.

“Will that do?” he asked, surveying the inanimate body with the eye of a pleased artist.

“Spiffing!” cried Collinson, who was in high glee.

Collinson had not been idle.

He had written in pencil, on a sheet of paper, which he fortunately had with him.

“This is how gentlemen treat skunks when they meet them out.”

It was in large letters, and easily decipherable.

He pinned it on to what remained of the back of his coat.

Whether it was the painting, or the cool breeze, we do not know, but the boy began to revive.

“Let’s hook it,” cried Collinson, “he’s coming to, and will find his way home.”

So they ran away, Collinson and his friend by themselves, Jack and Harvey in another direction.

“I must have a wash somewhere,” exclaimed Jack. “One of the skunks tapped my claret; does it show much?”

“Nothing to speak about. Don’t bother yourself,” replied Harvey. “I want to get into the town to see that fellow come back. He doesn’t know what’s happened to him. It will be such a lark!”

“All right,” replied Jack.

“How did you come to think of it?”

“Inspiration of genius.”

“What a fellow you are!” observed Harvey, lost in admiration.

“Wait till I develop; I’ll show you some fun before I’ve been here long.”

They were still in the lane, but they soon got into the main road.

Not liking the dirty thoroughfare, they got through a gap in the hedge, and walked along the grass of a meadow.

“Do you see that bird?” said Jack, pointing to a chaffinch in the hedge.

“Yes.”

“What’s the odds I don’t pick him off?”

“Ten to one,” said Harvey.

“All right, I’ll take you; ten to one I don’t knock him off his perch.”

He picked up a small round stone.

The sound of wheels was heard approaching.

“Look out!” cried Harvey, “there’s a carriage coming.”

“Bother the carriage. Don’t you see the field is higher than the road? I shouldn’t hit any one, even if I missed the bird, which I don’t mean to do.”

In fact, the field was a couple of feet higher than the main road in this particular spot.

“Now for it,” said Jack.

He let fly; and the bird, perhaps frightened by the noise of the approaching carriage, fluttered its wings, and flew off just as Jack hurled the missile at it.

“Missed, by George!” he exclaimed, in a tone of disappointment.

At the same moment there was a cry of pain and an angry exclamation.

Both were in a woman’s voice.

“You’ve hit somebody,” said Harvey, laughing.

“I hope not. It might be serious,” Jack replied feeling some alarm.

The carriage wheels no longer sounded.

The driver, whoever it was, had pulled up.

“Look through the hedge and see who it is,” Jack said.

“Let’s bolt.”

“No; if I have hit a lady. I’ll apologize. I only hope she isn’t hurt.”

Harvey looked through the hedge in obedience to these instructions, and came back with a white, frightened face.

“You’ve done it,” he said.

“Done it! Done what?” cried Jack, seriously.

Harvey made him no answer.

He seemed too frightened to speak.

CHAPTER VIII

THE EFFECT OF THE STONE

“What are you looking so frightened about?” exclaimed Jack, who was at a loss to understand his companion’s alarm.

“Mrs. Crawcour’s in the carriage with Miss Lefty and Mole. You’ve hit Mrs. Crawcour with the stone,” answered Harvey.

“Is she much hurt?”

“She looks like it. Mole had to pull the horse up, but I expect he’ll be over the hedge like a a shot in a minute to see who did it.”

“Then it’s time to step it?” said Jack.

“Do you mean to bolt?”

“Yes; I’m off in one direction. You’d better go in another,” Jack replied.

Harvey was apparently too frightened to move, but Jack began to scud across the field in the direction of the house.

While Harvey, in an undecided manner, was debating the advisability of following him, a crashing sound was heard as of some one forcing his way through the hedge.

It was Mr. Mole.

Harvey now attempted to fly.

It was too late, however.

Mr. Mole had his hand on his collar before he had gone two yards, and pulled him up short.

“What are you doing here, Harvey, and why did you throw that stone?” he exclaimed, in a stern voice.

“Please, sir, I didn’t do it,” answered Harvey.

“You didn’t do it? Who did?”

“It wasn’t me, sir.”

“Don’t tell me a falsehood. It will only aggravate your punishment,” continued Mr. Mole, angrily as he thought the boy was trifling with him.

“I didn’t really, sir. Please let me go.”

“Come with me.”

Mr. Mole dragged him through the gap in the hedge, and brought him, trembling and half inclined to cry before Mrs. Crawcour.

We have already said that she was a very handsome, ladylike woman of aristocratic appearance.

She had taken off her glove, and was looking at her injured hand, on the back of which the stone had fallen; the part hurt was much swollen and discolored.

Evidently she was suffering great pain.

A slight flush which pervaded her expressive features made her look more pretty than usual, but she was angry; her lips were tightly compressed together, and her appearance generally indicated uncompromising severity.

“Here’s the culprit, ma’am,” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

“One of our boys; is it not?” asked she.

“Yes; Harvey: generally a well conducted boy.”

“Please, ma’am, I didn’t do it,” said Harvey.

“Nonsense; you must have done it. There was no one else there.”

He had seen Jack Harkaway running across the field.

“Did you do it intentionally?” Mr. Mole continued.

“What is the use of asking him that?” asked Mrs. Crawcour, impatiently. “Whether it was an accident or not will make no difference in his punishment.”

“He was throwing at a bird, and did not see you, ma’am, from the other side of this thick hedge,” said Harvey.

“Who was throwing?” she asked, quickly.

Harvey was silent.

“You had best speak, if you wish to save yourself.”

“I don’t like to betray my friend, as he has got away.”

“Then you will get punished in his place, and severely too,” she answered. “I will not be hurt like this with impunity, Look at my hand. It will be days before I can use it again. Speak and tell the truth.”

“Take my advice, and do as you are told,” whispered Mr. Mole.

Thoroughly alarmed at the decision displayed in Mrs. Crawcour’s manner, Harvey allowed his determination to break down.

“Will you let me off, if I tell you who it was?” he said.

“I shall make no promises. If you do not speak quickly I will have you punished until you do confess who your accomplice is.”

“Well, then, it was Harkaway,” said Harvey, in a sullen tone.

“The new boy?” she said. “We had a bad character with him from his people at home. Very well; that will do. Let him go, please, Mr. Mole; and you will oblige me by driving the carriage home, as I can no longer hold the reins?”

“Certainly, ma’am,” answered Mr. Mole.

He let go his hold of Harvey’s collar, and took his place in the pony carriage.

“Poor, dear mamma!” said Letty, caressingly, as they drove off.

“Don’t, my love—you hurt,” said Mrs. Crawcour, drawing back the hand which her daughter affectionately wished to fondle.

Harvey saw them disappear in the distance, and then cut across country on his way home, disconsolately.

He scarcely knew whether he had done right or wrong.

At all events, a severe punishment awaited Jack.

There was no chance for him.

Mr. Crawcour might see the injustice of punishing him, and interfere with the weight of his authority.

But this hope died as he remembered that it was a half-holiday, and he had heard that Mr. Crawcour had gone to London.

His wife in his absence would not hesitate to take the law into her own hands.

What she had done before she would do again.

There was very little hope for Jack.

CHAPTER IX

THE PUNISHMENT

JACK did not stay to see what become of Harvey.

He imagined that he would make the best use of his his legs and get away.

When he had traversed a couple of meadows, and saw that he had not to apprehend pursuit, he slackened the speed at which he had been running, and went in the direction of the town.

In the high road he saw a mob of boys who were laughing and hooting at some strange object.

It was one of Dr. Begbie’s boys, the same that Jack had treated in such a ludicrous manner a short time before.

The boy himself did not know what a strange appearance he presented, and only ran the faster when the town boys laughed at him.

“I must be a great artist,” laughed Jack.

Contenting himself with seeing him safely within the gates of the doctor’s house, where his aspect excited the indignation of his friends, Jack turned back toward Pomona House.

Many were the vows of vengeance breathed by the doctor’s boys against those of Mr. Crawcour’s household.

Scarcely had Jack stepped inside the yard, when Mr. Mole tapped him on the shoulder.

“I want you, Harkaway,” he said.

“What for, sir?” replied Jack.

“Never mind; you will see presently.”

Jack thought there was something very odd about the senior master’s manner, but, without saying more, followed his conductor into the house.

To his astonishment they went into Mr. and Mrs. Crawcour’s private apartments.

In the drawingroom Mrs. Crawcour was sitting down, bathing her hands in warm water.

It was a richly-furnished apartment, adorned with handsome prints, and fragrant with the perfume of summer flowers.

“Question him,” said Mrs. Crawcour, looking up as he entered.

Jack saw it all now, and felt he had got into a scrape, and he experienced the moat acute regret when he reflected that he had caused considerable pain to so beautiful a creature.

“I know what you are going to say, ma’am,” he exclaimed, “and I will save you as much trouble as I can. I see that, unfortunately, by carelessly throwing a stone at a bird, I have hit you. Allow me to express my great sorrow. I hope you are not much hurt?”

“I am suffering very much,” she answered coldly. “So you admit your offense?”

“Oh yes, ma’am; I have no wish to shrink from the responsibility of the act.”

“It was through you I was injured?”

“Yes, by accident.”

“That makes little difference. If my husband were here, he would punish you as you deserve, but in his absence I will usurp his functions. I will teach you that such tricks shall not be indulged in by any of our boys. Mr. Mole.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the master.

“Get a cane out of Mr. Crawcour’s study. You shall punish him. I would do it mysely if I could.”

Her face assumed the expression of a handsome but enraged tigress.

Mr. Mole went into the study, and soon returned with a long, glistening, lithe-looking cane.

“Look at that picture cord hanging from that ring,” continued Mrs. Crawcour, pointing to the wall.

“I see it,” replied Mr. Mole.

“Let him take off his jacket and waistcoat, and then tie his hands with that string, and haul it up tight, so that his hands will be over his head, and he will be standing upright and unable to escape you. Take those chairs out of the way.”

Mr. Mole did as was directed, first moving the chairs, so as to have a clear space.

Jack took off his jacket and waistcoat, standing in his shirtsleeves.

The cord ran through a brass ring firmly fixed in the wall about nine feet from the floor.

A picture had been lately removed from the spot for the purpose of being cleaned.

That accounted for the space being vacant.

Mr. Mole tied Jack’s wrists firmly together, and then hauled on the cord until his arms were drawn over his head, and he stood almost on tiptoe, so great was the tension.

The other end of the cord he made fast to a leg of the piano.

“He cannot move much now,” he said with a grim smile.

“That will do,” replied Mrs. Crawcour, leaning back In the chair with an approving nod.

“Cane the little wretch as severely as you can, and go on until I tell you to leave off. It will be some satisfaction to me to see him suffer what he so well deserves.”

Jack’s face was to the wall, but he turned his head half round with a reproachful look.

How could one so lovely be so great a savage?

He could not understand it.

She made a sign to Mr. Mole to begin.

The senior master was a tall, thick-set, well-built man, and a very strong blow from his hand was one which made itself felt.

He swung the cane round, and it descended on Jack’s shoulders with a dull thud.

The boy set his teeth firmly together.

“She shall not have the satisfaction of hearing me cry,” he said to himself.

With well-regulated sweep, the cane descended time after time.

At every blow the victim’s frame quivered.

Still he did not cry out.

Mrs. Crawcour was annoyed at his fortitude.

“Harder,” she said. “He dosen’t feel it. These boys have no feelings for themselves or others, it seems to me.”

Mr. Mole redoubled his exertions.

A low sob, and then another, which he could not repress, broke from Jack.

It seemed as if the tension of the rope was dragging his arms out of their sockets.

First, one thin red line, and then others made their appearance.

It was blood which the cane had drawn forth.

“Has he not had enough, ma’am?” said Mr. Mole, noticing this.

“Go on,” replied Mrs. Crawcour, with a pitiless look.

“I should not like to offend her,” thought the senior master.

Again a shower of blows fell upon the boy’s defenseless shoulder.

Suddenly his head drooped over his shoulders.

Mr. Mole threw down the cane.

“Why do you stop?” she asked.

“Because he has fainted.”

“Fainted, nonsense! He is shamming. These boys are so cunning.”

Taking his knife from his pocket, Mr. Mole, now really alarmed, cut the rope.

He was afraid he had killed Jack, and did not want to appear in connection with a coroner’s inquest.

Jack fell like a dead weight on the floor, and did not move.

“Dear me,” said Mrs. Crawcour, rising from her chair. “I had no idea that he was ill. How obstinate he is to be sure. If he had given any sign that the punishment had made an impression upon him, I should have ordered you to leave off before.”

Mr. Mole made no answer.

He took Jack in his arms, and laid him down in the verandah, where the fresh air fanned his face.

Then he got some water in a flower vase from a fountain which, played in the garden, and bathed his face with it.

“Is it anything serious?” asked Mrs. Crawcour, who had been watching his movements intently.

“I cannot tell yet,” replied Mr. Mole.

He bent down over the insensible boy, and placed his hand upon his heart.

It was beating, though slowly.

“I think he will revive in a few minutes,” he said.

After that, he cut the string which yet bound his hands together.

Mrs. Crawcour now sank on her knees, and bathed his temples herself, while she held a smelling bottle to his face.

Presently Jack moved convulsively.

“How beautiful she is,” he muttered.

“Who is he speaking of?” asked Mrs. Crawcour.

“Hush!” said Mr. Mole, as the boy’s lips opened again.

“How could she bo so cruel to me—so lovely, and yet so cruel; but she got no sound from me.”

“It is of you he is speaking,” observed Mr. Mole.

“He is a strange boy, I fear I have been too severe with him,” Mrs. Crawcour replied, for the first time showing a sign of pity.

A smile of satisfaction spread itself over Jack’s face.

He was evidently thinking that his fortitude had placed the triumph on his side.

It was quite half an hour before he was sufficiently recovered to walk.

When she saw that he was recovering consciousness, Mrs. Crawcour said:

“Let him be put to bed, and I will send him some supper from my own table.”

And she glided from the apartment with all the dignity of a queen.

“What a woman!” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

In a short time he half led, half carried Jack to his dormitory, through a passage which was not used by the boys, and which prevented any one seeing him.

When he had put him to bed, he exclaimed.

“Is there anything I can bring you, Harkaway?”

“No, sir, thank you. I am very tired, and want to go to sleep,” answered Jack.

He placed his head upon the pillow, closed his eyes and exhausted nature rest.

CHAPTER X

THE FIGHT

THE shades of night were falling when Jack woke up and he was surprised to perceive an odor of Eau de Cologne, to feel a soft hand touching his forehead, and to be conscious of the presence of a beautiful woman in the room.

Looking up, he saw Mrs. Crawcour sitting on the side of the bed.

She held in her hand a scent-bottle, and on a table was a tray containing a boiled fowl, some bread, and a bottle of sherry.

Giving him a glass of wine, she told him to drink it.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Jack. “Have you been here long?”

“For an hour or more. I was watching you in your sleep.”

Jack winced a little as he moved in the bed.

The stripes on his back were stiff and painful.

“Are you in pain, now?” she asked.

“Not so much as I deserve to be,” he answered, looking wistfully at the pretty hand, the left one, which was rapped round with a handkerchief.

“Do you know why I am here, Harkaway?” asked Mrs. Crawcour.

“No, ma’am.”

“I have come to ask your forgiveness for my passionate and cruel conduct to you this afternoon. Oh! if you knew what a dreadful curse my temper has been to me all my life. Had it not been for my temper; I should not now be the wife of a schoolmaster in a country town.”

“Please don’t grieve about me, ma’am,” cried Jack, the tears starting to his eyes. “I know I deserved all I got, and a great deal more. The beating didn’t make me cry, but you will if you talk like that.”

“You are a good-hearted boy,” she said, in a tender voice; “and so you think me beautiful?”

“Oh, so lovely, ma’am, but how did you know?”

“You said so when you were half conscious.”

“If I had a mother I should like her to resemble you.”

“Have you no mother then—no father?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Poor child!”

She spoke quite tenderly and kindly now.

So much so that Jack’s heart warmed towards her.

“Do you not hate me, Harkaway?” she asked.

“What for, ma’am?”

“For—for this afternoon.”

“Oh, no,” replied Jack. “If I did feel a little hard and revengeful, it was a feeling which soon passed away. I cannot bare malice, and if”——

He paused abruptly.

“If what, child?” she inquired, bending over him with the air of a friend, we may almost say of a mother.

“If you would only give me one kiss, it would make me so happy. I would be devoted to you. One cannot hate anything so beautiful as you are, and if the boys said anything against you, I would”——“Do the boys speak against me?”

“Perhaps I ought not to have said that.”

“Tell me what they say,” Mrs. Crawcour exclaimed, with just a shadow of her former imperiousness.

“I have heard one or two say that your are a—a demon. But don’t please ask me for their names.”

Jack averted his gaze when he spoke these words.

“I have been called a beautiful pythoness before now. Perhaps the boys are right. I do not interest my self enough in them. I cannot do so. I was not born for this sort of life.”

There was a pause.

When she resumed, she said:

“And would a kiss really make you happy, you silly child?”

“Oh, much more so than I can tell you.”

She lowered her head, and her hair, escaping from a pin that held it, fell over his face, and she kissed his forehead.

“Try and forget that I have been unkind to you,” she said, rearranging her hair. “You do not know how deeply I regret my fits of passion. Say nothing about this interview to the other boys; let them think what they like of me. But remember one thing. If you are in trouble at any time, come to me; in me you have a friend. Come to my drawingroom sometimes, and I will lend you books and let you walk in my garden.”

“But Mr. Crawcour might object to”——

“I am mistress here,” interrupted she, proudly.

Jacked moved uneasily again.

“I can see you are suffering,” she said, hastily. “I will send one of the housemaids to you with some liniment. You must have your back seen to; I cannot do these thing myself. And see; here is some supper I had brought up for you; try and eat it. Good-bye, my child; try to think well of me.”

“Good-bye, ma’am. You are too kind; you might thrash me every day if you would talk to me as you have tonight.”

She smiled, and, with a rather sad air, left the dormitory, her rich silk dress making music as it went along, and hanging gracefully about her symmetrical figure.

In a few minutes a maid came up, and rubbed Jack’s back with a liniment that made him feel much easier.

He ate the best part of the chicken, and, having another glass or two of wine, soon began to forget his troubles.

Mrs. Crawcour’s behavior had made a great impression upon him.

Her conduct was strangely contradictory.

But she was not the savage he had pictured her to be.

When the boys came to bed, Harvey went at once to his friend, and said, in a considerate tone:

“Where have you been, and what is the matter with you?”

“Mr. Mole caned me and sent me to bed for the night,” answered Jack.

“Did he lay it on?”

“Pretty well.”

“I thought he would; but I hope you don’t blame me. I didn’t mean to do you any harm, though when they collared me, I did not know what to say,” Harvey said anxiously.

“I don’t blame any one. It’s all right; don’t say anything more about it, there’s a good fellow,” replied Jack.

Acting upon this hint, Harvey let the matter drop.

The next day Jack was very stiff and sore, but he went about as usual, and did his lessons with rather more than his usual zeal.

Some days passed, and he only caught occasional glimpses of Mrs. Crawcour.

Once she met him in a passage, and passed him as if she had never seen him.

It might have been ten days afterwards when the boys, on going out after twelve, dispersed themselves about the playground.

Jack strolled down to the cricket field.

He was preceded by Hunston and Fisher.

Fisher did not go with Hunston; he strolled down by himself, but he was met by the bully.

Maple had told Hunston that Fisher had had a sovereign sent him from home.

Now it was the middle of the summer half, and Hunston was very short of money.

He happened to catch sight of Fisher, and remembering what he had heard from Maple, thought he would requisition some of his money.

“Here, Fisher!” he cried.

“What is it, Hunston?” answered Fisher.

“What is it! Don’t talk to me in that way. Come here and find out, or I’ll give you something you won’t care for,” shouted the bully.

Fisher submissively obeyed the command.

“I hear you’ve got some money,” exclaimed Hunston.

“Yes, Hunston, my mother sent me a sovereign; but I want it to buy some books and things with, and pay something I owe at Croy’s.”

“Never mind what you want; I intend to go on the river this afternoon. We’ll have a boat; and you can steer and pay for it, as well as for my beer at the ‘Crown,’ at Broxbourne, which is the place I mean to go to.”

“But I can’t swim,” pleaded Fisher.

“No more can I. What’s that got to do with it? Boats are safe enough. You don’t swim in boats, do you, you young fool?”

“No, you don’t; but we might be upset and then”——

“You’d be drowned; no great loss either,” replied Hunston.

“There is another objection.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s against the rules.”

At this Hunston laughed louder than ever.

“Lots of fellows don’t care about the rules,” he said. “They are broken every day. Will you come?”

“I can’t; it would not be right.”

“Take that, then, and that, and that.”

Fisher’s began to cry out loudly.

At this moment Jack came by, and hearing Fisher’s lamentations, went up to Hunston.

“What are you licking Fisher for?” he inquired.

“What’s that to do with you?” was the reply.

“I asked you a civil question, and I expect a civil answer.”

“Then you haven’t got it; that’s all!”

“Let him go,” cried Jack, with a menacing gleam in his eye.

“If I do, it will be to turn my attention to you,” Hunston said.

“Please yourself about that,” returned Jack, carelessly.

Hunston had relaxed his hold a little, and Fisher contrived to wriggle out of his grasp.

He was running off when Jack shouted:

“Stop!”

“Very well, we’ll see,” Jack answered, taking off his jacket and throwing it over his arm.

“If you mean fighting, I am ready for you,” Hunston said.

“A mill, a mill!” cried several boys in the immediate vicinity, who saw the preparation for the combat, had then drew near.

Hunston threw his Jacket and waistcoat to Maple, and Jack did the same to Harvey.

They faced one another, and in the language of the ring, “squared up.”

Jack was the first to attempt to strike his opponent; but Hunston being wary, slipped on one side.

The blow fell short, and Jack was hit, before he could retreat, on the forehead.

This made him more cautious.

He feinted with his right, and following up his attack, as Hunston retreated, succeeded in striking Hunston in the mouth, which caused him some inconvenience.

They then closed up and hit out right and left, giving and receiving numerous blows, none of which were of much importance.

Jack was overborne by his antagonist’s superior weight, and fell to the ground.

Harvey called “time.”

This was the first round.

In a short time they were opposite one another again, and Jack, who was fresh as paint, rushed upon his enemy with great impetuosity.

Every blow told.

Hunston had not expected this species of attack, and with difficulty held his ground.

At last he was hit so hard that he had lost his balance over an inequality in the ground, and tumbled backwards.

This was the termination of the second round.

Suddenly some one exclaimed:

“Cave! Bung’s coming.”

There was an instantaneous scamper for fighting was not allowed under the nose of the masters.

Mr. Mole was especially opposed to the practice.

Maple quickly picked Hunston up and handed him his jacket and waistcoat.

These he put on, and prepared to run after the others.

Jack was not so quick in his movements.

CHAPTER XI

DISOBEDIENCE

THE fight at once ceased when the master was seen approaching. The boys put on their jackets and dispersed, but, quick as they were in their movements. Mr. Mole was quicker.

He did not attempt to seize or punish Hunston, but contrived to catch hold of Jack’s arm.

“I won’t have this fighting,” he exclaimed; “nothing is so disgusting as a pugnacious, quarreling disposition. We do not want our boys to be pugilists, but to enter the world as scholars and gentlemen.”

“Please, sir, it wasn’t my fault,” Jack replied.

“Perhaps not, yet I have only your word for that.”

“Isn’t that good enough?” Jack retorted.

“No impudence. I have had occasion to punish you once before, and shall not hesitate to do so again. Perhaps you were both to blame. I shall not go into that question now. I have something better to do than to investigate the petty squabbles of a parcel of schoolboys; all that concerns me is to punish a breach of the rules, or an offense against the wholesome discipline we try to preserve.”

“I took another boy’s part,” Jack explained.

“Self-praise is no recommendation.”

“He was being bullied.”

“Why not have come and complained to me? that would have been the most proper course to adopt.”

“I’m not a sneak, sir, and please goodness I never will be,” Jack answered, hotly.

“Indeed,” said Mr. Mole, with a slightly perceptible sneer, “you prefer to be a self-constituted champion of the rights of the weaker boys, and take the law into your own hands. But I must tell you that such a course of proceeding cannot be allowed.”

“Do you want me to be a spy, and fetch and carry tales, sir?” Jack asked, indignantly.

“How dare you talk to me in that rude way? How dare you, Harkaway?” Mr. Mole said.

“But do you?”

“I shall not answer your question, as it is put in such an improper manner; but this I will say, if you see anything wrong going on, you ought at once to communicate with me or one of the other masters.”

“That is sneaking.”

“Call it what you like. I call it a mere matter of duty.”

“I’ll never do that, sir,” Jack replied, firmly.

“You will please yourself. I have given you advice; it is for you to follow it. One man may bring a horse to the water, but ten men cannot make him drink. So it is with an obstinate, self-willed, pig-headed boy. He requires a deal of whipping and punishing before he is broken in and taught to see the folly of his ways.”

Jack was silent.

“I am afraid, Harkaway,” continued Mr. Mole, “that you are going to be the black sheep at this school.”

“Why, sir?”

“Why, sir! Because you evince a rebellious disposition, and seek to create disturbances. What did I witness just now? A fight; a disgraceful, stand-up fight! Do you not know that fighting is a breach of the peace, punishable by fine or imprisonment?”

“No, sir.”

“You know it now, then, and I shall consider that I am acting in the capacity of a justice of peace in passing sentence upon you. It is a lovely day, and probably you intended to play, or go upon the river, or take a stroll in the beautiful country.”

“That was just my intention, sir,” replied Jack.

“Ah, I thought so. Now you will not be able to enjoy this promised treat. You will have to come back to the schoolroom and sit there while you do a task which will take you until tea time.”

“Why not punish Hunston as well, sir?” Jack asked.

“That is my business. When I see Hunston, I shall have something to say to him also. At present I am dealing with you, whom I believe to be the chief of the delinquents.”

“Please, sir, I”——

“No contradiction,” interposed Mr. Mole. “I will have no arguing, no chop logic. Go back to school and write out exactly one hundred lines of Ovid. I think you know enough Latin to copy the words.”

“No, sir, I don’t,” Jack replied.

“Very well, then, take your Bible and copy, in a fair, ligible hand, the first five chapters of the book of Genesis. No remonstrance. Go.”

With a crestfallen air, Jack Harkaway retraced his steps to the schoolroom, which he had left a short time before with a bounding heart.

“What an unlucky fellow I am!” he said to himself. “I am always getting into scrapes.”

He labored, too, under a sense of injustice.

If he had done wrong, so had Hunston.

Why was he to be singled out as the scape-goat?

Mr. Mole evidently did not like him.

He had what is called a grudge against him for some reason or other.

Perhaps he disliked him because Mrs. Crawcour had so openly shown her aversion to him on the unfortunate occasion of the stone being thrown, which hurt her pretty little hand so much.

While Jack was walking dejectedly along, Harvey came up.

“Mole dropped on you pretty stiffly, didn’t he?” exclaimed Harvey.

“Five chapters of Genesis to write out, the brute!” replied Jack.

“What have you done to offend him?”

“How should I know?”

“But he let Hunston off.”

“Yes; it’s a beastly shame!”

“So it is; but if I can help you do it, I will with pleasure; that’s what I came up to say, old fellow. Make use of me; don’t be afraid.”

“You can’t write like me,” said Jack.

“No,” replied Harvey; “but I can read to you while you write, and that will save a lot of time and trouble.”

“Thank you very much,” Jack exclaimed, shaking Harvey’s hand. “I know you’re my friend, and I’m very much obliged to you for your kindness. However, I shan’t trouble you today.”

“Why not? I don’t mind sitting with you.”

“I’m going for a walk,” Jack said.

“If you do, you won’t have the imposition done in time,” Harvey exclaimed.

“I don’t wan’t to.”

“But”——

“The fact is, old boy,” Jack said with a smile, “I don’t mean to do it at all. I have been punished unjustly, and I won’t put up with it. What can they do?”

“Cane you.”

“They can’t kill me.”

“All l know is they can hurt awfully. I was caned last quarter for idleness, and I felt it for days afterwards,” Harvey said, making a grimace, as he reflected upon the past.

“They did their best to kill me, but they didn’t, and I don’t think they will try to repeat the experiment,” Jack said.

“When was that? You didn’t tell me,” Harvey said, in astonishment.

“The stone-throwing business. I didn’t tell you, because I had particular reasons for not telling any one. Don’t ask me any questions now. All I will say is that I don’t believe any fellow in this school ever was caned as I was that day.”

Harvey looked at his friend’s grave face in silent wonderment.

“Don’t you feel savage about it?” asked he.

“Not a bit. It was done by Mrs. Crawcour’s orders, and there is something about that woman which—which—I can’t describe it. If she would let me call her mother, she might flay me alive. I never had a mother, you know, at least, not one that I can remember, and Mrs. Crawcour made up for it afterwards. I have told you more than I meant. Don’t bother me any more about it, there’s a good fellow.”

“All right.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m practising cricket for our match next week,” Harvey answered.

“Well, cut along, and leave me to stroll by myself,” Jack said.

“I hope you won’t get into much of a row.”

“That’s my business.”

“If I was you, I think I should do the impoa.,” said Harvey.

“Not being you, my dear boy, I shall not,” answered Jack, with a smile.

And he walked quickly away in the direction of the river, leaving Harvey amazed at his boldness, which, he felt convinced, would be followed by serious consequences.

CHAPTER XII

ON THE RIVER

WHEN Hunston saw that his enemy was disposed of he congratulated himself upon his good luck and turned his attention to Fisher.

“Here, you little disquieter!” he cried. But Fisher began to beat a rapid retreat.

Hunston’s legs, however, were longer than his, and he soon overtook him.

“Didn’t you hear me speak?” cried his tormentor.

“Yes, Hunston,” was the reply.

“Why, then, did you not pull up at once, eh?”

“I wanted to get away.”

“Oh! you did, did you? This will teach you how to behave another time.”

And Hunston, holding his right arm, and twisting it, began to strike him a variety of blows on the muscular part, as well us on his back and shoulders.

Fisher cried out through the pain.

“Oh! don’t lick me any more; please, please don’t Hunston,” said the little fellow.

“Stop blubbering then, and do as I tell you,” Hunston answered.

“I will—indeed I will.”

“Come down to the river, then, and spend your money like a gentleman.”

Fisher was afraid to make any further remonstrance, though he would rather have done anything, and gone anywhere, than have accompanied the bully to the Lea, which, to those who could not swim, was forbidden, as we have already stated.

Being a conscientious boy, and brought up in a strictly religious manner at home, he dreaded disobedience and held it to be the greatest offense a boy could commit.

Those who were older and who were placed in authority over him must, in their experience and riper judgement, know what was best for him.

So he argued.

It was a fixed principle with him that every act of disobedience, all wrong-doing, in fact, brought its own punishment with it.

Therefore it can easily be imagined that he went with Hunston to the boat-house in fear and trembling.

Being a nervous and delicate little fellow he had a dread of the water.

Had he not been in the strongest possible terror of Hunston, he would have turned tail and gone home.

But Hunston’s thrashings were of a searching character.

He knew how to pick out his victim’s weak points, and those who had been subjected to them once did not want to indulge in the luxury a second time, if they could help it.

The boat-house was a picturesque little building near the lock.

In it were boats of all descriptions for hire at a reasonable price, which did not put them out of the reach of schoolboys in search of a holiday diversion.

Old Simon, the boat-house keeper, looked at Hunston and Fisher.

“Want a boat, sir? yes, sir,” he exclaimed. “What sort of boat?”

” Oh, I don’t know; any sort, not too heavy,” answered Hanston.

Not being a rowing man, he knew little or nothing about boats.

“Try a skiff or dingy?” said Simon.

“Well, say a skiff,” replied Hunston, selecting his at random.

“Are you from Mr. Crawcour’s academy or Dr. Begbie’s school?” inquired Simon.

“Crawcour’s.”

“You can swim, of course.”

“Like a fish,” answered Hunston.

“Excuse me asking the question, but I have been strictly enjoined by Mr. Crawcour to do so whenever any of his young gentlemen come down to me for boats. It is what he calls a salutary precaution.”

“All right, we can both swim like two dolphins, so don’t put yourself in a funk about us.”

“Oh, Hunston!” cried Fisher, poking at him with his large, black, expressive eyes, and shuddering involuntary at the unblushing falsehood.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Hunston, regarding him with a threatening look.

“You know we can’t.”

“Haven’t got money enough, and can’t afford it,” Hunston supplied. “What nonsense! Fork out what you’ve got, and we’ll pay in advance.”

“All right, sir; you need not trouble yourself. It’s eighteenpence the first hour and a shilling afterwards. Pay when you return, if you like; I can always trust to the honor of gentlemen.”

And with this flattering speech old Simon went away to get the boat ready and launch her on the water.

Fisher put his hand in his pocket and took out his money, amounting to about the third of a sovereign.

“Take it all, Hunston! take it all and welcome, only let me go,” he exclaimed.

Hunston took five shillings.

“That will be enough,” he said, returning the rest, I don’t want any more.”

“Do let me go,” Fisher continued, putting his hands together in a supplicating manner.

“Shut up, you sniveling little idiot! I won’t have it!” Hunston said.

“Something will happen!”

“Let it.”

“It will! Oh! I know it will!”

“I know what will happen to you; and that is the jolliest hiding you ever had in your life if you don’t dry up. You’ll catch it, so take a fool’s advice, and get into the boat without riling me any more.”

His looks were so menacing that Fisher, who stood in great awe of him, did not dare to say anything more.

Old Simon launched the boat, which was rather more frail than she should have been for two such novices in the art of rowing.

But he was not to blame, as they had deceived him, and he thought they could row if they did not understand the management of a boat.

“Are you going to steer, sir?” asked old Simon, as Hunston stepped into the boat.

“No; my friend will do that,” he answered.

“Let him get in first, then, if you please. The coxswain always goes first. That’s it. Bend your body a little, sir, or you’ll capsize the skiff, and have a swamp before you’re fairly started. Have you got the lines? Stop; they’re twisted. Better have them free. Hold hard a minute. That’s all right. Now, then, you get in, sir, and I’ll hand you the sculls.”

Old Simon arranged everything satisfactorily, and pushed the boat off.

Hunston made a great splashing with the sculls, but managed to propel the skiff a little unsteadily through the water.

Fisher, in time, found that if he wanted to go to the right, he had to pull the right string; if to the left, the left string, and by this simple rule, he learned to steer easily.

Hunston had been on the water before, and had considerable confidence in his own powers.

His rowing was not elegant, or in good time. He neglected the movement of the oars called “feathering.” and he dug them in deep, as if he was turning up a field with a spade.

Yet his great strength told, and the boat went along at a respectable pace.

It was a lovely day.

The Lea was calm as a millpond, and Fisher, who saw his face reflected in its treacherous depths, could not help thinking what a glass-like winding-sheet it would make for the drowned.

Just in this particular part of the country the river wound in and out with many a curve and quaint formation of channel.

It was very pleasantly wooded, and innumerable trees of every kind cast their shadows upon the gliding stream.

“Isn’t this jolly?” said Hunston.

“Yes; it is very pretty, but the river is deep, isn’t it?” answered Fisher.

“Rather. It would drown you if you were ten times as big as you are.”

“Don’t talk like that. The idea of being drowned is dreadful. Fancy being sent out of this world with all one’s sins upon one’s head,” Fisher said.

“What sins can a schoolboy have? You talk nonsense.”

“Don’t we pray in church to be delivered from sudden death?”

“I say,” cried Hunston, uneasily, “stash that. You turn a pleasure into a grief. I felt jolly just now, and you have made me miserable.”

Fisher was silent, and they went on for some distance without any further conversation.

Hunston eased a little, and turned around to look before him.

“Look ahead,” he cried. “There is a fallen tree on the left. Mind how you steer.”

“I see it; and there is a boat coming ground the corner on the right,” returned Fisher.

“Is there? I’ll put on a spurt, and show them how to row.”

He bent over the stretcher, and the boat flew through the water.

CHAPTER XIII

IN THE WEEDS

JACK HARKAWAY was restless and excited, though his habitual self-possession would not have permitted a casual observer to notice it.

Walking quickly towards the river, he strolled along by the bank, watching the fish rise after the flies, and regretting that he did not bring a rod and line with him.

Soon he almost forgot his trouble.

The stern Mr. Mole faded away before the rippling stream and the pleasant sunbeams.

His schoolboy heart could not continue heavy, and he plucked flowers, chased butterflies, and threw stones at the fish and the birds as merrily as if he were not playing truant, and had not to fear the anger of his tutor on his return for his disobedience.

Suddenly he heard a loud cry.

This was followed by another and another.

It struck him that the voice was familiar, and he rushed forward.

The river here made a bend, so that he could see nothing until he rounded the corner.

There was a noise of splashing, more cries, then a gurgling sound, and all was comparatively still.

He had not gone far before a couple of skulls floated past him.

These were followed by a boat bottom upwards.

“Somebody has swamped,” thought Jack. “I hope they are in no danger.”

The next moment he came full against a boy who was standing on the bank dripping wet.

He was holding on by the branch of a tree, and peering down into the clear depth of the river.

On his face was an expression of agony.

“Hunston!” cried Jack.

He started, and turned around.

“Oh! Harkaway,” he cried, in piteous accents, “what shall I do—what shall I do?”

“What’s the matter?” said Jack.

“Fisher!”

“You took him, after all?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?” Jack asked, almost fiercely.

“Down there. I saw him sink, and you know I can’t swim. How I got on shore was a wonder, but I caught the root of a tree, and——”

“Down where?” asked Jack.

“He’s there! Down at the bottom of the river, can’t you see? His eyes are shut; he is lying on his back, in the weeds.”

Jack took one look.

It was true that Fisher, when the boat capsized, made a desperate effort to reach land, and keep afloat.

Hunston, anxious for self-preservation, was unable to render him any assistance.

At length he sank, and lay still and quiet among the weeds which grew rankly at the bottom of the water.

Fortunately the stream was not more than eight feet deep.

Jack calculated the distance by a rapid glance, and with incredible rapidity had off his coat, waistcoat and boots.

Standing on the edge of the bank, he plunged in head foremost.

Hunston watched him with breathless interest.

For him it was indeed an exciting moment.

If Fisher died in this wretched manner, he alone would be to blame for his untimely decease.

With eager and expectant gaze he followed every movement of the heroic boy.

The water was so transparent that he could distinctly see him.

Jack dived like an otter, and when he reached the bottom, twined his arms around Fisher’s inanimate body.

The weeds seemed to hold him in a deadly grip.

It was in vain that Jack endeavored to pull him away.

Baffled and defeated, he rose to the surface.

Hunston fell back sick and ill.

Would he be conquered?

Having recovered his breath, Jack made a second dive, setting his lips firmly together, and preparing himself for the final struggle.

It was a match between himself and death.

Who could tell whether he or the grim king of terrors would be victorious?

CHAPTER XIV

SAVED

The suspense in which Hunston was kept was not of long duration.

By the exercise of a prodigious effort, Jack succeeded in loosening Fisher’s body from the encircling weeds.

Then he placed his feet firmly against the ground and jerked himself upwards.

He was glad enough to draw his breath, for he had been under water nearly three-quarters of a minute.

Striking out with one hand and holding Fisher with the other, he struck out for the shore.

Hunston leant over, and holding on to a tree, held out his disengaged hand, by which means he gave material assistance.

At length the boy and his senseless burden effected a footing on the bank.

When he reached dry land he fell back exhausted. Hunston placed Fisher on the grass under a tree, and wondered if was dead.

Suddenly a voice which appeared to proceed from some neighboring bushes, exclaimed in tones of the deepest thankfulness:

“Thank God!”

Jack raised himself on his elbow, and said:

“Did you hear that?”

“No,” replied Hunston, who was further off, “what was it?”

“I thought I heard somebody; and hark, isn’t that the rustling of a woman’s dress?”

“More likely the wind among the trees. I wish I could hear or see somebody. What’s to be done with Fisher?”

Jack listend for a few moments, and hearing nothing more got up and walked over to Hunston.

“It must have been my fancy, though I could have sworn I heard some one in that thicket,” he said.

“What rot,” cried Houston. “I wish you wouldn’t go having these fancies when we ought to think of this poor little beggar lying here.”

“I’ll try to think in a minute,” replied Jack. “But you don’t know how dizzy diving makes you, and what with that and the excitement of the thing, I’m as nearly dead beat as possible. I shall get my wind back in a second, and I shall be brighter.”

Hunston never once thanked Harkaway for the service he had rendered him in saving Fisher’s life, which he seemed to take as a matter of course.

“What is the proper thing to do in cases of drowning?” asked Hunston. “Hang them up by the feet to let the water out?”

“I don’t know much about it, but I have read that that is just the very thing you ought not to do,” answered Jack, with a half smile. “You want to keep the blood from the head, not send it there. Lay him down as if he was in bed. That mound with the moss on it answers admirably for a pillow; chafe his hands and rub him a little. If we had some brandy, I think we might give him some.”

“Perhaps old Simon has some at the boat-house, but that’s nearly a mile, or else I would run and get some.”

“I’ll go,” said Jack, “though I feel rather weak, and am so jolly wet. It will take me full five minutes to get my boots on.”

Hunston made no reply.

His odious selfishness showed itself at every turn. Luckily there was a hail from the river.

“Hullo! you young gents—what’s up?” exclaimed a voice, which they recognized as old Simon’s.

He had come up with a gentleman in a punt, who was desirous of having an hour or two’s fishing in a favorite hole of his, and on the way Simon had noticed his boat bottom upwards, with the sculls not far off.

He knew that an accident had happened by these tokens.

“Only a swamp,” answered Hunston, in a loud voice.

“Any damage done?”

“Not much. It’s all right.”

Turning to Jack, he added:

“Go into those bushes, will you, until I come to you. I have got into this bother myself and want to get out of it in my own way.”

“But my dear fellow”—began Jack.

“I don’t want you to be seen in it. Let me do as i like in this instance as a favor, will you? I’ll never forget your kindness if you will.”

“Shall you be long?”

“No; my idea is to get old Simon to take Fisher to his house. He’ll do it better and quicker by water than we shall by land.”

“Very well,” Jack replied.

Taking his clothes in his hands, he darted into the bushes indicated by Hunston, just as Simon had landed and came into sight.

He could not quite understand Hunston’s meaning and purpose in making the singular request he had submitted to him, but being essentially and thoroughly a good-natured fellow, he did not care to refuse him.

When Simon, followed by the angler, caught sight of Fisher, he shook his head.

“Drowned!” he said; “I thought you could swim, young gentleman.”

“I can swim well enough,” Hunston boldly answered in reply to the boatman. “I had to go in after my friend here because he got caught in the weeds. But he’s not dead; he’ll come to if you will attend to him.”

“That’s a different matter,” said Simon; “and I’m glad to see you had the pluck in you. I always take a gentleman’s word, and when you said you could swim, why, I let you have the boat.”

“It’s a bad affair, but I think the boy will come around,” the stranger remarked.

“A warm bath and blankets will do him more good than anything else, with a drop of spirits,” replied Simon; “and if you don’t mind fishing from the bank, sir, for once, I’ll take the punt back to my house and see to him.”

“Certainly; take it, and I will lend you a hand. You have two poles, and two can punt better than one.”

“That’s true enough, sir, and thank you,” Simon rejoined; “you’re like me, you can’t bear to see a fellow-creature in distress; bear a hand, sir; I’m going to take you at your word, we’ll lift him in gently. See he breathes, and that’s one comfort. Lor’, what a way Mr. Crawcour would be in if he knew one of his boys had been in the water like this.”

“Thank you, Simon,” said Hunston; “I always knew you were not a bad old sort, and I will see that you are rewarded for your trouble.”

“I don’t want any reward but that of my own conscience. Are you coming with us?”

“No, I shall only be in the way. If I come it will make the boat heavier, so I’ll run along the bank and get to the boat-house as soon as you.”

“Right!” said Simon, who, with the aid of the stranger, carried the still inanimate boy to the punt.

He was laid comfortably at the bottom of the punt, which by the energetic exertions of the two men, rapidly disappeared in the distance, and was soon concealed from view by the overhanging alder and pollard willows, whose pendant branches drooped in the stream.

As may be imagined, Hunston’s reluctance to accompany the punt arose from his wish to speak to Jack.

His vanity had prompted him to take upon himself the merit of saving Fisher’s life, and he thought he knew Jack’s character well enough to be sure that he should find him a willing tool in his hands.

“Jack!” he cried; “Harkaway!—Jack!”

Out of the bushes came Jack, who had contrived to dress himself, and was shivering from the effects of his immersion.

“Is he gone?” asked Jack.

“Yes, down to old Simon’s. The responsibility is on their shoulders now, and he will be quite safe with them.”

“How did it happen?” continued Jack.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was larking, trying to frighten Fisher, by moving the boat on one side, then on the other. He got into a funk, lost his balance, and the accident occurred. It was a wonder we weren’t both drowned.”

“Perhaps you’re reserved for another fate,” observed Jack, slyly.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Don’t chaff, then,” said Hunston, “or I shall think you still want to quarrel with me, when I wish to be friends with you.”

“I don’t indeed,” replied Jack.

“Give me your hand on it, then.”

“Willingly.”

They shook hands.

“I thought Mole walked you off with him, and that he would give you some imposition to keep you in,” continued Hunston.

“So he did.”

“How did you get out then?”

“Because I didn’t go in. That’s easy enough, isn’t it?” replied Jack.

“You wouldn’t do it?”

“No. It was some chapters in the Bible, and I did not see why he should pick me out to be punished, when you were just as bad as I, so I determined to stick out against it.”

“Oh, my! won’t you catch it? I wouldn’t be you when you get back,” Hunston cried, with mock commiseration. “I’m sorry for you.”

“You needn’t be. I don’t want your sorrow. I know what I’m about,” Jack said.

“I’ve been here longer than you,” exclaimed Hunston, after a moment’s reflection, “and I’ll tell you how to get out of it.”

“How?”

“Go back to school. Don’t say anything about our swamp or saving Fisher. He don’t know, and when Mole asks you for your impo., say you couldn’t write, because you had the cramp in your hand.”

“Would that be right?” Jack asked, doubtfully.

“It is always fair to deceive a master. He is bound to take your word, if he doesn’t find you out in a lie.”

“I don’t half like it.”

“Did he deal fairly with you?” said Hunston.

“No.”

“Well, then, why should you have any hesitation in cheating him? I once tried the same dodge, and it succeeded splendidly.”

“What? Cramp in your hand?”

“Yes, the cramp dodge. Lots of fellows have done it.”

“All right, I’ll try it,” said Jack; “but if I came to grief, it’s you who will be to blame for it.”

“By adopting my plan, you will probably get off scot free; if you don’t, you are safe to get a welting.”

“That’s true,” said Jack, who was unable to stand against this mode of argument.

“Cut away, then. I’ll back you up like a brick, and mind one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Don’t say a word about what has occurred here, or you will only get me into a row, and do yourself no good.”

Jack nodded and started off at a brisk trot to the school, while Hunston started away, equally quickly, for the boat-house.

CHAPTER XV

THE RESULT OF THE DODGE

WHEN he got back to the school, Jack changed his clothes, and then went to the schoolroom, and sat down and read a book, as he had some time to while away before tea.

A little before six, Mr. Mole entered the schoolroom, and looked around him.

“Harkaway,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” answered Jack.

“Have you finished your punishment! If so, you write very quickly.”

“No, sir; I haven’t done it.”

“Not done it?” repeated Mr. Mole, growing red in the face with rising anger. “Why, may I ask?”

“Because I couldn’t, sir.”

“And why could you not?”

“I had the cramp in my right hand, sir, and not being left-handed, I could not write with the other.”

Jack felt that he flushed while telling this falsehood, and cast down his eyes, being afraid to look the master in the face.

“In-deed!” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “When did this remarkable attack of cramp come on?”

“Directly I got in, sir. I must have hurt the sinews in the fight.”

So one lie brings about another.

“That shows the folly and danger of fighting. It shows, also, my justice in punishing you. How is your hand now?”

“Rather stiff and painful, sir, thank you,” Jack replied.

“I hope you will be better soon. I will reconsider your case tomorrow.”

With those words, Mr. Mole walked away to another part of the room, but he was not convinced of the truth of Harkaway’s excuse.

He knew the numerous tricks to which schoolboys have recourse when they wish to escape from punishment.

It will be remembered that we have described Maple, Hunston’s friend, as a sneak.

He was ready, at all times, to do dirty work for anybody.

Perhaps Mr. Mole knew Maple’s character, for he went to him, seeing him cutting out a boat from a piece of wood in the yard.

“Maple,” said he, “will you go to Harkaway and ask him to write a letter to your mother?”

“Yes, sir. But can’t I write it myself?” inquired Maple.

“I don’t want you to do that.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Say you have cut your thumb, and tie a handkerchief around it.”

Maple did so with the utmost readiness.

“Don’t say a word to Harkaway about the request I have made to you.”

“No, sir.”

“When the letter is written, come to me here.”

Maple promised compliance, and went at once to the schoolroom, where Mr. Mole told him he would find Jack.

Jack was biting his nails, and thinking over the adventures of the afternoon.

“I say, Harkaway,” said Maple.

“Well; what’s the matter? Have you hurt your hand?” said Jack.

“Cut my thumb, making one of those beastly boats,” replied Maple, holding up his bandaged hand, and showing at the same time the model of the boat.

“That’s a bore.”

“So it is, particularly tonight, when I have to write home.”

“Have you, though?”

“Yes, my mother asked me to write, and she’ll fret if she does not have an answer to her letter,” said Maple.

“Shall I write for you?” asked Jack, who fell unsuspectingly into the trap.

“I wish you would. You’d do me an awful favor. I didn’t like to ask you.”

“I will with pleasure. Get met a sheet of paper and an envelope, and, I say”——

“What?”

“Where’s Mole?”

“Outside.”

“Are you sure?”

“I saw him as I came in.”

“That’s all right,” said Jack; “I don’t want him to see me writing.”

“Why not?”

“Never mind. I have my reasons,” said Jack, who was always a little reticent. “What am I to say? Go ahead.”

Maple produced the necessary writing materials and dictated a letter to Jack, who was soon busily engaged in putting down on paper the filial utterances of his companion.

“What shall I sign it? ‘Your affectionate son?’ ” Jack inquired.

“Yes, or, ‘Your ever affectionate son?’ ” suggested Maple.

“Stop!” suddenly exclaimed a voice at their backs.

Jack looked around and beheld Mr. Mole, who had approached noiselessly.

It was useless to try to hide the letter, for the tutor had his hand upon it, and Jack held the pen between his fingers. It was wet with ink.

In fact he was caught in the act.

“So, my boy,” said Mr. Mole, with a perceptible tinge of triumph in his tone. “I have found you out, have I? You can write when you like, but not when I like.”

“Please sir, the cramp’s gone away. It went away as suddenly as it came,” Jack said, putting a good face on the matter.

“I do not believe in those sudden cures.”

“Ask a doctor, sir.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort, and beg you will not talk to me in that impudent manner. You are a hardened, deceitful, quarrelsome, idle boy, and I will have you punished. When I make my report personally to Mr. Crawcour tonight, I shall complain of you, and make no doubt you will be soundly caned.”

“Please sir ”—— began Jack.

“It is no use pleading. When I say I will complain to Mr. Crawcour, the matter is out of my hands,” Mr Mole said, cutting him short.

He walked away.

“You’ve got me into a nice row,” remarked Jack in a lugubrious tone, to Maple.

“It wasn’t my fault,” answered the latter.

“I don’t say it was, still it’s very annoying. The prospect of a caning is not very pleasant, but it is being found out in a lie that annoys me. It is bad enough to tell one, for it is always on your conscience, and for others to know it makes it ever so much worse.”

“You’ll get use to it,” said Maple, consolingly.

The bell now rang for tea, and the boys proceeded to the lavatory to get themseves ready for the meal.

There was great excitement amongst the boys, who were all talking about something that had happened.

Jack listened first to one group, then to another, and gathered sufficient disjointed particulars to make a connected whole.

They were talking about Hunston and Fisher, the latter of whom had, it appeared, been just brought to the house and put to bed much better, quite sensible, and able to recognize and speak to his friends.

There had been a swamp on the river, they said, and had it not been for Hunston’s bravery in rushing to the rescue, Fisher must have gone to the bottom and been drowned.

Jack listened to all this and smiled.

Hunston himself was the center of an excited group.

Boys patted him encouragingly on the back, saying:

“Bravo, old fellow! Well done! Very plucky thing indeed. Saved his life, and no mistake! He’s got something to thank you for. Bravo! bravo!”

He was the hero of the hour.

When the tea-bell rang a second time, all the boys scampered off to their places.

Hunston looked around anxiously when he was comparatively alone.

He was searching for some one.

Presently he saw Jack crossing the yard, and darted over to him.

“Oh! here you are, Harkaway,” he said, in a nervous tone; “ I’ve been looking for you every where.”

“I wasn’t far off.”

Hunston lowered his tone.

“You haven’t said anything?” he asked.

“Not a word.”

“Not to a soul?”

“No. I gave you my word, and I shall keep It.”

The cloud passed from Hunston’s face as he exclaimed:

“That’s right; keep dark. It is the only way pull you through.”

And he went in to tea.

If he could have seen the contemptuous expression with which Jack regarded him, he would not have been satisfied with himself.

CHAPTER XVI

THE SILENT WITNESS

Mr. Mole was one of the first to hear of Hunston’s supposed heroism, for he saw old Simon, who brought Fisher up to the school, and from his lips he heard an account of the accident.

Going up to Hunston, after tea, he said:

“You have done a brave act, though you were wrong in taking Fisher on the river, because he cannot swim.”

“Yes, sir, I was wrong there; but he begged so hard to go,” answered Hunston.

“I was not aware that you were yourself a proficient in the art.”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“Well, I shall report your conduct to Mr. Crawcour, and he will, no doubt, reward you in some fitting manner for your bravery.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Hunston, whose cheeks flushed either with pleasure or shame at the deception he was practicing.

During the whole of the evening he watched Harkaway carefully.

He felt like a man who stands upon a volcano which may break into a mass of flame at any moment.

One word from Jack would scatter his carefully-built edifice to the winds.

In event of his being detected, how great would be his mortification at the exposure.

Fisher was very weak.

The shock to his system had been great, and the doctor who was called in had recommended that he should be moved to a room by himself, as any noise might be prejudicial to his health.

So in Hunston’s dormitory a bed was left vacant.

Jack could not help thinking how dismal it would have been if that little bed had been vacated forever by its tenant .

As soon as the boys were got off to bed, Mr. Mole looked over the notes he had made in his pocket-book against certain boys of whom he had to complain.

Mr. Crawcour heard the complaints in the evening, slept over the matter, and punished the delinquents in the morning.

Knocking at the principal’s door, the senior master was told to come in, which he did.

Mrs. Crawcour was reclining on the sofa, covered with a thin shawl.

She did not move when Mr. Mole entered.

Her husband was siting at a table on which was a box of cigars and a bottle of sherry.

He appeared in excellent temper.

“Ah, Mole!” he said; “is it you come to make your report? That’s right. Sit down and have a glass of wine—sherry? There is port and claret, too, in the cheffonier.”

“Thank you, sir; sherry will do,” replied Mr. Mole.

“Help yourself. There is a glass.”

Mr. Mole was not backward in doing so.

“Now what is it? Anything fresh?”

“I have to complain of Harkaway,” replied Mr. Mole.

At the mention of this name, Mrs. Crawcour slightly turned her head, as if disposing herself to listen to what was coming.

“Tell me about him. I have not seen much of him. He is a mischievous boy,” Mr. Crawcour observed, thinking of the tricks which had been played upon him when he arrived at the villa at Highgate.

“I had occasion to tell him to do so much writing this afternoon. He did not do so, alleging that he had the cramp in his hand. I accepted the excuse, but almost directly afterwards found him writing a letter for one of his schoolfellows.”

“That is bad. Send him up to be caned tomorrow morning. The young idea is warped. It must be carefully trained. Physical pain is the best doctor in such a case.”

“I think so, too.”

“Dr. Cane, eh? We will call in Dr. Cane, whose remedies are infallible,” continued Mr. Crawcour, almost cheerfully.

“Now I have the pleasing task of recommending Hunston for reward.”

“What has he done?”

“Fisher, who cannot swim, begged to be taken out in a boat. Hunston foolishly did so. Through Fisher’s folly the boat was upset, and Hunston, at the risk of his own life, gallantly rescued his drowning companion, diving three times for him.”

“Dear me, that is excellent. The poor lad might have been drowned. What a thing that would have been for the school. Bless me! We must be more careful about letting boys go on the water. However, in consideration of Hunston’s gallant conduct, we will overlook the offense of taking Fisher on the river. He shall be called up before the whole school tomorrow morning, complimented, and rewarded with a prize book in which the history of the affair shall he written. Will that do, eh?”

“Very well, indeed, sir. It is just what I should have suggested myself,” replied Mr. Mole.

“Have you anything more to say?”

“Nothing tonight, sir.”

“Take another glass of wine before you go, and as you pass through the boys’ dormitories, let Harkaway know that he will be sent up for a caning tomorrow. It increases the punishment to let a boy think of it and magnify its terrors beforehand.”

“That is my usual custom.”

“Very good.”

Suddenly Mrs. Crawcour rose up and put the shawl over her shoulders.

“I thought you were asleep, my dear,” said her husband.

“I have not been,” she replied, adding, “Mr. Mole will you oblige me by resuming your seat for a few minutes?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

“I do not wish that any injustice should be done, but you have so misrepresented facts.”

“Not willingly, I hope, ma’am,” hastily said the senior master.

“Oh, no. I acquit you of all intention of that. Allow me, however, to set you right on an important matter.”

“I shall be glad to receive your corrections,” he exclaimed.

“How, on earth, my dear, can you know anything about such a thing as a boy having a cramp in his hand?” asked Mr. Crawcour.

“That I do not profess to know anything about.”

“Or an accident on the river?”

“Because of the latter I was an eye-witness,” replied Mrs. Crawcour.

At this declaration, the principal and the senior master regarded her with undisguised astonishment.

CHAPTER XVII

HUNSTON’S DISGRACE

MRS. CRAWCOUR proceeded to relate to her husband and Mr. Mole what she had seen by the waterside.

She had been for a walk in the fields, and hidden by the protecting shade of a thicket, beheld the accident to the boat, witnessing with horror the sinking of Fisher.

Indeed she was so paralyzed with fear that she was unable to cry out.

When Harkaway appeared on the scene, and dived for the unfortunate boy, her heart almost stood still, and it was only when his body was recovered and she saw he was safe, that the power of speech returned to her, and she ejaculated a fervid “Thank God!”

This was the exclamation which Jack had fancied he heard, but which had been set down by Hunston to the sound of the wind amongst the leaves of the trees.

So thoroughly did she put Hunston in the wrong, and show that to Jack alone was due the credit of saving a boy’s life, that Mr. Crawcour was obliged to admit that he was on the eve of committing an injustice.

“However,” he remarked, “I will put everything right tomorrow, and as Harkaway employed his time so well, I think, Mr. Mole, we may let him off this time fur not doing the imposition you set him.”

“I fully concur in that opinion, sir,” answered the senior master.

“Why, my dear,” said Mr. Crawcour to his wife, “did you not disclose these facts which have just come to light on your return home?”

“Because I thought the boys would themselves give a correct account of the affair; and you know I take so little interest in the boys, and detest the life of a schoolmaster’s wife so much, that the interest of the moment passed away, and I did not think of the matter again until I heard Mr. Mole making his report to you.”

Mr. Crawcour sighed.

He wished his wife’s disposition were a little more congenial.

“Ah! well, my love,” he remarked, “we cannot all do as we like in this weary world. Mr. Mole, what do you say to another glass of sherry?”

“Not tonight, thank you sir. I have to look over the Greek exercises of the upper boys,” he replied.

So Mr. Mole took his leave, and the principal, lighting another segar, resumed the reading of his paper.

Mr. Crawcour rarely, if ever, attended early morning school.

He made his appearance at the ten o’clock gathering of the boys, sometimes assisting one master, then another, in hearing the various classes repeat their lessons.

At others sitting at his desk, and looking sharply around him to keep order.

When he took his place as usual the next morning, he struck his desk loudly with a ruler.

Many a heart beat quicker, and the curious hum made by a number of boys repeating their lessons to themselves ceased as if by magic.

“Hunston!” he exclaimed. “Is Hunston here?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the latter.

“Come forward!”

He did so with a quick and confident step, thinking he was about to be publicly thanked and rewarded for saving Fisher’s life.

When he stood before the desk with his hands behind him, a breathless silence reigned in the large schoolroom, through the entire length of which the principal’s clear voice penetrated without any difficulty, and was heard distinctly.

“You went on the water yesterday, knowing you could not swim, thereby breaking one of the rules I have formed for the safety of my boys,” began Mr. Crawcour.

“Yes, sir,” replied Hunston, trembling, a little.

“You took with you a younger boy, who is now suffering from an immersion which resulted from an accident. This boy, Fisher, could not swim, and you knew it.”

Hunston was silent.

“In addition to this you spread a report that you had saved Fisher’s life, knowing the statement to be false.”

“Please, sir, I”——

“Don’t aggravate your offense by adding one lie to another,” interrupted Mr. Crawcour.

Then rising his voice, he said:

“Harkaway, come forward.”

Jack did so.

“After you had so gallantly rescued Fisher from a watery grave,” Mr. Crawcour went on, “what induced you to hide your light under a bushel, and let this boy take all the credit to himself?”

“I did not know he was going to do so, sir,” answered Jack.

“Why were you silent? You must have heard what was said in the school.”

“Yes, sir; but I had no business out, having been kept in by Mr. Mole. I thought I should be punished, and Hunston suggested if I said nothing about the boat accident, and pretended I had the cramp in my hand, Mr. Mole would let me off. I gave Hunston my promise, and how you have got at the truth I don’t know.”

“There are channels of intelligence open to me which none of you know,” the principal replied in a severe tone, “and this will be a lesson to all of you not to attempt to deceive me.”

There was a pause.

Hunston stood sullen and defiant, as if he was nerving himself for his fate.

“What have you to say?” he cried to Hunston.

“Nothing,” answered Hunston, sulkily.

“In order to show my appreciation of your conduct, Harkaway,” continued Mr. Crawcour, “I shall apply to the Royal Humane Society for their medal for you, and if they do not think fit to bestow it upon you, I will have one especially made.”

At this time there was a loud cheer, the boys crying, “Hurrah!” and “Bravo, Harkaway!” and those of his own immediate circle, “Well done, Jack!”

“Silence!” thundered the principal.

The enthusiastic noise was instantly hushed.

“At the same time,” said Mr. Crawcour, “I see no reason to remit the punishment which you shirked. Dicipline must be kept up. You will do that, and hand at to Mr. Mole before you are again permitted to take recreation. After that you will repeat the task for my satisfaction, as I must show my sense of displeasure at your boldness in going out to play when strictly ordered to remain indoors. About the subterfuge of the cramp in your hand I shall say nothing, as it was suggested to you by a greater culprit. Go to your seat.”

Jack went away much pleased to get off so easily.

It was now Hunston’s turn.

“You, Hunston, are now in Mr. Pumpleton’s fouth class,” Mr. Crawcour continued; “I shall disgrace you by turning you down into the second, where you will be amongst the little boys under Mr. Stoner.”

A deep flush overspread Hunston’s face.

“In addition to this, I shall publicly cane you before the whole school.”

As he spoke he made a signal to Mr. Mole, who directly went for the cane.

Then he beckoned to Collinson, the head of the school, who proceeded to “horse” the offender.

Hunston was made to get on a form, and climb therefrom to Collinson’s back, putting his arms around his neck, which Collinson held firmly, seizing him by the wrists.

When the cane came, Mr. Crawcour mounted a small table so as to have more command over the boy’s back, and proceeded to cane him.

A shower of blows descended faster and faster over his back and legs.

Wish! wish! went the cane, as it cleft the air, giving out a dull thud us it touched Hunston, who roared lustily.

The chastisement was an exemplary one, for the principal did not leave off until the cane fell from his hand with sheer exhaustion.

Hunston, unhorsed, limped back to his place, sobbing violently, rubbing his injured body, which seemed to ache all over, and vowing a bitter vengeance against Harkaway.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE BEST MAN WINS

Having performed an act of justice, Mr. Crawcour seemed happy, though he often declared it pained him to the heart to have to cane any of his dear boys.

The punishment he had received did not improve Hunston’s temper.

During that day he had no opportunity of seeking a quarrel with Jack, as the latter was obliged to stay in to write out his impositions.

He had made up his mind, however, that Harkaway was solely to blame for what he had endured.

That he had gone behind his back, and broken his promise by sneaking, he felt confident.

His toady, Maple, was of the same opinion, and advised him strongly to be revenged.

“He must be a sneak,” said Maple, “or how could Mr. Crawcour have known it?”

“I’ll let him have something for himself,” answered Hunston, “when I am not sore. At present every bone in my body aches.”

“I should think it does. I’ve never been caned myself, but I can fancy it.”

“Imagination’s nothing to the reality,” Hunston said, making a wry face.

“Didn’t he lay it on?”

“I don’t believe there is any school in the country where they cane harder or so much. I shall write home, and ask them to take me away.”

“Perhaps your father will write for paaticulurs, and say you were wrong, and deserved it,” observed Maple.

“That’s the worst of it. The governor’s rather strict.”

“I’d have it out of Harkaway.”

“I will, too, you see if I don’t,” answered Hunston, grating his teeth.

In a few days he recovered from the effects of his tharshing, and sought a quarrel with Jack, who was not the least backwards in obliging him.

They met as before in the playing-field, and Hunston purposely pushed up against Jack.

Several friends of the latter had come down to see the row, for Hunston had boasted he was going to give Harkaway a jolly good hiding for sneaking.

“I say,” cried Jack, “don’t you do that again?”

“I shall if I like,” replied Hunston, insolently.

“Look out, if you do, that’s all.”

“Look out for what?”

“Never mind,” said Jack.

“But I do mind. If you cheek me, I’ll pound you so that your own father and mother won’t know you.”

“Haven’t got either one or the other,” Jack replied.

“Perhaps you never had.”

This was a random shot on the part of Hunston, but it told, nevertheless. Jack was silent.

“I believe,” said Hunston, “he’s a foundling, or something of that sort.”

The boys who were collecting in a little crowd around the disputants tittered.

Jack’s face grew scarlet.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I have an idea you never knew your parents. I’ve never heard you speak of them.”

“Suppose I did not. Is that my fault?” Jack remarked, rather imprudently.

“Oh! you admit it, do you? Then I wasn’t far wrong!” cried Hunston, hilariously; adding, “I say, you fellows, here is some workhouse brat or other amongst us, and we have only just found it out, I will cut him for one, and I think every other decent fellow will do the same.”

“Quite right. Certainly. Cut him dead,” cried several, with the proverbial uncharitableness and fickleness of schoolboys.

A few days before they applauded Jack to the echo. Now they were ready to hound him down and treat him with ignominy.

“No workhouse brats here!” cried Maple, taking his, cue from Hunston.

“Who are you?” asked Jack, scarcely knowing what to say.

“I am the son of a common-councilman and a deputy. Every one in our ward of Portsoken calls my father Mr. Deputy Hunston. That’s being somebody, isn’t it?”

“He might be lord mayor if he lived long enough,” said Jack, attempting a sneer.

“Well, and where is the disgrace in that? Better be the son of an honest and respectable lord mayor than the son of a nobody knows who,” returned Hunston.

He had got hold of a weapon against Jack of which he saw the value, and he was not at all disposed to let it slip from his grasp.

“If you say that again,” said Jack. “I’ll hit you in the eye!”

“Two can play at that game.”

“If you are going to fight, fight,” exclaimed one big fellow in the crowd. “It looks to me as if one was afraid and the other daren’t.”

“I’m not afraid of a workhouse brat!” remarked Hunston, with ineffable contempt.

“Nor I of some tradesman who has made money by flouring his mustard and sanding his sugar,” replied Jack.

This was an allusion to the common-councilman, who was a grocer in Eastcheap.

Both combatants were now ready and eager for the fray.

A ring was formed as it had been before, when Mr. Mole interrupted the combat, but on this occasion it was evident that the antagonists “meant business.”

“Shall I back you up, Jack?” asked Harvey, who was on the spot.

“Yes. I wish you would,” was the reply.

Maple was about to volunteer the same good office for Hunston, when Stanbridge, a young man in the sixth, who was Hunston’s cousin, came up.

“Going to have a mill?” he asked.

“Yes,” was the short reply.

“All right. I’ll be your bottleholder, if you haven’t got one.”

“Thanks very much,” said Hunston, joyfully.

The accession of one of the sixth to his cause was extremely gratifying to him.

It did not take the antagonists long to strip. When they had their jackets and waistcoats off they faced one another.

Jack struck the first blow, but Hunston stepped back in time, and it did not do much damage.

The fact was Jack was in a passion, and only cared about hurting his enemy, while Hunston was as cool as a cucumber.

Directly after Hunston rushed at Jack, feigning with his left hand, and striking with his right.

Jack fell back and lost his balance.

His second, Harvey, called time as the first round was over.

They quickly recovered, and began again.

This time Jack was more wary.

He stood well on his toes, was springy and elastic, and darted back as rapidly as he darted forward.

He had a tantalizing way, too, of moving his head on one side so as to avoid a blow, which several times saved him from being hit.

Hunston fatigued himself by trying to get at him. At last Jack stood still, keeping his fists hanging idly by his side.

Hunston rushed in, and catching him unawares, struck him a heavy blow on the forehead, which caused him to reel to and fro like a sapling in a storm.

Seeing he was falling, Harvey rushed forward and caught him in his arms, conveying him to a quiet corner, where he laid him down on the grass.

“Are you much hurt, Jack?” he asked.

Jack opened his eyes and looked vacantly about him.

“Come, wake up,” cried Harvey, “they’ll call time directly.”

With some difficulty Jack threw off the stunning effects of the blow.

“Tire him out. Be doggy,” whispered Harvey; you know he is stronger than you. He let you have it pretty hot, but it will be your turn next.”

“All right,” said Jack, as he got on his legs once more.

“Has your man had enough of it?” asked Stanbridge, in a derisive tone.

“Not yet; he’s full of fighting,” answered Harvey.

“Is he?” replied Stanbridge. “If so, I have only your word for it. He don’t look like it.”

“You’ll find that good enough.”

At the commencement of the third round, Jack collected himself, and determined to be as quick as his opponent.

He was also a little artful.

Going close to Hunston, he pretended to be off his guard and let him strike out at him, lowering his head at the same time, and immediately afterwards delivered one right and another left, before he could recover himself.

Hunston’s mouth began to bleed, as his lip was cut open, and he had received a blow in the stomach, which made him gasp for breath.

At the same moment, he put his hand to his mouth to feel the extent of the damage, as his teeth felt loose.

Taking advantage of this imprudence, Jack rushed at him again, and hitting him a violent blow on the nose, had the satisfaction of seeing him roll over like a stone.

“I’ll lake six to four about the small boy,” said Collinson, the cock of the school, who came up just in time to see this feat performed.

“I’ll give it to you,” answered Stanbridge, who was nettled at the effect of superior skill on the part of Harkaway.

Collinson nodded, and Stanbridge occupied himself with the task of bringing up his man.

“Smell this,” he said, holding a bottle of eau-de-cologne, which he happened to have in his pocket, to his nose. “You’ll be as fresh as paint directly.”

“I’m all right,” replied Hunston, rather feebly. “I’m not going to funk because I have got a crack in the mouth.”

“That’s your sort,” said Stanbridge. “Go in and win, old boy.”

He did go in, but, as a matter of dry fact, he did not look much like winning.

They rushed wildly at one another, giving blows right and left, until Hunston fell before a severe hit under the left ear.

He was up again directly, and faced Jack, who was full of fighting.

Jack’s tactics were to get him into chancery, as he saw he was a strong, powerful fellow, who could take a good deal of knocking about.

He succeeded in his intention.

Stooping to avoid a blow, Hunston found his neck encircled in a strong grasp, and jack began to pound away at his face in a way that was anything but pleasant.

“Drop under,” cried Stanbridge; “he’ll kill you.”

Hunston did drop, but he lay so quiet on the ground that his fiends were afraid he was much hurt.

CHAPTER XIX

A NEST OF SNAKES

Stanbridge was not pleased at the defeat inflicted upon his cousin by Jack.

On the following evening he sent for him to come to his study, which was in the yard at the back of the school.

We have already alluded to these little rooms which were set aside as a special privilege for the prefects.

The evening was a little chilly, and a fire was burning in the grate.

When Jack entered, he saw Hunston sitting near a table, bathing one of his eyes, which was much discolored.

“Here’s the workhouse boy, as you call him. What shall we do with him, Phil?” exclaimed Stunbridge.

“Anything you like,” replied Hunston.

The unfortunate admission made by Jack about his ignorance of his parentage had caused him generally to be spoken of as a workhouse boy or brat, much to his annoyance.

“If I had known you wanted to bully me,” replied Jack, “I wouldn’t have come.”

“In that case, I should have had the trouble of fetching you. Come here.”

Knowing Stanbridge’s superior strength, Jack did not think it prudent to resist.

The prefects had great power in the school, and the principal did not pay much attention to complaints made against them, as he believed the latitude he gave them tended to preserve order.

Taking a piece of rope, Stanbridge fastened it around Jack’s arms and legs, and then placed him deliberately against the fender, his back and legs being only a little distance removed from the fire.

“What are you going to do?” asked Hunson, putting down the sponge, with which he had been bathing his face.

“Roast him.”

“How?”

“As you see,” replied Stanbridge.

“That is a game I never heard of before, but it serves the brute right; by all means roast him,” said Hunston, with a malicious grin.

“They do it at Winchester, or used to, for I knew two follows there, and they told me about it. If it is done at a large public school, why shouldn’t we do it? This man is far too cheeky, and roasting him will hurt as much or more than a licking, and save one a lot of trouble.”

Hunston quite concurred in this opinion of his cousin.

Jack was the only dissenting party, but he could not help himself.

Presently the heat penetrated his trousers, and began to scorch his legs.

In vain he tried to wriggle away from such unpleasant proximity to the fire.

“Oh!” he cried, “let me go. You are burning me. Oh,oh!”

Stanbridge laughed and poked the fire.

The pain now became intense, and, Hunston coming up to Jack; pressed his hand upon Jack’s clothes, so as to make them touch his skin more closely, and increase his suffering.

“Oh!” exclaimed Jack, “I can’t bear it. You cowardly beast. You couldn’t lick me in a fair stand-up fight. Oh! oh!”

The tears came into his eyes, and he shrieked.

There was a smell of burning cloth, and he felt as if he was blistering all over.

“Let me go!” he screamed. “Oh! for heaven’s sake untie me. Oh! you cowards!”

His cries were becoming so loud that Stanbridge was afraid he would attract the attention of some passing master, and he gave Jack a kick which caused him to roll away from the fire.

He lay on the ground moaning and sobbing for some time, but he did not make any complaint.

His determination was to revenge himself on Hunston as soon as an opportunity offered.

After this they seldom spoke, and for weeks, Jack was able to lead a comparatively quiet life.

One day he and Harvey were in the fields with a basket in which they placed some mushrooms they had gathered.

Suddenly Harvey saw a snake glide into a hole under a large stone.

“There’s a snake,” he cried. “Let’s have it out. English snakes don’t bite, or if they do, they’re not poisonous. Where’s a stick?”

“Catch it alive,” said Jack.

“What for?”

“To put it in Hunston’s desk. It will give him fits. He’s funky of snakes. I haven’t paid him off yet for getting Stanbridge to roast me.”

“Lend a hand, then, and turn the stone over. Keep the basket near and I shall seize the beast by the neck and shove him in on top of the mushrooms.”

“All right,” said Jack.

A vigorous pushed sufficed to send the stone rolling over.

A terrible hissing arose.

To their surprise they beheld a nest of snakes.

There must have been a score or more, all gliding about, or erecting themselves, darting out their forked tongues and hissing.

They had collected in a dry dusty hollow under the big stone.

For a moment the lads were frightened and fell back.

“Make haste; they’ll be off,” said Harvey.

He grasped one by the neck as he spoke, just as one does an eel, and slipped him into the basket, shutting down the lid.

“I don’t half like the things,” Jack said, making a feeble drive at one that was trying to escape.

CHAPTER XX

M. BOLIVANT’S DISCOVERY

“Make haste,” cried Harvey, seeing that Jack hesitated, “or they’ll get away.”

In fact the snakes, which were much more afraid of Jack than he was of them, were gliding away in all directions.

The English snake is in reality a very timid creature and afraid of man.

Recognizing the fact, Jack went in strongly, seizing the nimble reptiles as his companion did, and in a few minutes they had bagged about a dozen.

“That will do,” said Harvey, shutting down the lid of the basket and fastening it. “We shall give them a sensation.”

“We must make haste back, or we shall be late for school,” suggested Jack.

“What lesson is it? I forget.”

“French. Bolivant takes our class.”

“So it is. Come along,” and taking up the basket with its hissing freight, Harvey led the way home.

They got into the schoolroom before the other boys, and opened Hunston’s desk, which happened to be unlocked, emptied in the snakes among the pens, papers, etc., and closed it immediately.

Then they stowed away the basket, and awaited the sequel with an eager impatience natural to schoolboys.

Jack had never attempted a trick of this sort before, though he had once caught a couple of dozen cockchafers and let them loose in school time, the buzzing noise they made creating considerable confusion and amusement.

In came M. Bolivant and in came the boys.

Soon the whole school was assembled, and work commenced.

Mr. Crawcour did not attend on that occasion, having gone out with his wife for a drive.

“I wilt take some one boy’s desk—whose shall it be?” exclaimed M. Bolivant, a short-haired, dark, fussy little Frenchman.

“Mine, sir, mine!” said several boys.

“It shall be yours, Hunston! let me come there. Have you paper and pens? I shall put down marks good and bad for you all, when you translate from Telemaque. What is the verb I gave you to learn to conjugate.”

“Aller, sir,” said some one.

“That is right, aller is an irregular verb. Je vais, tu vais, il va; so what does it make in the ‘imparfait?’ ”

“J’irai,” answered Harvey, to whom he pointed.

“No, sir. It does not. J’irai is the future tense. It is J’allais. I shall give you one bad mark—so.”

He opened the desk, and put in his hand to draw some paper.

Jack and Harvey were bursting with impatience, and their hearts beat quickly.

Suddenly M. Bolivant uttered a piercing cry.

What little hair he had on his head stood on end.

He trembled violently, but had not the power to move.

He was like one chained to his seat by a strange species of fascination.

Every one in the school looked up.

Some thought the French master was in a fit.

“Oh! Mon Dieu! V’las des serpents,” he said, in a tone of horror.

Meantime the lid being thrown up, the snakes, alarmed, and tired of the confinement in which they were placed, crawled out.

Some fell on the floor, and seeing themselves surrounded, erected themselves on their tails, and hissed in a terrible manner.

Others fell on M. Bolivant, who, darting backwards, fell on his back, and lay there, deprived of sense and motion, a white foam rising to his lips.

Mr. Mole and the other masters hurried to the spot.

“Snakes!” said Mr. Mole, stopping short, and not liking the look of them.

“Nasty reptiles!” cried Mr. Pumpleton.

“Get sticks and kill them,” cried Mr. Stoner, who was of a practical turn of mind.

Several boys had some hickory-sticks in the room, and they acted upon the hint.

The first alarm being overcome, a chase was instituted, and the little reptiles were dispatched without mercy.

“Lay them on the table,” continued Mr. Stoner.

And the quivering, writhing bodies were put on a long table, the boys crowding curiously round.

Mr. Mole had picked up M. Bolivant, who was revived by a glass of water.

When he saw his dreadful enemies despatched, he looked round fiercely.

“Who has done this for me?” he cried. “Do not think I was what you call frightened by the nasty leetle things. Your English snake not bite: I know that. Ha, ha! You not frighten me, except with your viper. When I know what it is, I not care for all ze tigers in Bengal, nor ze lions in Africa! No, not even for the cobra or the constrictor! But what I say is, who did it? Mr. Mole, will you have the goodness to find out this for me? I will have him punished.”

Order being restored, Mr. Mole made inquiries as to the delinquent; but nobody spoke.

“The creatures were in your desk, Hunston,” he exclaimed.

“I did not put them there, sir,” replied Hunston.

“Did you know anything about it?”

“Nothing, sir; on my word of honor.”

“We have had an instance of how much that is worth,” replied Mr. Mole, with a significant smile.

There was a pause—every one looked at every one else.

M. Bolivant went up to the table and touched a snake with his finger.

“There, you see,” he said; “what harm they to me. Stuff, nonsense; you try to frighten one Frenchman with your English snake. Stuff, nonsense, I say.”

He touched another as he spoke, in a contemptuous manner.

Unfortunately for him, the snake was not quite dead, and turning round, it bit the French master on the finger.

“Oh!” he cried frantically; “he has bit me—l am a dead man. Oh, ze sacre English snake! Oh! Heaven help me! Oh Pater noster, qui es in coelo. Ave Maria! Oh! Holy Virgin! What shall I do? Alphonse Bolivant, you are dead man. Send for ze doctor? Mr. Mole have pity on ze poor Frenchman killed by ze venomous serpent, who bit him so bad!”

Mr. Mole could scarcely forbear laughing.

The boys roared with merriment they could not repress.

Wrapping his finger in his handkerchief, M. Bolivant left the schoolroom, accompanied by Mr. Mole, who in vain endeavored to restorers equanimity and allay his alarm.

A little hot water and a poultice removed any pain or danger which might have existed, but M. Bolivant insisted upon seeing a physician, and wore his arm in a sling for a week; when Mr. Mole declared that he should punish Hunston, if the real offender did not give himself up. Jack and Harvey whispered together.

The result of this confabulation was, that they made a full confession.

This was followed by a penal visit to Mr. Crawcour’s study in the morning; the sound of the cane was heard, and they both came out, shivering and inclined to cry.

The holidays were now rapidly approaching; boys began to hum the old air of Dulce domum, and letters were written home.

Mr. Scratchley wrote to Mr. Crawcour, to ask if he could make arrangements to keep Jack at school, as he only wished him to have holidays once a year, and that at Christmas.

For a slight extra charge this was settled, and much to Jack’s disgust, he was told he would have to remain for six weeks by himself at Pomona House.

The tears came into his eyes at this act of injustice, for he had looked forward to going to what he had a right to consider his home. All the boys were full of animation and jollity.

He alone was sombre and downcast.

No wonder that he was so.

Nothing can be more crushing to the spirits of a schoolboy than to be kept behind when all the rest are going home to mothers, fathers, sisters, friends. He had one companion, however.

This was Fisher.

Ever since the terrible scene in the river, he had been ill and drooping.

His constitution was too weak to stand the shock, and he caught a severe cold which settled on his chest.

Frequently were the visits of his mother and father, to his bedside, and they would have gladly taken him home to his London home, but the doctor strongly advised them to let him remain in the fresh country air.

This was how Jack Harkaway came to have a companion in misfortune.

CHAPTER XXI

LORD MORDENFIELD’S ARRIVAL

THE holidays dragged themselves along with provoking slowness.

Even Mr. Bolivant had friends to go to at the sea side.

Mr. and Mrs. Crawcour departed for a tour in Switzerland, taking their children with them.

Mr. Mole went to his relations who were merchants at Bristol.

The housekeeper and servants alone remained, so that Jack had pretty well his own way.

A holiday task, which had been given him to do, did not occupy much of his time as he didn’t let it.

To Fisher, he behaved like a brother, and the poor little fellow was very grateful to him for his unselfish kindness.

He sat by his bedside for hours, and read to him, or talked with him upon various subjects interesting to boys, but Fisher was a peculiar boy, and did not care much for those amusements in which lads of his own age usually revel.

Even to Jack’s inexperienced eyes it seemed as if death had marked him for his own.

His face was so pale, and his eyes were so unnaturally bright; his thin transparent hand would lay on the coverlet like wax and his breathing was labored and difficult.

All sorts of luxuries and nice things were sent him by his friends, of which he pressed Jack to partake.

Of books he had a large store, but be did not like novels and biographies, unless they related to missionaries and good men.

Jack used to read aloud the adventures, perils and hardships of a party of missionaries in Madagascar.

Fisher’s eyes would glisten still more brightly, and in expression of almost divine enthusiasm cross his eloquent features, as he listened with greedy ears.

“Ah!” he would say, with a sigh, “that is what I should like to have done.”

“You will be able to do so when you grow up,” replied Jack.

Fisher shook his head sadly.

“Gladly would I give up everything for my Saviour,” he answered, but I fear I shall be called away before long.”

“Oh, no you won’t. You are ill, and feel weak. You’ll soon be strong and on your legs again,” Jack said.

“Do you really think so,” asked the invalid thoughtfully. “I wish I could, and yet I don’t know why I should wish it. It is nice to die young, Jack—I mean before one has been exposed to any great temptation. It is very heard to try and keep steadfast in the faith.”

“The doctor thinks you will get better,” said Jack, passing the back of his hand over his eyes.

“Whether I do or not, I shall never forget you. Will you read to me now? Take the New Testament; open it anywhere, you are sure to find something comforting. It is only when we are ill, Jack, that we know the value of the Bible.”

“Have something more lively,” suggested Jack. “Robinson Crusoe, now.”

“To me there is nothing so interesting as the Bible. You are strong, and well, and perhaps don’t think as I do. The boys say you did not know your mother. Oh! Jack, if you had a mother like mine, you would—but you seem pained. Have I said anything to hurt you?”

“No,” replied Jack. “But I didn’t think you would have a fling at me for what I said incautiously to Hunston. If I did not know my mother is it my fault?”

“Certainly not; it is your misfortune.”

“I have a firm belief that she is alive, and that I shall see her some day.”

“I did not mean any harm; you know me too well to think that,” said Fisher. “Sit down and talk to me; you are a little upset. You will be yourself presently. You are my friend, you know, Jack—my dearest friend on earth, except my father and mother, because you saved my life.”

Jack was very much attached to his young friend. If he went out fishing he brought him the choicest fish he caught, and he purchased things for him in the town, as far as his slender stock of pocket money would allow him.

But no amount of kindness could avert the unavoidable end.

The seeds of disease were sown in the boy’s slender frame, and as the leaves of autumn began to fall, the time came for him to die.

His parents were constant in their attendance at his side, and their presence, especially that of his mother, seemed to soothe him.

At last they had to tell him there was no hope, and it was done as gently and as delicately as possible.

He folded his hands with resignation, and prayed for a moment.

Then he murmured, “God’s will be done.”

Turning to his mother, he added, as he put Jack’s hand in hers:

“When I am gone, mamma, you will have no child. This is my friend. He has been a friend to me ever since he came to the school, and he has no mother. Will you let him be your boy in my place, and care for him because I love him, even as David loved Jonathan?”

Mrs. Fisher’s sobs choked her utterance, and her tears fell fast.

“Speak to me, mamma dear?” exclaimed the boy.

“Yes, it shall be as you wish,” replied his mother, pressing Jack’s hand.

This was the sufferers last request, the compliance with which, on the part of his mother, gave him great relief.

Before the boys returned from the holidays he was gone, and there was mourning at his father’s house.

“Little boy,” said Mrs. Fisher to Jack after the funeral, “you heard what my poor dear Frank said, and my reply. I will try and think of you as I did of him, but not yet; the wound is too fresh. I must have time to reflect; but remember I am your friend. My husband and I are rich, and something shall be done for your advancement in life. I would have you home with me now, but I am too wretched. Perhaps you cannot understand my feelings. Try to think I mean well, and am not unkind. In a few months I will come and see you again, and you shall tell me all about yourself, and I will adopt you, if you would like that; at present I am too wretched to think of anything but my own selfish grief. Oh! Frank, Frank, it is hard to have you taken from me!”

She wrung her hands in agony.

“Remember, ma’am,” said Jack, in a low tone. “what he said in his last moments. It was not his will he wished done.”

“True, my dear,” she answered. “But you can’t tell what a mother feels when she looses her only darling,” and her tears burst out afresh.

Mr. Fisher went away, and Jack was glad when the time came for work once more. In the bustle of school-life he could forget the death-bed of poor Fisher.

When the boys were assembled for the first time in school, Mr. Crawcour announced an event of importance.

Standing up on the dias upon which his desk stood, he made a little speech.

“Boys,” he said, “it is my pleasing duty to inform you of an event which, I doubt not, you will find as gratifying as it is to me. During my rambles among the mountains of Switzerland I happened to fall in with some distinguished travelers. Their name was already familiar to me, because the family seat is distant about six miles from this town. Lord Mordenfield, of Willow Copse Hall. His lordship is not fourteen years of age, and has been under the care of a private tutor; but such was the force of the arguments that I made use of that Lady Mordenfield was induced to consent to my solicitation that her son should come to our school. His lordship will arrive tomorrow at Pomona House. That this in an honor to the school, you will all be prepared to admit. Some of these days, he, with his vast landed property, may become a cabinet minister. You will then be able to claim acquaintance with him, and proudly say, ‘I was at school with Lord Mordenfield.’ These associations are very valuable. But mind two things”——He paused, and all eyes were fixed upon him.

“No bullying, no snobbishness. Let his lordship be treated as you would treat any other boy. You may write home and tell your parents of the accession to our school of one of the members of the proud and rich aristocracy of this favored land.”

As if by a preconcerted signal, Mr. Crawcour lifted his hand, and instantly Mr. Mole and the other masters gave utterance to a ringing cheer, which was taken up by the boys and echoed and re-echoed through the lofty building.

The school was given a half holiday, to celebrate as event which was felt would make Dr. Begbie and his boys mad with envy.

To have a peer in his own right, and a wealthy one, too, at Pomona House was a fact that the rival establishment could not boast of.

Jack thought of this, and he felt as pleased as the rest, more especially as they got a half holiday.

But he did not know how intimately his future was mixed up with that of the youthful lord.

It was to be disclosed as time went on; yet, strange as it may appear, Jack was to have an extraordinary influence on the career of Hector Mountford Kinturk, Lord Mordenfield.

On the following day his lordship arrived, but we must reserve his description for the next chapter.

CHAPTER XXII

THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER

LORD MORDENFIELD, at the age of fourteen, was the most conceited, offensive, and “stuck-up” little individual it is possible to imagine.

His father died when he was very young. So much the worse for him.

His mother petted and spoiled him in every possible way and on every conceivable occasion, allowing him to have his own way, never contradicting him.

Not that she seemed to love him very much, but because she was of an indolent disposition, and did not care to be troubled; so if be asked for anything, he got it without opposition.

He considered himself immeasurably superior to everybody else, and did not make a favorable impression upon his schoolfellows.

Mr. Crawcour placed him in Harkaway’s class, and the bed just made vacant in Jack’s room by the unfortunate death of poor Fisher was given him.

He would have had a room to himself, had he not said that he was afraid to sleep alone.

Mr. Crawcour did not act upon his usual plan with him.

Instead of appointing a “chum” or companion for him, he told him to look out and select one for himself.

His choice fell upon Jack.

“I am told to select a friend,” he said, “and I should like you because you have an open, honest face, and look as if you could fight. I can’t, and as I dare say I shall get into lots of scrapes, I shall want some one to help me out of them, so you shall be my chum.”

“Thank you for nothing,” replied Jack.

“Oh, but it is something. My mamma, Lady Mordenfield, will ask you to Willow Copse Hall in the holidays. She said she would invite anyone who was kind to me, and I took a fancy to,” exclaimed his lordship.

“Perhaps I would rather stop here,” Jack observed.

“Stop here in this dreadful place. Oh, what a funny fellow you are! I thought one only came here to learn, because one can’t be a real gentleman, if one is ignorant. I’ve my house—it is my house, you know, for all the property is mine when I am of age. You could enjoy yourself so, and have such nice things to eat.”

“I suppose I ought to thank you for your invitation, and I do, but I don’t care to visit people unless I like them,” said Jack, bluntly.

“Don’t you like me?”

“I don’t know yet. We shall see.”

His little lordship elevated his eyebrows, and regarded Jack with intense surprise.

He was so used to the incense of flattery, that the truth appeared a rarity which he relished.

In the course of time Jack did like Lord Mordenfield, more than he had thought he could at first.

The selection which his lordship made as to his friend and companion, raised Jack in the eyes of the principal, and consequently in those of the masters considerably.

Probably, if Jack had toadied him, and given him his way in everything, he would not have had half the influence over him which he did acquire.

Certain it was that Lord Mordenfield had the greatest possible respect for Jack, and looked up to him as his friend, philosopher, and guide.

Great preparations were made for the Fifth of November, Mr. Crawcour, being a stanch Protestant, and holding a firm opinion that the Pope ought to be burnt in effigy.

Tar barrels, shavings, and boughs of trees were provided for a bonfire in the field on a large scale.

Subscriptions were received from the boys for fireworks, and when the list was complete, it was sent up to town, and on the morning of the day the fireworks arrived in care of a man who understood how to use them.

Jack and his lordship, being of an inventive turn of mind, had not been idle.

Lord Mordenfield had a book for boys of a scientific tendency, a part of which was devoted to the manufacture of fireworks.

Jack’s idea was to make a monster cracker, about a yard or more long, which would go off in a succession of reports lasting ten minutes.

Accordingly they set to work in a shed, and spent their spare time in this effort.

The cracker was carefully made, and it looked a most formidable affair; and as they had carefully followed the instructions of the book, they had no doubt about its going off.

“What shall we do with it?” grinned Jack.

“I should like to fasten it on to some one’s coat tail. Oh! it would be such fun,” answered his lordship.

“Whose tail? Mr. Mole’s?”

“No.”

“You don’t mean Mr. Crawcour himself?”

“I do though.”

The audacity of this proposal almost took Jack’s breath away.

In fancy he already saw the dreaded principal of Pomona House selecting one from amongst the rows of glistening canes.

“Who’s to find us out? Do let us do it,” urged Lord Mordenfield.

“Very well,” replied Jack; who dearly loved any Mischief of this kind.

“You must stick it on,” continued his lordship.

“Leave it to me.”

So they hid away their monster cracker until the fifth.

It was dark at five; and after an early tea, every one proceeded to the field, two boys carrying the guy, which had been made in the morning.

The bonfire was lighted, and amidst cheers the guy was thrown among the blazing barrels.

Soon everything was made light as day by the glare, which was allowed to subside before the fireworks were let off.

When it became dusky again, Jack seized an opportunity of fastening his hugh cracker to Mr. Crawcour’s gown, tying it effectually with a piece of string.

At the same moment he set light to it.

This was just in the middle of a sort of interlude.

The flames of the bonfire were flickering and casting a ghastly glare all around.

Mrs. Crawcour and some ladies and gentlemen were seated on chairs near a wall.

Mr. Crawcour strode across to his wife to explain that a flight of rockets would soon take place.

The fuse attached to the cracker burnt slowly, more so than its makers expected.

They began to be alarmed about their own invention.

Would it go off at all?

How would it go off?

What would be the result?

They hoped it wouldn’t go wrong or blow up altogether, for it would then be in the nature of a torpedo, and not much would be left of the unhappy principal of Pomona House.

“Prepare yourself, my dear, for”—— began Mr. Crawcour to his wife, when bang! bang! crack! bang! went the monster cracker.

The sound behind him made the principal jump, and he was the more alarmed as each report agitated and tugged at the flowing gown which he wore over his shoulders as a sign of his position and authority.

“Oh, what is the matter?” asked Mrs. Crawcour, in alarm,“Don’t let the horrid things come to near us; I ask you not to.”

“It is very extraordinary,” said Mr. Crawcour, puzzled.

The are now came to the next knot, and bang! bang! bang! went the cracker with a noise like thunder.

The ladies shrieked.

Mrs. Crawcour appeared as if she was going to faint.

Her husband rushed up and caught her in his arms.

At the same moment bang! crack! bang! exploded the cracker close up to her ear, and with a loud cry, she started up, and ran away across the field.

Mr. Mole came up and was saluted with bang! bang! bang!

“Who’s doing this, Mr. Mole?” cried Mr. Crawcour.

“Doing it. Why you are, sir,” answered Mr. Mole; “and, if I may say so, I think it is beyond a joke. The ladies are frightened to death, and Mrs. Crawcour has gone home in hysterics.”

“What do you mean? Can I help”——

Bang! bang! crack! crack! bang!

Mr. Crawcour foamed at the mouth.

The invited guests all left their chairs, and followed Mrs. Crawcour to the house.

Their host might consider that he was doing an exquisite practical joke. They did not like it.

“Mr. Mole, if this is your doing, I’ll—bang!—have it out with you, sir. in a—crack!—way that will astonish you. The ground seems mined with those infernal—bang!—bang!—crackers. What does it all mean?”

Bang! bang! bang!

Suddenly there was a catastrophe.

The end of the hugh cracker had not been so cleverly and carefully constructed as the beginning.

The fire spread rapidly.

There was aloud explosion, a terrific report, which was heard all over the field, and the principal of Pomona House fell on his face, alter having sprung forward half-a-dozen yards.

Mr. Mole stood still, wiping the powder-sparks out of his eyes, and wondering whose turn it would be next.

CHAPTER XXIII

JACK’S RESOLVE

FORTUNATELY Mr. Crawcour was not much hurt.

Mr. Mole and others came to his rescue.

What remained of the obnoxious cracker was removed from his gown.

He drank a tumbler of brandy and water, which soothed his nerves, and though affecting to laugh at his mishap, he was in reality furiously angry.

His first care was to bring back the guests who had fled in such haste, and when that was accomplished, he gave orders that the display of fireworks should go on as if nothing had happened.

Serenity was soon restored, and everyone forgot the unpleasant occurrence in their delight at the brilliant display with which they were favored.

Taking Mr. Mole on one side, the principal said:

“We must discover the daring culprit who has had the audacity to play such a disgraceful trick upon me.”

“That will not be difficult, sir,” replied the senior master. “These things are not generally hid under a bushel.”

“I will give him such a series of punishments that he shall never forget it as long as he lives. To tie a cracker and such a cracker, to the gown of the principal—to my gown in fact! Was ever such impudence heard of.”

“I don’t know what the school is coming to,” remarked Mr. Mole. “They will be putting squibs in my pocket next.”

“We have brought the spy system in this school to such perfection that the offender’s name must come to our knowledge sooner or later,” continued Mr. Crawcour.

“Shall I go amongst the boys, and see what I can discover, sir?”

“Do, sir, if you please. You know you are my right hand, Mole. I look to you in this crisis of the discipline of Pomona House.”

“Trust me, sir; I will find out everything we wish to know in less than four-and-twenty hours.”

The principal gave Mr. Mole a word of encouragement, and the latter glided away to pry among the boys and find out all he could.

Jack and Lord Mordenfield were laughing and talking together about the success of their scheme.

Knowing Harkaway to be a ringleader in mischief of every description, Mr. Mole touched him on the shoulder.

“Splendid fireworks, Harkaway,” he exclaimed.

“Yes, sir,” said Jack.

“What do you think of them, Mordenfield?” continued Mr. Mole.

“Crackers especially fine, sir,” replied his lordship, with a grin.

“He knows something about it—I am sure he does, by his manner,” thought the senior master.

“Do you allude to that which made Mr. Crawcour look so ridiculous?”

“That wasn’t bad, sir.”

“Not at all. I have just been talking to our principal, and be considers it an excellent joke. He would like to know to whom he is indebted for so much fun.”

“Would he indeed?” cried Mordenfield, thrown off his guard.

Jack tried to get near him, in order to pinch or kick him, so as to warn him against Mr. Mole’s insidious manner.

But the latter put himself between them, and laying his hand on Jack’s shoulder in a familiar manner, effectually cut off any communication of that kind.

“I suppose you had a hand in it. If you had, don’t be afraid to admit it; on occasions like this Mr. Crawcour likes to see his boys lively and independent,” Mr. Mole said, carelessly.

“I didn’t actually do it, but”——

“You know who did—who was it?”

“He isn’t far off.”

“Harkaway,” guessed Mr. Mole.

“Answer for yourself, Jack,” said his lordship with a smile.

Jack with difficulty stifled a groan. He knew what Mr. Mole was, and saw in a minute that his inexperienced friend had got him into another scrape.

“Ah,” said Mr. Mole, with a smile of satisfaction, “you have let the cat out of the bag. It was you and Harkaway, eh?”

“We made the cracker together long ago, but Jack stuck it on; we didn’t mean it to go off with such a bang, though.”

“Never mind, it was great fun, and Mr. Crawcour is just the sort of man to reward merit of every sort. Look at the golden rain, is it not magnificent ?”

“Splendid, sir,” answered Mordenfield.

Mr. Mole gave them a kindly nod, and glided away amongst the crowd in his usual manner.

“Wasn’t it jolly of him to take it so quietly? We shall be the heroes of the school for many a day,” said Mordenfield. “I had no idea Mr. Crawcour was such an easy-going man. Mole put me at rest at once, by the kind way in which he spoke, or I shouldn’t have said a word about it.”

“You have made a nice mess of it,” replied Jack, in a melancholy tone.

“How?”

“You’ll see before long—a pretty kettle of fish you’ll find it.”

“They won’t do anything to me. Mr. Crawcour is too friendly with my mother. If I were beaten, I should write home, and Lady Mordenfield would take me away at once. Wouldn’t your friends?”

“I haven’t got any,” replied Jack, sadly.

“No father or mother?”

“No.”

“By Jove, that’s awkward, but you’ve got a guardian or something.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t care for me,” Jack said.

“Don’t be down on your luck; weave both in the same swim,” said his lordship, consolingly.

Nothing more was said to either of the boys that night. Mr. Mole, however, made his report to Mr. Crawcour, much to that gentleman’s astonishment.

“I am sorry his lordship is in this affair,” he said, thoughtfully. “We must get him out of it.”

“Harkaway was the principal, sir.”

“Yes. He did the deed as one may say. You see Mole, her ladyship is very fond of her son, and I assured her he was in no danger of corporal punishment, as I very rarely have recourse to the cane.”

The principal smiled grimly as he spoke; so did Mr. Mole.

It was an excellent joke.

“Punish Harkaway, sir, and lay all the blame upon him. Say you feel confident that he was the prime mover in the plot—call it a plot.”

“So I will,” answered Mr. Crawcour. “Send Harkaway to me tomorrow morning. The longest cane I have in my study shall be at his service.”

He was as good as his word.

Nothing was said to Lord Mordenfield, who, of course, was led away by the evil counsels of his companion.

Jack was soundly caned, so soundly caned that even his fortitude gave way beneath the prolonged punishment, and he roared as lustily as a young bull calf.

He was told that he must stay in during the hours of relaxation until he had worked through half of Colenso’s Arithmetic.

In addition to this he was to come up every Monday morning, until the end of the half, to be caned afresh.

The severity of the sentence raised a very mutinous spirit in Jack’s breast.

He determined not to put up with it.

A week passed, during the whole of which he was kept a close prisoner in the play hours.

On the following Monday he was caned again, and his spirit of rebellion grew stronger.

“I won’t stand it,” he kept on muttering to himself.

It was in vain that Mordenfield interceded for him.

The only result was that Mr. Crawcour forbade him to hold any intercourse with Jack, who was said to be a bad companion for him.

He was removed to another dormitory, and the two friends only met by stealth.

Harvey was much grieved at Jack’s disgrace, but Hunston rejoiced exceedingly, and lost no opportunity of exulting over him.

The continued confinement to which he was subjected, together with the depression of his spirits, preyed upon the boy’s health.

He went about in a listless manner.

At length he could bear no more.

It was after his third caning that he said to Harvey:

“I shall run away.”

CHAPTER XXIV

RUNNING AWAY

HARVEY gazed at him with undisguised amazement.

“Run away?” he repeated.

“Yes. Why not?” said Jack.

“Such a thing has not been heard of at Crawcour’s since Lane ran away one night, and was brought back the next day, and after being birched before the whole school, he was chained by the leg to the wall till the end of the half.”

“Did you see him chained?” Jack asked.

“No.”

“Then I don’t believe your story. They could not chain him up night and day; he must have been let loose sometimes. It’s all rot about being chained up; but after all, what’s the odds if you were?”

“I shouldn’t like it.”

“Well, I mean to run away, chains or no chains. Will you help me?”

“Of course I will,” answered Harvey.

“Perhaps you’d better not. You might get into a row yourself,” said Jack, who, with his usual generosity, wished to save his friend from any possible unpleasantness.

Harvey’s devotion to him gratified him very much.

He was deeply grieved at the way in which Lord Mordenfield treated him.

Formerly they had been inseparable.

Now that he found the head master looked coldly upon him, and that he was not very popular with the other boys, he behaved coldly, and when he heard the term “beggar’s brat” used by Hunston with regard to Jack, he treasured it up in his memory for future use.

“I’d do anything for you,” said Harvey, “and if you’ve made up your mind to cut and run, I’ll help you.”

They were talking in the schoolroom, where Jack was supposed to be busy at his everlasting task, and he had given himself half-an-hour’s relaxation to talk to Harvey.

He was very weary and disheartened, and rebellious, as we have said, but his fiery spirit was somewhat quenched through the discipline he had undergone.

“I’ll break his temper, and cure him of practical joking,” Mr. Crawcour had said.

And he had partially kept his word.

Perhaps he might, if he had had his way, not only broken his temper, and humbled his proud spirit, but have killed him; for Jack was just the sort of boy to droop and die under continued ill treatment.

Hunston happened to come into the class-room for a book, and he was followed by Mordenfield.

“Look at those two fellows,” said Hunston, who thought he could insult a fallen enemy; “anyone would think they were twins, they are so Siamese.”

“You shut up,” cried Harvey.

“I am more likely to make you, than to do so myself; but I don’t think it is worth your while to have a row with me for the sake of a fellow to whom scarcely anyone in the school speaks but you,” replied Hunston.

“I remember,” answered Harvey, “when you were much more deservedly cut than Harkaway.”

“So you do want a row?” inquired Hunstun.

“If you like it.”

“Don’t lower yourself, Hunston, by quarreling with them,” interposed Mordenfield.

Hunston could be a sycophant as well as a bully.

He thought by “sucking up,” as the boys called toadying, to the young lord, he might get an invitation to Willow Copse Hall in the holidays.

Indeed, his lordship had already promised him as much.

“If your lordship wishes it, I”—— he began.

“Dont’t call me that; say Mordenfield, or Hector,” interrupted his lordship.

Jack had not yet spoken, though his face colored when Mordenfield seemed to turn contemptuously away from him.

“Don’t quarrel on my account,” he now exclaimed to Harvey; “I have licked the man once, and could do it again; but what is the use of quarreling? I am not in the humor for it, and the more especially because I despise rather than hate my antagonist.”

“Was that meant for me?” asked Mordenfield, angrily.

“I was not speaking of you or to you,” Jack replied.

“Yes, he was; I saw him wink at Harvey,” whispered Hunston.

“Yes, you were,” exclaimed his lordship, “I know you were; don’t tell any falsehoods.”

“If it will please you, I will say l was speaking both of and to you,” Jack replied.

“What do you mean by it? How dare you speak to me in that way, you beggar’s brat, you fatherless, motherless cub!” cried Mordenfield, insolently.

“That’s it—give it him! I’ll stick to you,” said Hunston, under his voice.

And he began to sing:

“He never had a father,

And he never had a mother,

He never had a sister,

And he never had a brother;

He was nobody’s child.”

Jack got up, looking very pale, and trembling slightly.

He always was rather pallid now.

His confinement had preyed upon his health, but on this occasion his pallor arose from mortification and anger.

“I think, Mordenfield, that you ought to be the last one to say anything disagreeable to me,” he exclaimed, nervously.

“Call me by my title; to you lam Lord Mordenfield,” replied his lordship.

“If I were to say what I think you really are, I should—but no I won’t do it.”

“What would you say I am?”

“A contemptible little cad,” put in Harvey.

Mordenfield walked up to Jack with his eyes flashing, and his teeth clenched, while his fists were doubled ready for action.

“You told Harvey to say that, because you did not dare to say it yourself. You know if you don’t take care, you will be expelled from the school,” he vociferated.

“That would be no great loss,” Jack replied.

“Not to the school certainly.”

Hunston roared with laughter.

“You can say clever things when you like, my lord,—Mordenfield, I mean,” he exclaimed.

“Look here, you man with the mysterious parentage and doubtful origin,” continued his lordship, encouraged in his insolence by Hunston’s support.

“Are you speaking to me?” asked Jack, whose eyes burned painfully.

“Yes, I am, and I want to tell you that I wont stand any more of your cheek. I’ve had enough of it already.”

“I am not cheeking you. It is all the other way, though why you should turn against me I cannot imagine. I have done nothing to you,” Jack returned, mildly.

“I don’t like your sneaking way. You tried to get me into a row about the fireworks. It was lucky I found you out, and Hunston has told me enough about you.”

“You used to like me,” Jack said.

“I don’t now; so take that. It will teach you to be civil in future.”

As his lordship spoke he struck Jack a blow in the face.

Jack was the bigger of the two, and could easily have thrashed his assailant, who had been told by Hunston that he could not fight, but he simply sat down and buried his face in his hands. The tears trickled down through his fingers.

“That’s the coward’s blow,” said his lordship, tauntingly.

“Give it him, Jack, or I shall do it for you?” said Harvey, angrily.

“You’d better keep out of it,” remarked Hunston.

“No,” said Jack, looking up. “I will not hit him back again, Harvey. He is smaller and not so strong as I am. I would as soon think of licking you, dear old boy. I liked him once, you know, and he will be sorry for it some day.”

“That’s a nice way of getting out of it,” sneered his lordship. “You’re a coward, and you know it.”

“Hunston can tell you whether I am a coward or not,” Jack said.

“Don’t appeal to me. I can’t say anything in your favor,” Hunston replied, thinking Jack quite a coward.

In a minute Jack was on his legs.

The next his fists flew through the air, and Hunston was on his back.

He got up slowly.

Jack Harkaway beckoned to Harvey, and said:

“Pull his nose, he shan’t touch you. Go on, pull it; don’t be afraid of it.”

Harvey did so, and Hunston did not attempt to resent the liberty.

“Now be off about your business, and speak the truth, you time-serving cur, when you are next appealed to,” Jack said.

Hunston slunk off.

“One moment, Mordenfield,” continued Jack to his lordship, who was about to follow him.

“I can’t stop. I’m sorry for what I did. Don’t hit me. I’ll tell one of the masters if you do.” said Mordenfield, who was trembling with apprehension.

“If I had wanted to touch you, I should have done so before,” Jack rejoined. “You find now that you have been deceived. Perhaps some day you will find out who your friends have been. I am satisfied you do not think me a coward now.”

And turning his back upon him, Jack sat down, resuming his conversation with Harvey as if nothing had happened.

“You gave it Hunston splendidly; but why didn’t you thrash that other little brat? He is awfully cocky, just because he’s a lord and the masters pet him,” Harvey said.

“I like him with all his faults. He has stuff in him, and might turn out a decent fellow,” answered Jack, “though the odds are ten to four on his being spoilt before he is one-and-twenty; but let us talk of something else. I mean to get out of this place.”

“When?”

“Tonight,” replied Jack.

“To go where?”

“Goodness only knows. Somewhere—anywhere,” Jack answered with a weary sigh. “I’d rather be a tramp, or a gipsy, and go about the country in a caravan, than stand the tyranny I have to put up with in this school.”

“How shall you get out?”

“I mean to slip away after prayers, and get over the door which leads info the fields. It is always locked before supper, you know, but it is easily climbed.”

“And then”——

“Why, then, I shall be free, and that is enough to think of for the present. Don’t say a word when the roll is called and I am found absent tomorrow morning; let them think what they like. They may suppose I have committed suicide if they like, and I don’t fancy many of them would care much.”

“Oh, Jack do not talk like that,” said Harvey.

Jack took out the little camphor bag which Emily had given him months before, and which he still wore round his neck; this he kissed affectionately.

“The only friend I have gave me this,” he muttered, “and she has forgotten me.”

“Emily?” said Harvey, who had heard the story of the bag from his companion.

“Yes, bless her! Perhaps she writes and her father won’t let the letters be sent.”

“That’s very likely.”

Further conversation was cut short by the entrance of Mr. Mole, and Jack pretended to be working very hard.

“Harvey,” said Mr. Mole, “why were you talking to a boy who is under punishment? You have been long enough here to know that it is against the rules.”

“Please sir”——

“Don’t argue with me. Go away. It must not occur again.”

Jack ground his teeth together.

“They won’t let any one speak to me now,” he muttered. “Any one would think I was a murderer.”

The day soon passed, and after prayers, as the boys were crossing the open space which separated the schoolroom from the house in which the dormitories were situated, Jack gave Harvey a squeeze of the hand.

“Good-bye, dear old boy,” he said, “I shall never forget your kindness.”

“I wish you were not going,” Harvey said, returning the pressure.

“We shall meet again.”

“The sooner the better. God bless you, Jack!”

The next moment Jack had glided away in the darkness, and was speedily climbing up a door with the agility of a wild cat or a backwoodsman.

There was no moon, and dull, heavy clouds charged with rain, much wanted by the parched earth, but which had for some weeks avoided the land, threatened to loose their burden.

No one witnessed Jack’s escape.

No one knew it but Harvey.

The authorities had driven him to desperation by their cruel and injudicious treatment, and his high spirit would not allow him to endure any more. It was about ten o’clock when Mr. Mole hurriedly entered Mr. Crawcour’s private apartments.

“Well, Mole, what’s the news?” asked the principal, languidly.

“News enough, sir,” replied the senior master.

“That is right. Something ought to be stirring, always stirring in a school like ours; anything is better than stagnation.”

“I don’t know that, sir.”

“Perhaps I am wrong. I may be. I won’t say I am not,” Mr. Crawcour said, with that lowly humility which was his chief characteristic when in a good humor. “I never set myself up as being infallible, as you know, Mr. Mole. What are we al? Worms, sir, worms, when we come to analyze our composition.”

Mr. Mole did not look as if he quite coincided in the worm theory.

“The fact is, one of our boys are missing, and I fear he has run away,” he said.

“Dear me,” cried Mr. Crawcour, springing from his chair. “How dare one of my boys run away? How could he have the base ingratitude to leave my hospitable roof and my parental care? Who is it.”

The question was put abruptly.

“Harkaway.”

“Ha! bless me! If he goes home, it will not matter much. His friends will not listen to a word of complaint from him, and he will soon be bundled back again, neck and crop, I may say, Mr. Mole, neck and crop, figuratively speaking.”

“Glad to hear it, I’m sure, sir.”

“When was he missed?”

“He was at prayers; but I missed him in the dormitory. I think you will give me credit for my vigilance.”

“Do I not always say you are my right hand?” replied the principal.

“What is to be done, sir?”

“Let me think. Of course he must be pursued, but I fancy we shall find him at his guardian’s house at Highgate. At all events I do not feel disposed to search for him tonight. Inquiries must be set on foot tomorrow. Leave it till tomorrow, if you please, Mr. Mole. This is a difficulty which has occured to me before in my capacity of an instructor of youthful minds, and I have been carried successfully through it, not by hot haste, or misplaced energy, but by judicious waiting. Make your loss known, and somebody is sure to bring him back to you.”

“I wish some one may, sir.”

“We will make an example of him,” said Mr. Crawcour.

“He deserves to be put in the pillory of public condemnation.”

“We will also advertise him in the papers. I don’t know that it won’t be an advertisement for the school, but that requires consideration. However, don’t bother yourself now. Sit down with me, and let us talk the matter over calmly, Mr. Mole, calmly.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

Mr. Mole helped himself to a cigar, and a tumbler of brandy and water.

The principal and the senior master both felt confident of finding Jack at Highgate with his guardian, Mr. Scratchley.

They were mistaken.

Jack had no intention of going to London.

He took quite an opposite direction.

CHAPTER XXV

FINDING A REFUGE

IT may be as well to state that in running away from school our hero had no defined plan.

He was merely goaded into an act that had very little to defend it but the harsh treatment he had received from the head master.

His wish was to get away, at all hazards, from the tyranny under which he groaned, and when we remember that he was friendless and persecuted, perhaps some excuse can be made for him.

Let us not be misunderstood.

We are no advocates for running away; boys who run away from their schools generally turn out scamps in after life.

They show an independence of action and a strong self-will, in which it is very injurious for the young to indulge.

It was very dark and cold; rain began to fall from the heavily-charged clouds, and a more cheerless November night could not have been found upon which to dare the unknown perils of the outside world.

Pulling his cap over his eyes, and drawing up his coat-collar, Jack trudged along manfully, going along a road which led he know not where.

In his pocket he had a few shillings, which he thought would get him a bed and a breakfast at some roadside inn, or, failing in that, he could lie down under a haystack, a dry ditch at that time of the year being out of the question.

For a couple of hours he went on at a jog-trot before he ventured to stop.

He reckoned that he had traveled about six or seven miles.

The road was lonely, and it was a relief to see, on the right, some lights shining from the windows of a large house.

A clock over some stables struck the hour of eleven.

Tired and weary in brain and body, be got through a gap in the hedge, hoping to find a place of shelter in some outbuilding, where he could rest till morning.

A shed, in which were some agricultural implements, invited entrance.

A few trusses of straw in one corner afforded prospects of a bed.

Crawling in, Jack laid himself down on the straw into which he sank till he was nearly covered. As usual, he said his prayers, and with a sense of relief at his good luck, turned over on his side in the fresh clean straw to go to sleep.

It was now raining steadily outside, but he was not very wet, and soon began to feel warm.

While half-asleep and half-awake, he fancied he heard voices in the shed.

Opening his eyes he could see nothing; but he felt that he was not alone.

His heart beat violently, but he breathed as gently as he could, and listened.

Suddenly a man spoke in a horse whisper.

“I say, Jem, just give a look outside, and see if there is a light still in the butler’s pantry. That’s the way we mean to get in, and it won’t do to let old Blocks have a shot at us with his blunderbuss.”

“Right you are, mate. I’ll just take a squint,” replied the other.

In an instant Jack comprehended that these men intended burglary in the big house in which he had seen lights as he came along the road.

Perhaps by crawling into that shed he might providentially be the means of preventing robbery and even murder.

Who could tell?

But how to do it?—that was the question.

For the present all he could do was to lie still and listen.

He feared to make the least sound or movement lest the desperate men in whose company he was should hear and kill him.

It was a terrible position for so young a boy to be placed in, and he had need of all his courage and self-possession.

But he was a boy of ready resource, and his nerves were strong.

Jack was no coward, as he had proved already on more than one occasion.

Presently Jem returned, and said in a half whisper:

“He’s doused the glim, Tony, but we’ll have to bide a bit. It won’t do to risk the job.”

“No, no! If we crack this crib proper,” returned the one addressed as Tony, “the swag will make us for life.”

“You’re right,” replied Jem, “we’re made then, and I for one shall step it over to ‘Stralia and try my hand at farming in the bush. I’m tired of this country, where a poor man can’t get a living unless he takes what isn’t his’n.”

“And when he’s cotched he’s sent to prison,” laughed Tony.

“Lor’! what a number of times I’ve been fullied (i.e., fully committed)! There isn’t a prison in Lunnon as I haven’t been inside of, and I know most of the jails in the home counties.”

“Same here, but I don’t want no more on it,” Tony exclaimed.

“Have you got the bottle of liquor?” asked Jem.

“It’s here.”

“Give us a toothful. I feel as if a drop would keep the rheumatics out of one’s bones this cussed weather.

“It’s lovely weather for our job though, dark as pitch, with a nice blinding rain.”

“Yes; that’s what a cracksman wants,” answered Jem, who put the bottle to his lips.

A low gurgling sound, followed by a sigh of satisfaction, told him that he had taken a good draught.

“That’s the stuff to warm a chap,” he said, approvingly. “Give me brandy to work upon a cold night.”

“Right you are. Give it here. I’ll do ditto,” replied Tony.

“Have you got the tools safe?”

“In the bag.”

As he spoke, Tony rattled a green-baize bag containing jemmy, centerbit, dark lantern, silent matches, and the varied stock-in-trade of an experienced burglar.

Jack would have given the world to be able to crawl out at some hole in the corner of the shed, and alarm the inmates of the big house.

But he was afraid to move lest he should call the attention of the burglars to himself.

That they were burglars there could not be the shadow of a shade of a doubt.

So he remained as still as a mouse, every minute seeming an age.

At last the stable clock struck the hour of twelve.

Carefully he counted the strokes.

Midnight!

The hour when ghosts are supposed to walk, and graves give up their dead.

A time more suitable for desperate deeds that will not bear the light of day than any other.

“Time’s up,” said Tony.

“Right, lad,” replied his companion.

“Business, Jem.”

“I’m your man. I suppose we’d better make for the pantry winder.”

“That’s the ticket,” said Tony.

“I hope there ain’t any plaguy dogs about. I can’t abear dogs; they do yelp and bark so. But we’ve some poisoned meat if so be as they give tongue.”

“They bite, too, cuss ’em. I had a bit taken out o’ the calf my leg once, when I was doing a bit of work down at Edmonton, and I don’t know which hollered most, the dorg or me, for I got the dorg’s tongue in my ‘and, and pulled it very nigh out. That job got me jagged it did, and I’ve hated dorgs ever since, like steam I have.”

Presently the burglars vacated the shed, and Jack heard their footsteps retreating as they, went towards the house.

“Now’s my time,” he thought.

Rising quickly, he crept out of his warm bed of straw, and got into the open air, which was heavily charged with moisture.

The rain descended steadily and it was evidently going to be a wet night.

It was useless to goto the back, as that was the direction taken by the burglars.

So Jack determined to make his way to the front door, and either by ringing the bell, or knocking as a last resource, to disturb the inmates, and put them on their guard against the robbers.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE BURGLARS

IT was with some difficulty that Jack, in the dark, found the house, which, from its size appeared to belong to some rich landowner.

It was not of the farm order at all.

The architecture, the elegant flower-beds, the luxuriant laurels, and other shrubs, betokening taste and wealth.

There was no light to be seen.

All the inmates had presumably gone to bed, which increased the difficulties Jack had to contend with.

Having found a bell, he pulled it at first gently, and again with more violence.

His object was not to disturb the burglars at their work, or should they take the alarm and go away, the people of the house would not believe his tale.

Probably they would take him for a thief, and drive him with threats from the door, if they did not give him in charge of the police.

To his great satisfaction, after the second ring he heard footsteps approaching across the hall; a key grated in the lock, and the door opened cautiously.

“Who’s that?” cried a man’s voice.

“A friend, who wants to speak to you on most important business,” answered Jack.

“To me? Do you known who I am?” said the man.

“No; it is enough for me that you are an inmate of this house.”

“I’m Mr. Blocks, the butler, and was just turning into my bed. Am I the person? No humbug, now.”

“Yes—yes; you’ll do as well as anybody else. For goodness sake don’t waste any more time. Open the door,” cried Jack.

“I don’t know whether I ought to,” said Mr. Blocks, in a tone of reflection. “It’s past twelve. I’m the only one up in the house, and it seems to me that you haven’t told me who you are, or what your business is.”

“Do you want to lose your plate, and perhaps be murdered in the bargain?”

“Oh, Lord! he says he’ll murder me. Where’s my blunderbuss?” cried the butler.

“You’ve nothing to fear from me,” rejoined Jack, in despair at his thickheadedness. “I’ve come to put you on your guard.”

“Oh, you’re not after the plate?”

“No. Is it likely I should come here and talk to you if I had any such intention?”

“Well, on consideration, it isn’t.”

“Open the door, then. I am only a boy, and surely a man like you isn’t afraid of a lad.”

“Only a boy, why didn’t you say so before? Only a boy: I ain’t afraid of no boys,” replied Mr. Blocks, in a tone of contempt.

He opened the door a little wider.

“I say,” he exclaimed, as a new thought struck him.

“Well, what now?”

“Have you got anyone with you? No tricks upon travelers, you know. I’ve got a loaded blunderbuss, and I ain’t particular to blowing a man’s brains out if”——

“But I’m not a man,” answered Jack, impatiently.

“Ah! I forgot that. Now, then; what’s all the row about?”

The butler flung open the door as he spoke, and stood revealed, a little stumpy, fat man with a white cotton night-cap on, shivering in his shirtsleeves and trousers, and holding in his hand a candle which flickered and sputtered in the wind and rain.

Jack stepped quickly inside, and closed the door rather to the alarm of the butler, who retreated to the domestic offices, which were reached by a passage to the rear, leading to the hall.

“I will tell you in a few words,” said Jack. “I am, or rather was, at school near here.”

“Crawcour’s,” said the butler.

“Yes. Do you know it?”

“Never mind: go on,” Mr. Blocks replied, with a sagacious nod that would have done credit to a magistrate on the bench.

“This evening I ran away and walked until I came here. Feeling tired, I crept into your shed at the back.”

“Rogue and vagabond,” muttered Mr. Blocks, suspiciously.

“While on some straw in the shed, two men came in, who I am convinced were burglars from their conversation. Their object was to break into your pantry, and steal all they could lay their hands on.”

“Bless us and save us!” cried the butler, raising his hands.

“There are two them. How can we catch them?”

“Two of ’em!”

“Yes; are you the only man in the house?”

“Stop a bit. There’s the coachman and some grooms over the stable, and the gardener, he’s got a gun. Will you stop here? I feel I can trust you, young gentleman. I’ll go and rouse them; stand close by the door, and when you hear three taps with the knuckles, open softly.”

“Shall I go instead of you?” asked Jack.

“It’s no use; you don’t know the way, and we have no time to lose.”

“All right,” said Jack.

Mr. Blocks, owing to the iminence of the danger, had awakened to a sense of activity, which, as a general rule, was quite foreign to his character.

Putting on a coat which was hanging in the hall, he sallied forth into the wind and rain, and Jack was left alone.

More than once during his brief vigil he fancied he heard the centerbit at work filing away the iron bars, which had to be removed ere the burglars could effect an entry into the house.

His heart throbbed proudly, for he felt he was the hero of an adventure for which he would receive the thanks of those he was protecting.

One, two, three.

Mr. Blocks was tapping at the door; Jack gladly opened the door, and two men entered.

“This is the coachman,” explained Mr. Blocks; “the gardener and two men have gone round to the back. We mean to have the rascals.”

“I think they have already got in; the grinding noise I heard has stopped,” said Jack.

“All the better,” remarked the coachman, who was armed with an iron bar; heavy enough, when wielded by strong arms, to fell an ox.

“In a side room was the blunderbuss, which belonged to the butler. He took it up, looked at the lock, and the men, followed by Jack, stole on tiptoe along the passage.

The caudle was left in the hall.

A lantern was carried by the coachman and its light concealed by a fold of his coat which was thrown over it.

When the pantry was reached a light was seen under the door.

The thieves were at work.

Quickly turning the key, Blocks threw the door open.

Jem made his lantern dark immediately, but the coachman turned his light on.

The plate-chest was broken open, and the costly articles it contained were thrown about on the floor ready to be packed up for removal.

Tony made a rush for the window, and fell into the arms of the gardener, who struck him a blow which rendered him senseless, and he was made a prisoner, being strongly bound with ropes, provided by the groom.

Jem drew a revolver which he presented at the butler, who, however, was too quick for him.

He discharged his blunderbuss and shot the villain, who fell to the ground with a prolonged groan.

“Oh! Lord have mercy upon me! I’m done for this journey,” he cried.

“And serve you right, too, you thieving rascal,” answered the butler.

The coachman proceeded to fasten him securely, regardless of the pain of his wound.

“Are there any more of them?” he asked.

“No,” said Mr. Blocks, “one inside, one out—that’s the lot.”

The wounded man’s hurt was stanched as well as could be done, and the burglars were placed on the floor of the pantry, while a mounted groom was sent off for the attendance of the police, and surgical assistance.

“Well,” said Jack, who had been an attentive but silent spectator of what had taken place, “now you have settled your little affair, I suppose you can dispense with my services, and will allow me to return to my bed and my straw.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” replied Blocks, “you will do nothing of the sort.”

“What shall I do, then? Will you give me a shake down?”

“Will I? Of course I will; after the service you have rendered to this establishment, you have a right to a bed.”

“Will you let me go in the morning?” asked Jack, dubiously.

“Will I let you go? Go where?”

“I am not quite clear about that; but go somewhere I must and will. I don’t want to be sent to my school, and I have told you that I ran away.”

“You may stop a month, if you like,” said Blocks.

“Who does this house belong to?”

“Lady Mordenfield.”

“Indeed!” Jack said, with surprise. “Is this Willow Copse?”

“That’s the name, and our young master is at your school.”

“I know him well; but I wish I had come to any other house. However, I will accept your offer of a bed, and we can talk tomorrow morning,” replied Jack.

The butler pressed him to have something to eat, which he did not refuse, and when his wants were satisfied, he was shown into a spare bed room.

It was too late to rouse the housekeeper for sheets, and he was sufficiently tired to turn into the blankets, between which he slept soundly.

CHAPTER XXVII

LADY MORDENFIELD

WHEN Jack awoke in the morning, he found his boots nicely cleaned, and a shirt spread out on a chair for him, showing that some one had cared for him while he slept.

His night’s rest had done him good.

The morning was bright and clear, and no sign of the storm of the night before remained.

When dressed he rung the bell and Blocks came up.

“Morning, sir. How did you sleep?” asked Blocks.

“First rate, thank you,” answered Jack.

“Her ladyship sends her compliments, sir, and will be glad to see you at breakfast.”

“Is she down?”

“Just come, sir.”

“All right. Lead the way,” Jack said.

The butler ushered our hero into the breakfast-room, which was very handsomely furnished.

Standing near the window was a lady.

She turned as Jack entered, and advancing towards him, offered her hand.

“How do you do?” she said. “I am glad to make the acquaintance of one who, I hear from my servant, knows my little boy.”

“We were at school together,” replied Jack.

“Why do you say you were?” she asked.

“Because I have run away.”

“Indeed, that is very wrong, is it not? May I ask why you have left your school, without seeming rudely inquisitive?”

“I was so badly treated,” replied Jack.

“If so, could you not write to your friends?”

“I have none.”

“None at all?”

“My mother and father I never knew, and my guardian is not at all kind,” Jack said.

“What is your guardian’s name?”

“Mr. Scratchley, of Highgate.”

Her ladyship started, and seemed much astonished and perturbed.

“Scratchley,” she repeated, abstractedly.

“Do you know him?” asked Jack.

“The name seemed familiar to me,” she answered. “And you are?”——

“John Harkaway!”

Recovering herself from her momentary confusion, by the exertion of a violent effort, she said:

“Sit down and have some breakfast. We must be great friends. I have to thank you for preventing my house from being robbed last night.”

“I am very happy, my lady, to think that I was so lucky as to be able to be of service to you.”

Jack made an excellent breakfast, and his spirits rose, but he was in reality ill at ease, for he scarcely knew what to do.

“Now,” continued her ladyship, “I am going to ask you to let me drive you back to your school.”

“Oh, no, I cannot go back,” he replied.

“I will make Mr. Crawcour promise to let you off this time,” she said, smiling.

“I don’t believe he would keep such a promise if he made it. He is dreadfully strict,” replied Jack.

“What do you think of doing?” Lady Mordenfield enquired, regarding him curiously.

“Schoolboys have only one resource when they run away,” Jack replied, laughing.

“And that resource is?”——said Lady Mordenfield.

“To go to sea.”

“So you think of going to sea?”

“Yes, I shall try and make my way to the coast. I should have gone by train, if I had had money enough.

“A sailor’s life is a hard one,” she replied.

“I am strong, and young, and hardy. Beside, it is a life of adventure and what can be more delightful?” Jack said, his face flushing with pleasure, as he thought of the prospect before him.

“Will you stay with me?”

“Thank you very much, but I must make a start in the world sometime or other, and I may as well begin at once.”

“Have you no ambition?” Lady Mordenfield queried.

“As to what?”

“A profession. Would you not like to be a great soldier, or a barrister, doctor, or something of that sort?”

“If I had the chance,” replied Jack, adding, “you forget that nobody cares for me.”

Her ladyship rose and kissed him tenderly on the forehead.

“You are mistaken, my dear boy, I care for you, I will be your friend,” she said.

Jack was surprised at this unexpected exhibition of affection, and his eyes filled with tears.

“Will you but stay with me?” she urged.

“I cannot. I must be doing something,” he answered, reluctantly.

Her ladyship seemed disappointed.

“Will you promise me one thing?” she asked.

“Certainly. You have only to name it.”

“Give me your word of honor that you will write fo me when you reach the coast, and tell me all about yourself and your plans.”

“With pleasure,” replied Jack.

Lady Mordenfield was obliged to be content with this reply.

She gave Jack a sovereign, which she with difficulty made him accept, and he trudged away manfully on the road.

Her ladyship rang the bell.

“Blocks!” she exclaimed, “just be good enough to watch which road that young gentleman takes.”

Blocks was off like a shot.

Presently he came back, saying:

“He has taken the Chelmsford road, my lady.”

“Can he reach Chelmsford before night?”

“No, my lady, on reflection I don’t think he can.”

“Very well; order the carriage at once, and tell the cook to make up a hamper of sweets, apples, and whatever she may have for his lordship, as I am going over to the school.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Blocks, who stood hesitatingly before his mistress.

“Well, what have you to say?” she asked.

“Beg your ladyship’s pardon, but that’s a very remarkable boy,” he said.

“Think he is?” Lady Mordenfield replied.

“Ought not something to be done for him? He’s going wrong, my lady.”

“I know it. Do not be afraid. He will not go far, for I shall feel it my duty to speak to his master, and you may depend that he will be looked after.”

Blocks felt considerably relieved, and with a bow left the apartment.

By the time Lady Mordenfield was dressed, the carriage was at the door.

The footman touched his hat as she stepped lightly to, and said:

“Where to, my lady?”

“Pomona House, and drive quickly,” answered her ladyship, leaning back upon the luxurious cushions, and closing her eyes as if in deep thought.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE PURSUIT

LADY MORDENFIELD’S well appointed equipage was not long in taking her to Mr. Crawcour’s establishment.

She was ushered into the drawingroom by an obsequious maid servant, all bows and smiles at the honor of announcing a lady of title.

It ought properly to have been called the show-room, for it was only used on state occasions, and everything in it was painfully heavy and highly polished.

It had, moreover, a musty, shut-up savor, which all the scent on her ladyship’s embroidered handkerchief did not suffice to remove.

Mr. Crawcour entered with his most beaming smile on his lips.

“My dear madam,” he exclaimed, unctiously, “to what am I indebted—to what fortunate circumstances, I may say, am I indebted for the honor of this unexpected but most gratifying visit?”

“In the first place I trust my son is well and that you can give me a good report of him?” answered Lady Mordenfield.

“The very best. I think your ladyship is already aware that my circulars inform my kind patrons that my first care is to look after the physical and moral well being of my dear little friends, as I must call my pupils. Their talents I cultivate, and hope to their own ultimate benefit and the approbation of their parents. You, my lady, have, I sincerely trust, no reason to be dissatisfied with my poor efforts.”

“None whatever, Mr. Crawcour.”

The principal of Pomona House bowed.

“You gratify me highly, madam, by this candid and flattering expression of approval,” he said. “You are doubtless aware that Pascal, a great writer and a man of observation, has said that ‘The talents are like trees, they produce according to the culture they receive, and in proportion according to their cultivation.’ This is a literal translation, but I will clothe it in more elegant and appropriate English, if you desire it.”

“Not at present. If you will pardon me for saying so,” said her ladyship, “I am always much pleased to listen to you, but”——

“Your ladyship is too good,” interrupted the principal, with a smile that was inimitable.

“I was about to observe,” she continued, “that I have come here on important business. One of your boys has run away.”

Mr. Crawcour turned pale.

“I lament, madam,” he said, in a melancholy tone of voice, “that strict regard for the truth makes it impossible for me to deny your statement. One of my boys has run away. Notwithstanding that the utmost possible kindness was shown him, and that he was indulged, perhaps, more than any boy I have in the school on account of his condition, he has in his marvellous ingratitude shown the baseness of his spirit and the innate obstinacy which has characterized him from his earliest days, by quitting his best friends, and trying to bring my management into disrepute. However, I have my consolation to reflection that there is a black sheep in every flock.”

“That is quite true, yet I do not think so harshly of this boy, Harkaway, as you are inclined to, Mr. Crawcour.”

“You know his name, my lady,” cried the principal of Pomona House in some astonishment. “May I venture to inquire from whom you obtained your information?”

“From the boy himself.”

“From Harkaway? From my poor, dear misguided Jack, to whom I have always been as a father?”

“Yes.”

“I do hope that the silly lad, who I know is full of resentment against me for some fancied injury, has not been prejudicing your ladyship’s mind against me,” said Mr. Crawcour, eagerly.

“Not in the least.”

“And you have not come to remove your son, his lordship—the pride of the school we call him—from my fostering care?”

“Oh, dear no.”

Mr .Crawcour breathed again.

“It is very strange that young Harkaway should have taken refuge with you. Perhaps he presumed upon his intimacy with your clever and too condescending son?”

“It was an accident. The boy rendered me a service which I need not explain now as time presses; but I have taken a strong liking for him, and I wish you not to punish him severely for his fault,” said Lady Mordenfield.

“I trust that I am never more severe than is consistent with my strict sense of duty.”

“Then you must punish him in some way?”

“As an example to the school, or all discipline would be at an end,” returned Mr. Crawcour. “I will undertake that he shall suffer no bodily pain. There shall be no corporal punishment, and this concession I make reluctantly, and only on account of your ladyship’s intercession. Is Harkaway at Willow Copse Hall?”

“No.”

“In your carriage, perhaps?”

“Again no. I tried in every possible way to induce the boy to come back with me, but he declared that it was his invincible intention to go to sea, and to carry his plan into execution, he must make his way to the coast.”

“And he has gone?”

“Yes; a short time before I started to drive to your house, he left, trudging along the Chelmsford Road. My object in advising you of this was to pursue and bring him back as soon as possible, because his present object can only result in misery and hardship to him.”

“I am deeply beholden to your ladyship,” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour. “When we discovered the boy’s flight last night, we imagined that he would go to his friends at Highgate, to whom we have telegraphed. I thank you extremely. A pursuit shall be instituted at once. Can I offer your ladyship any refreshment?”

“None whatever, thank you.”

“You will wish to see his lordship?”

“Not to-day. Having accomplished my task I will return. Please let me know if you find the runaway,” said Lady Mordenfield.

Mr. Crawcour assured her that he would do so without fail, and personally handed her to her carriage.

When she was gone, he summoned Mr. Mole and Collinson, the head of the school, to whom he communicated the information he had received from her ladyship.

“Now, what do you advise?” concluded Mr. Crawcour.

“I think,sir,” answered Mr. Mole, “that it will be best to have a fly from the inn to the town, and go after him without any further delay.”

“You and Collinson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He has gone along the Chelmsford Road, so I don’t see how you can miss him. Besides, he has not more than a couple of hours’ start, if that, and he is on foot.”

“We will bring him back, depend on that,” said Mr. Mole, confidently.

“Shall you expell him, sir?” asked collinson.

“I think not. I am not much in favor of expelling boys if I can make them listen to reason. He shall have another chance.”

The fact was, that Mr. Crawcour did not like to lose his money which the boy’s friends paid for his board and tuition. He cared little about the lad’s prosperity in life.

The fly was accordingly ordered, and Mr. Mole and Collinson started in pursuit, one looking out of each window so that they shouldn’t pass Jack on the way.

In the meantime Jack was trudging along in high spirits, whistling as he went, little suspecting that there was anyone after him, and speculating as to his chances of getting a ship when he reached the coast.

CHAPTER XXIX

MR. BEDINGTON

ON Lady Mordenfield’s return home, she was told that a gentleman was waiting in the drawingroom to see her.

“His name?” she asked.

“He would give none ,my lady,” answered the footman.

She walked unconsciously enough into the room dressed as she was, but started at beholding a man yet young and handsome: though a tropical sun had made him thin, and of a sallow complexion.

He was standing near the mantelpiece, and did not move as her ladyship entered.

An almost imperceptible smile flitted round the corners of his well-cut mouth.

Yet the expression of his face was very, very sad.

He muttered one word.

“Mimi.”

It had an electrical effect upon Lady Mordenfield, who sank, hall-fainting, upon a sofa.

This name, Mimi, was a diminution of Amelia.

She well knew that one, and only one man had ever applied it to her in moments of supreme happiness, when heart blends with heart, and the present is so joyful that we do not care to think of the future.

He advanced towards her, and said, in a voice in which harshness struggled for the mastery:

“So you know me, Mimi?”

“Charles,” she murmured.

“Yes, Charles. Tell me the old tale. Say you thought me dead, and married another, because you were poor, and coveted wealth and title!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, good heaven, Charles! They told me you had died in India,” said her ladyship, not daring to look at him.

“They lied, whoever they were—lied as foully and designedly as ever did villains!” he cried, with fierceness ill-suppressed.

There was a pause, which he broke.

“You never expected to see me again, Lady Mordenfield. Bah! how the name chokes me,” he said. “When we parted, and when I went abroad, do you remember that your father said I was poor, and no fit match for you, and that it was agreed between us that I should go to India and try my luck there, and send for you; but a letter came, telling me that you were dead, and that our child would be cared for. Your father lied to both of us, to accomplish his ambitious purposes, and succeeded in making to lives miserable.”

Lady Mordenfield’s tears fell fast.

“I remained true to my love, and have been a widower for your sake ever since,” continued the speaker. “You ,were false to your vows. I have learnt that your father is dead, and that you married Lord Mordenfield, who died some years back, and that you live a life of seclusion in this wild place.”

“Oh, Charlie! If you knew how I have suffered, you would not reproach me,” said the weeping woman.

“And haven’t I also suffered?”

“For my sake?”

“For yours only. Have I not mourned you as one dead, and erected a shrine to you in my heart of hearts, weeping over the memory of the past? But hear me out.”

“I am listening,” she replied, “but, for heaven’s sake, speak more mildly. I cannot bear your reproaches.”

“You must bear them; and I have a right to speak to you, for you are Mrs. Bedington—I am Charles Bedington. We were lawfully married. Your second marriage with Lord Mordenfield was bigamous and illegal. Do you hear me, Amelia? You are my wife, and your second son, the present Lord Mordenfield, is illegitimate and a mere nobody.”

“God help us!” moaned the wretched woman.

“That matters little. I am rich, for I have accomplished the purpose for which your worldly and mercenary father separated me from you, and exiled me from my native land.”

“I was not to blame,” she said.

“You were to blame. You should have clung to me instead of weakly listening to his advice. I do and will blame you.”

“Charles, Charles!” she cried, pleadingly.

“I will not spare you,” he answered. “I have looked forward to this day, and this part of your punishment, but only a part.”

“Is there more to come? Forgive me if I have erred. You loved me once, Charlie,” she said in a winning manner.

Strong man as he was, he trembled before the siren, who had ever known so well how to bewitch him.

“That is passed and gone.”

“Gone!” she repeated, with an expression of dismay.

“Forever!”

Again she fell back on the cushions, and breathed heavily, as if about to swoon.

“I have come here to-day to demand my child—my son? Where is he? Give him to me. I, his father, demand him of you?”

He drew himself up proudly as he spoke, and gazed with the sternness of an avenging spirit upon her.

The wretched woman did not dare to meet his stern eyes.

How had she fulfilled the sacred trust confided to her.

What account could she give of the boy, who had been taken away from her when quite young, and placed under the care of strangers?

“Speak!” continued Mr. Bedington.

She looked at him imploringly; but there was no mercy in his eyes.

He thought she had sinned greviously against him, and for this she must make atonement.

CHAPTER XXX

HUSBAND AND WIFE

“WHERE is my child?” continued Mr. Bedington, in a stern voice.

“I cannot tell you,” she answered.

“And why not? In what way will your refusal help you?” he asked.

“First of all, tell me if you have not a spark of love for me?” said her ladyship, looking up with tear-laden eyes.

“If you deserved it.”

“I do! I will!” she cried eagerly. “Listen to me. Let the past be forgotten, Charles. Say nothing about our former marriage; no one need know you as the Charles Bedington who went to India, and was supposed to have died there. I am a widow; as the relict of Lord Mordenfield, I have large estates and a good income. Come to me as a stranger—marry me again, and we will go into society as Lady Mordenfield and Mr. Bedington.”

Charles Bedington smiled that terrible smile of his.

“Go on,” said he.

“Then my son need not be the nameless nobody you say he is in reality, and you will not take from me the wealth that long use has made necessary to my existence.”

“That is your plan?”

“Yes.”

“You are very careful about the interest of your second son, whom you call your boy.”

“Is it not natural?”

“Very; I do not dispute that. But what about your first son, my boy? Is he to be an outcast, nameless penniless, nobody?” said Mr. Bedington, who was growing furious.

“I have only seen him once since he was taken away from me quite young. My affection is centured. upon Mordenfield,” she answered.

“And mine on the other. I will listen to no plan which will sacrifice my boy, who bears my name Charles Bedington, and I demand him once more at your hands.”

“You seem determined to destroy me?” exclaimed her ladyship, growing bolder.

“If you call speaking the truth destruction, you are right,” he answered. “I mean to declare our marriage; whether we live together or not does not matter. I can prove my identity. You will be plain Mrs. Bedington, and dependent upon my bounty—you and your second son, the brat!”

“That is your determination?”

“It is. I will drag you from your false position! I will strip you of your wealth and rank, and the present Lord Mordenfield shall be without a lawful father er a name! But before we proceed further, give me my child.”

Her ladyship arose from the sofa, and assumed a defiant air and attitude.

The continued taunts of her husband roused all her latent energy.

She thought she saw a way out of a difficulty which at first appeared insurmountable.

“You shall not have your child!” she exclaimed.

“Shall not have him?” he repeated, as if he did not understand her.

“Certainly not, unless you agree to cease your proposed prosecution of me.”

“You will not give him me?” said Mr. Bedington, in a state of stupor.

“Only on conditions.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I do; and from no one else can you get the information.”

It was his turn now to sink back in a prostrate condition and think.

Her ladyship had effectually turned the tables upon him.

Well enough he knew that she spoke the truth when she said that no one but herself could help him to the child’s hiding place.

He had tried every channel before coming to her.

His spies had been at fault in each direction.

“Name your terms,” said he, mildly.

His former bullying airs had entirely vanished.

He was submissive and almost suppliant.

“If you set your heart on this boy, we cannot come together. You must go your way with him, and I will go mine with Mordenfield,” she said.

“Must he never know his mother?”

“Never.”

“Poor child! Why are you ashamed of him Mimi? Is he ugly, deformed,or—or a bad boy whom you would not like to acknowledge?”

“Not at all. He’s a fine, handsome fellow, and well grown for his age, clever, honest and all that, though a little self-willed and fond of mischief, if what they say at his school be true.”

“Then he has been cared for to that extent? He is at school?” exclaimed Mr. Bedington, quickly.

“Oh, yes.”

“And you think I cannot find him?”

“I am sure you cannot,” replied her ladyship, with calm assurance.

“I tell you I will find him. I have made up my mind to. Never did I set my heart upon anything without accomplishing it. You know that, Mimi, because you know me better than anybody else does. I told you I would make a fortune in India, and I have done so, though when I heard of your death I was very nearly floored. It was a wonder I ever got over the shock. Then I thought to myself I will go on working for the child now—her child; my boy shall be the possessor of this money. He will be old enough when I return to go to some public school, and from thence to Oxford. Then I will put him in the army.”

“You can do all this now if you let me alone,” said her ladyship.

“I know it; but people will ask the lad who his mother was, and I mean that he shall be able to tell them, Mimi.”

“Very well. Do what you like. I shall not tell you where the boy is; and it it is to be war with us, I am not afraid of you.”

They looked resolutely at one another, and it was evident that neither would give way.

Lady Mordenfield’s love for her first son had been outgrown by that for her second, who had been so much more with her.

After some consideration, Mr. Bedington said:

“I hare taken you by surprise. You must have time to reflect upon all that I have said to you; therefore I will leave you alone for a week. Then you shall give me your final answer.

“I shall be unchanged,” she replied.

“You may see cause to alter your opinion.”

She shook her head resolutely.

A groom was walking his horse up and down the gravelled way in front of the mansion.

Springing on its back, he threw a piece of silver to the man, and cantered off down the avenue.

For some miles he went at speed, the quick motion of the horse harmonizing with his excited mind.

He had set his heart on rescuing his child, and he wished also to live again with his wife, who would have to give up her position and title, and assume that which really belonged to her.

She was, in fact and reality, nothing more than Mrs. Bedington—a plain Mrs., and not a lady of rank.

His unexpected return disorganized her life and prospects in every way.

Suddenly Mr. Bedington came up with a fly, which the load, being very heavy on one side, had stuck in the mud.

Two men, one young, and the other middle-aged, were urging the driver to proceed.

“There he is,” cried one; “I can see him a little ahead. That’s he. I’d swear to his walk anywhere, Mr. Mole.”

“I agree with you, Collinson; and if it was not for the mud, I would get out and pursue him on foot,” replied Mr. Mole, for it was the senior master and Collinson who were overtaken by Mr. Bedington.

“It is muddy,” said Collinson, reflectively, looking at the thick November slush, made heavy and vicous with much rain and passing cattle.

“Go on, you, sir—you driver,” cried Mr. Mole, angrily.

“I can’t, sir, I’m stuck!” cried the man, lashing his horse with the whip.

“Stuff and nonsense. You can if you like.”

“I can’t, sir. It’ll take a team of horses to pull us out. Our Dobbin will never do it.”

And, as if to corroborate this assertion, Dobbin plainly showed that he did not mean to try, for he lay down very quietly in the mud, and, being of a very rusty blue-black color, was scarcely distinguishable from what Mr. Mole jocosely called his native element.

“There is the beast of a horse down now,” said Collinson. “What is to be done? If we wait here, Harkaway will escape.”

“Get off clear, as right as the mail, unless we pursue him in another conveyance,” replied Mr. Mole.

“If I hadn’t my Sunday best black trousers on, I’d be after him like a shot,” Collinson exclaimed.

“And if I hadn’t put on a bran new pair of boots, which cost me one pound six, I’d do ditto,” answered Mr. Mole.

“There is a gentleman on horseback,” cried Collinson.

“Where?”

“There, on the left. Look, sir, look!”

“I will accost him,” said Mr. Mole. “Perhaps he will render us some assistance in recovering the runaway.”

“Most likely.”

“Hi, good genteman! Hi! Mr. Traveler! Here, sir! Hi! One moment with you!” cried Mr. Mole.

Mr. Bedington reined in his horse, and approached the carriage, avoiding the mud as much as possible.

“You seem to be fixed for the present,” he exclaimed, “and I do not see how I can render you any help, if that is what you want.”

“Nobody can’t do us no good,” said the driver, who was leaning back on the box, having contentedly lighted his pipe.

“Some wagoners will possibly come by soon, and for a trifling consideration they will haul you out. In the meantime you could wade through the mud if you wish to gain the road,” said Mr. Bedington kindly.

“It isn’t that so much,” answered Mr. Mole. “We do not mind sitting here, but we come from a school, and in pursuit of a runaway boy, whom we could, a short time before, see a little ahead of us.”

“On this road?”

“Yes.”

“Are you one of the masters of the school?”

“I am, sir,” replied Mr. Mole, proudly drawing himself up.

“Whose school is it?”

“Pomona House, Lillie Bridge, Hertfordshire. Principal, Mr. Crawcour, assisted by competent masters. References to the highest ecclesiastical dignitaries, and parents of boys, if”——“Excuse me; I did not ask you for your circular— that I can read at my leisure,” interrupted Mr. Bedington, smiling. “Tell me what can I do for you.”

“Pursue the runaway.”

“Ride after the truant, and bring him back to you, eh?” said Mr. Bedington.

“Yes.”

“Would that be fair?”

“Certainly, sir. You need have no scruples of conscience,” Mr. Mole hastened to say.

“Unfortunately for you, I have, and I shall not pursue the boy for you, as I do not feel myself at liberty to do so. You have certain work to do. Get out and do it like men.”

Giving his horse the rein, Mr. Bedington walked the animal slowly on.

“What a curmudgeon,” said Mr. Mole.

“A perfect brute,” chimed in Collinson.

“There is no help for it,” continued the senior master, throwing the mat out of the window, which instantly sank in the mud.

“Are you going to venture, sir?” asked Collinson.

“Needs must when the—when a certain person drives. Are you ready?”

“All right, sir,” answered Collinson.

“Here goes,” said Mr. Mole, with an almost triumphant air.

As he put his foot on the top of the fly, he slipped, and fell headlong on his face in the black mud, which seemed to engulf him.

Only his coat tails, part of his back, and his legs lacking up in the air could be seen.

“He will be smothered,” thought Collinson.

And he instantly jumped into the slough, which received him up to his knees, to rescue his fallen companion.

It was with difficulty that this could be done.

At length, spluttering, and breathing heavily, Mr. Mole was extracted from his unpleasant position.

Mr. Mole could not get up at once, so he sat down in the mud. His eyes, his ears, his mouth, his nose, were all plugged up with mud, and it was a work of time before he could see, hear, taste, or smell anything but the vilest of earth, rain-water, manure, and tadpoles.

“Oh, my dear Collinson! This is sad—this is cruel,” he muttered.

“Very much so, sir; but I’m nearly as bad,” said Collinson.

“Did you, too, fall flat?”

“No; I took warning by you, sir.”

At this juncture, the driver of the fly, who had been exploding in short fits of laughter, like popguns going off, could contain himself no longer.

He burst out into a loud roar.

He put down his head.

He kicked and stamped with his feet on the footboard.

He held his sides, and still he roared on.

“What is that fellow laughing at?” asked Mr. Mole.

“At you, I think, sir,” answered Collinson, who turned away his head to hide a smile.

“At me? The villain! After bringing me in this plight, too. I will have him discharged. He shall lose his situation, mark my words, Collinson,” said Mr. Mole, angrily.

“Yes, sir.”

“Fellow,” continued the senior master, addressing the flyman.

The driver contorted himself violently, and had fresh fits.

“Do you hear me, fellow,” cried Mr. Mole, rising, and extending his arm in a dignified manner.

“Oh, Lor! oh, Lor!” said the cabman in a choking voice. “I shall bust! I know I shall, if he says much more. Well, I never did see such a figger. Oh, Lor! Oh, Lor!”

Away he went into another roar of laughter, which threatened to shake him to pieces.

“Collinson, I shall chastise that man,” said Mr. Mole.

“I would not stir, sir,” said Collinson.

“I tell you I will! Am I to be mocked and gibed at by the vulgar?”

Mr. Mole advanced to the carriage, and stepping on the wheel, seized the driver by the arm and dragged him into the mud.

He was unable to offer much resistance, owing to his severe laughter.

Presently they were engaged in a furious struggle, and rolled over and over one another in the mud.

At length Mr. Mole cast his antagonist into a pool of water, and retired in a stately manner to the road.

The flyman, though up to his waist in water, sat still, continuing to laugh.

“Come, let us leave that buffoon and go after the fugitive,” said Mr. Mole. “Duty, Collinson, duty must be thought of before all things.”

“Certainly, sir,” answered the head of the school.

“I wonder if Mr. Crawcour will make good the damage done to my clothes.”

“I should think so, sir.”

“Especially the boots.”

“He is sure to find you the boots, sir,” said Collinson, soothingly.

“Then all will be well. Forward! the runaway must be captured at all hazards.”

They walked quickly along the road. Mr. Mole presenting a strange and ludicrous spectacle, of the effect of which he himself seemed only partly aware.

CHAPTER XXXI

IN CHAINS

MR. MOLE was a man of determination, and notwithstanding his wretched plight and ludicrous appearance, he pressed on bravely.

After about half-an-hour’s walking, they espied Jack in the distance.

“There’s that fellow on horseback talking to him,” continued Collinson.

“Which one?”

“Why, that one we spoke to. He wasn’t very civil to you, sir—don’t you remember?”

“Oh, yes! Does he mean to take his part, think you?” inquired Mr. Mole, hesitating.

“Not likely, sir.”

“No, I do not consider it likely. Besides, we have the law on our side,” replied Mr. Mole, starting again.

There were some fine hazel-trees in the hedge, and the senior master, taking a knife from his pocket, cut a thin, slim switch, and smiled grimly.

When they overtook Jack, the latter turned round at the sound of the usher’s voice, and started as if astonished and frightened.

“He evidently didn’t know we wore behind him, so the stranger has told him nothing, and does not mean to take his part,” thought Mr. Mole. And he was right.

Mr. Bedington had merely asked Jack a few questions, getting into conversation with him, as one wayfarer will with another.

“How now, sir!” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “So we have caught you, have we?”

“Not yet,” said Jack.

He darted forward, doubled under Mr. Mole’s arm, and made for the side of the road.

Collinson, however, was after him, and before he could reach the hedge, he had him by the arm, and soon dragged him back.

It was now for the first time that Jack observed the extraordinary appearance presented by Mr. Mole.

A mass of mud.

A perambulating pillar of mire, with a broken hat, no gloves, and a face like the hide of a spotted cow.

In spite of his unfortunate position, a smile stole over Jack’s face.

“Harkaway,” said Mr. Mole, in a solemn voice, “you have been guilty of a great offense against the school, of which you are a component part, and as we say in Latin, contra bonos mores. Hold him tight, Collinson.”

The smile on Jack’s countenance deepened into a grin.

“Don’t laugh, sir. You will find it no laughing matter. Do you hear me, sir? You will laugh on the other side of your face soon,” continued Mr. Mole.

Jack burst out in a loud shout of laughter, which was followed by another and another.

“Hardened boy, forbear!” said the tutor, horrified at what he thought Jack’s audacity.

But just as the flydriver had gone into fits of laughter, so did Jack.

“Dear me! Will you be quiet, sir? What a bad boy! Where do you expect to die when you go to—I mean what is to become of you? The lad is annoying me so, I am all in confusion.”

“Ha, ha, ha! he, he, he! ho, ho, ho!” laughed Jack till his sides ached and the tears ran down his cheeks.

“Harkaway,” said Mr. Mole, “this is a solemn moment.”

“If he’d only dance the Perfect Cure,” Jack contrived to say, as if to himself, between one of his paroxysms.

Mr. Mole heard him.

“Collinson!” he exclaimed.

“Sir?”

“I am under the impression that he is mocking me.”

“I think so, too, sir,” answered Collinson.

“Hold him tightly by the collar of his jacket, and turn his back to me. I will see what a little wholesome discipline will effect. The virtues of the rod are great. I will apply it. Spoil the rod and spare the child. No, not that exactly, but something to the purpose we have on the authority of Solomon. Hold him securely.”

Before Jack could recover himself or expostulate, he was held firmly by Collinson’s iron grip.

Long practice in holding boys to be punished had made him perfect.

Using the stick he had cut in the hedge Mr. Mole began to belabor Jack soundly.

Jack cried and struggled.

But all in vain did he try to extricate himself.

The stick hurt him, and Mr. Mole laid it on with a will.

Suddenly Mr. Bedington backed his horse close to Mr. Mole, and leaning over the saddle, he seized the stick and threw it over the hedge.

Flourishing his riding-whip at the same time, he said, indignantly:

“I won’t have that lad ill-treated, and if you don’t give me your word, sir, that you will not molest him any more, I shall interfere in a way you will not find very pleasant.”

Mr. Mole looked up.

“You must make allowance for the exasperation of my feelings,” he replied.

“Will you promise?”

“Yes; I have no objection. Having caught the runaway, our chief task is to convey him home. Therefore we will retrace our steps. A good-day to you, sir.”

Without returning his salutation, Mr. Bedington said to Jack.

“Good-bye, my boy; I shall come to your school and see you in the course of a week, when I return from a little journey I am making.”

“Thank you,” replied Jack, wiping the tears out of his eyes and trying to look cheerful.

They went along the road, Jack being between Mr. Mole and Collinson, who each held an arm tightly, as if he was a desperate malefactor, and was expected to do somebody mischief.

There was not much resistance left in Jack now.

He was crushed and broken down by his unexpected capture, and the gloomy prospects before him.

Fortunately, the driver of the fly had, during their absence, obtained some assistance by means of which he extricated his rickety conveyance from the mire.

It was ready for their reception, and bundling Jack in like a bale of goods, his captors sat down and kept the same vigilant watch over him.

At length Pomona House was reached, and Jack conducted into the presence of Mr. Crawcour.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “very good. You have captured the lost sheep—wolf I ought rather to say, for he is more like that animal, fierce, prowling, treacherous, sly, than the gentle sheep.”

“We have had a long chase, sir, and met with difficulties and accidents on the way, as the state of my clothes will show you,” answered Mr. Mole.

“You shall be rewarded. Indeed the consciousness of having done right is always its own reward.”

“Certainly. What is to be done with Harkaway, sir?”

“I have been thinking. In order to prevent his going away a second time, effectual care must be taken. You observe those irons, Mr. Mole?”

The principal pointed to some heavy chains, with padlocks attached, which were laying on the table.

“Yes, sir,” said the senior master.

“I keep them for those whom I call very incorrigible. Fortunately, I have not had occasion to use them much. As caning doesn’t seem to make a proper impression upon Harkaway, I will strike terror into him in another manner. He shall wear those round his legs until the end of the half, and if he runs away far in them, I will forgive him.”

Mr. Crawcour gazed round him with a smile of triumph.

“Excellent, sir,” replied Mr. Mole, who always made a point of agreeing with his principal.

“What do you say, Collinson?” inquired Mr. Crawcour.

Collinson hesitated.

“Speak out! As head boy in the school you have a right to be beard. I should like to hear your opinion.”

“If you press me, sir?”

“I do.”

“Then all I can say is, I consider such a punishment as you propose for Harkaway barbarous in the extreme,” said Collinson, boldly.

“Barbarous! eh! what?” cried Mr. Crawcour, in astonishment.

“There are many other ways of showing your displeasure, sir.”

“Leave the room, Collinson. You have offended me, I am pained at your conduct,” Mr. Crawcour said.

“Why, sir?”

“I see a feeling of discontent and perhaps rebellion, springing up around me, all arising from the example of this misguided and miserable boy. Oh! if he were a strawberry, I would put my foot on him and crush him out of existence. Go, Collinson. I am not to be dictated to by my own pupils.”

“You asked me, sir, for my opinion.”

“Go, if you please, and don’t argue the point with me. It is what I never allowed,” said Mr. Crawcour, waving his hand grandly.

Collinson went away.

“Now, Mr. Mole,” said the principal, cheerfully.

“Sir.”

“We will hobble this boy. Hobble is the word, I think, when applied to a horse, whose leg is hampered with a bar of wood of iron.”

Jack being told to do so, sat down on a chair, and the chains were fixed to his legs, being padlocked just above the ankles.

They felt very heavy and uncomfortable, and he began to feel a pressure upon the ankle which told him that the heavy weight would give him considerable pain in a short time.

He could scarcely walk.

It was with difficulty that he could drag one leg after another.

“That is how we punish boys who run away, Master Harkaway,” said Mr. Crawcour.

“I’ll do it again as soon us I get the chance!” said Jack, speaking for the first time.

“There! what did I tell you?” cried Mr. Crawcour. “Doesn’t his language justify my apparent severity?”

“It does, indeed, sir,” replied the docile Mr. Mole.

“A hardened little reprobate, that’s what he is.”

“Quite so.”

“Take him away. Let him go amongst his companions. I’ll undertake to say that he will get very little sympathy from them.”

“He deserves none at all, sir.”

Saying which, Mr. Mole took Jack by the shoulder, and pushed him forward in the direction of the schoolroom, where the boys were assembled for lessons.

Jack’s face was burning with indignation, shame, and subdued rage, to think that he was treated like a felon of the last century, and could not help himself.

As he entered the room, with his chains clanking about his heels, everyone looked up.

The buzz of conversation ceased.

Jack was the cynosure of all eyes.

To go to his seat he had to pass up the center of the room.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE REBELLION

HE had not gone far before murmurs were heard. Those presently broke out into sounds of audible discontent.

“Shame! shame! infernal shame! too bad—disgraceful—don’t stand it!—take them off!”

These exclamations startled Mr. Mole, who raised his hand for silence.

No one paid any attention to him.

Collinson and the boys in the sixth had been conspiring together.

Suddenly Collinson took up a ruler.

Each boy had one in his desk, and as if by a preconcerted signal seventy or more rulers rose in the air, and descended with a loud rap on the desks.

Rap, rap, rap, continued on all sides, and the din was so great that the masters could not hear themselves speak.

The movement was so general, too, that they could do nothing whatever to stop it.

Mr. Mole glided out of the room and sought Mr. Crawcour.

“Come at once to the schoolroom, sir,” cried Mr. Mole, breathless with excitement.

“What’s the matter!” inquired the principal.

“The school is in an uproar. All the boys are in rebellion.”

“Collinson is the leader, and there is such a din, that discipline is at an end.”

“In that case, dismiss them to the playground, and send Collinson to me.”

“But”——

“Do as I tell you. If I were to go to quell the riot and fail, all discipline would be at an end. Don’t you see?” said Mr. Crawcour.

Mr. Mole shook his head, but went away to obey his instructions. The disturbance had become worse.

The boys were cat-calling, shouting, and making a most distracting noise.

Never had such a scene been known since Pomona House was a school.

Mr. Mole went up to the sixth.

“Collinson,” said he, “restore silence for a few moments, I beg of you.”

“What for?” asked Collinson.

“The boys are to have a half-holiday, and you are to to go Mr. Crawcour. If you have any grievance, he will consider it, and talk the matter over with you. I appeal to your good sense.”

“Boys,” cried Collinson, standing, “order! silence!”

The din ceased instantly.

“You have got a half-holiday. Run away.”

A loud hurrah arose, books were quickly put away, and the boys rushed, yelling, into the playground.

Collinson then held a short consultation with the boys in his form, and went to Mr. Crawcour.

He found him pacing the room in an agitated manner.

“Do you want to destroy my school?” cried the principal, angrily.

“Do you sir?” replied Collinson, quietly.

“Is it likely? The school is my pride; nay more, my support; and I look upon the boys under care as my children.”

Mr. Crawcour spoke with emotion.

You would have taken him for a man of deep feeling.

“Would you load one of your own children with chains like a convict?” Collinson asked.

“Certainly if he offended me.”

“We don’t like the idea. It will be talked about, and we shall be chaffed in the town. Suppose Dr Begbie’s boys get hold of the story?”

“Nonsense.”

Collinson was silent.

“What is it you want?” asked Mr. Crawcour, after a pause.

“Release Harkaway.”

“What am I to do with him? He does not care for caning, and he will run away again. A boy confided to my care is a sacred trust. I am responsible for him to his friends. He is a desperate boy this Harkaway.”

“I think he has been driven to it,” said Collinson.

“It is very unkind of you to say so, and I do not feel disposed to yield to your request. The chains shall not be removed.”

Mr. Crawcour spoke decisively.

“In that case I will not answer for the consequences.”

“I will cane every boy in the school.”

“That will deepen the discontent, sir.”

“You defy me! you, who ought to support my authority. I shall appeal to your companions,” said Mr. Crawcour.

“They all agree with me, that you are acting harshly, and the fellows are determined to put a stop to it.”

Mr. Crawcour went to his cupboard, and took out a cane.

“As you seem to be the ringleader in this revolt, I shall punish you, and having begun with you, I will go through the school,” he said.

Collinson’s eyes flashed.

One stroke descended upon his shoulders.

The next moment the cane was wrenched from Mr. Crawcour’s hand and broken in half, the pieces lying upon the floor.

“This—this is outrageous!” stammered the astonished schoolmaster.

“So I think, on your part,” answered Collinson.

Mr. Crawcour sank into a chair.

“Go,” he said. “You are headstrong, and will regret this. I will not use force to compel you to submit. Reflect, and I am sure your common sense will prompt you to come to me and receive the chastisement you so richly deserve, and which you now refuse to take. Consider you will lose your position in the school, as well as all the prizes. Come to me again in an hour.”

Collinson walked proudly away.

He evinced no sign of repentance.

In the yard he found all the big boys awaiting him.

“Well,” said Maxwell, the second in the sixth, “What does he say?”

Collinson related what had passed.

“He won’t let Harkaway out of those confounded chains?”

“No.”

“Do you know what we’ve been thinking about?” said Stanfield, the captain of the fifth.

“What?”

“A barring out,” answered Stanfield. “Suppose we went out now and got in a lot of grub from the town and some blankets from the dormitories, and shut ourselves up in the schoolroom until they let Harkaway loose, or give us the key, so that we could undo the padlocks.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Collinson, “that is a splendid Idea. It will be a protest against tyranny, like that of Hampden against Charles I. I never thought of that.”

“It will be a glorious tradition for fellows who come after us,” said Maxwell.

“Every school ought to be able to talk about a barring-out,” remarked another.

“Shall we do it?” said Stanfield.

“By all means,” answered Collinson.

“Come along, then, into my study, and arrange the details. There is no time to be lost.”

The conspirators followed Stanfield into his study, and shutting the door, hastily settled upon a plan of action.

A collection of money being made first of all; money in all things being the sinews of war.

The little boys were not to be in the lock-out, because they would only be in the way, and do no good.

Actually, only thirty-five boys were admitted into the schoolroom.

Several of the pupils went into the town, and bought such things as bottled beer, preserved meats, bread, hams, pastry, jams, boiled tongues, and other things which would keep for some time.

When these provisions were carefully stored away, several tubs and baths were brought in and filled with water.

The rebels entered the schoolroom.

The door was barricaded with large pieces of wood, nailed from post to post.

The windows were secured in a similar manner, and the arrangements were complete.

Collinson was the leader of everything, and when they were all assembled, he made a speech.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “we have been compelled to take strong measures in order to show those who are set in authority over us that we are not to be treated as slaves. One of our members—I allude to my friend—our friend, I may say, Jack Harkaway (cheers), has been treated in a most shameful manner. We are insulted through him, and I believe I echo the sentiments of this meeting when I say we are determined not to yield until the key is handed to us, and we can set our companion at liberty (loud cheering). As our operations have been conducted with great speed and secrecy, our masters have no idea of the actual state of things, but the knowledge cannot long be kept from them. We shall be called upon to surrender, but we shall show a bold front (cries of ‘We will! we will! No surrender!’). We are well provisioned. We have water, beer and candles. If some of you fellows will illuminate the saloon by lighting the penny dip, I will open some bottled beer, and have a drink to the success of our enterprise, as the unusual exertion of speaking has made me very thirsty.”

Collinson sat down amid much laughter.

It was getting dark, and candles formed a welcome addition to the feeble light.

The viands were brought out.

The boys found, however, that they had neither table cloths or knives or forks.

Some had pocket-knives, so that the difficulty was partly got over.

Collinson opened some large bottles of beer, and the spirits of all rose. A ham was cut, a tongue and a couple of pies laid under contribution, and the feast began.

Suddenly there was a rapping at the door.

Bang! bang!

As if some one was kicking violently.

“Go it, my boy!”” exclaimed Collinson. “That’s old Mole, he want’s to get in.”

“Don’t he wish he may?” remarked Maxwell.

Harvey and Jack were sitting together, the former rendering the latter every assistance in his power.

“Cheer up, old boy,” said Harvey. “I am glad the whole school have taken up your cause.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, with his mouth full of pigeon pie. “Try this dove tart.”

“Wait till I’ve finished the chicken and ham. Pass the beer; those fellows will swig it all. Do the chains hurt?”

“A little. They are so beastly heavy.”

“What a shame it is!”

“I don’t care. I’m all right: don’t bother me,” replied Jack, “Is Mordenfield with us?”

“No, he wouldn’t come in. He said he wouldn’t tell about us. But he didn’t care to join us, because it was a barring out for your sake.”

“I wonder why he hates me so.”

“You used to be such friends.”

“Yes. He has changed lately though,” said Jack, thoughtfully.

Collinson got up at this juncture.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “your kind attention for one moment. I hope some of you are looking after Harkaway. You are, that’s all right. You are kind, and I am sure he will be grateful. I beg to give a toast; it is the health of Jack Harkaway, one of the best fellows in the school, and one of the most persecuted. I give you the health, gentlemen, of the Helen of this Trojan war, the victim of scholastic tyranny. Bumpers, gentlemen.”

“Musical honors,” cried Stanfield, and he led off with—“For he’s a jolly good fellow;” and every one joined in the chorus with a hearty good will.

When silence was restored, Mr. Mole who was trying to got admittance, made more noise than ever.

“They say moles walk in the dark,” observed Stanfield.

There was a roar of laughter at this.

“Let him knock it out,” said Collinson.

CHAPTER XXXIII

BESIEGED

THE boy who was placed as a sentinel at the door called to Collinson.

“What is it?” asked the latter.

“Mr. Mole is outside, and he says he wants to speak you,” replied the boy.

“To me?”

“Yes. He won’t keep you a minute.”

“Shall I go and hold a parley with him?” inquired Collinson.

“I should,” answered Stanfield.

Collinson got up from the festive board, and walked to the door.

“Do you want me, Mr. Mole?”

“Yes,” answered the senior master.

“I am listening,” said Collinson.

“What is the meaning of this extraordinary conduct on your part? The whole of the upper part of the school is in revolt.”

“You know the reason as well as I do.”

“Indeed I do not,” replied Mr. Mole.

“I distinctly told Mr. Crawcour that if he persisted in his course of severity towards Harkaway, l would not be answerable for the consequences.”

“Mr. Crawcour is deeply grieved.”

“Give us the key of the padlock, so that we can take off the chains,” said Collinson; “promise us that no notice shall be taken of our rebellion, and in an hour’s time we will open the door, and have the room ready for prayers.”

“No,” replied Mr. Mole, in a decided voice. “I cannot agree to anything of the sort. I have the key of the padlock in my pocket, and there it will remain.”

“You will not make any terms with us?”

“None whatever. We must have an unconditional surrender, or all discipline is at an end.”

“It seems to me,” returned Collinson, “that it is so at present.”

“I have talked the matter over with the principal,” continued Mr. Mole, “and he is of my opinion, namely, that no concession can possibly be made to boys who have behaved as you have. An example must be made of the ringleaders, who will he severely punished.”

“When you catch them,” said Collinson.

“We are well provisioned, and perhaps in a few days you will alter your tone. You know our terms,” said Collinson.

“This is really disrespectful. I did not expect such conduct from you, Collinson,” Mr. Mole said. “You have always been a pattern to others and the ornament of the school. Will you not listen to the voice of reason?”

“Let us have justice first.”

“Misguided boy!” groaned Mr. Mole; “a day of bitter repentance will follow this act of temporary insanity!”

“I beg your pardon,” said Collinson, a little hotly. “I am no more mad than yourself, nor are those who are acting with me.”

“My dear boy, forgive me if my expressions are a little hasty. I wish to meet you in a purely Christian spirit. Open the door.”

“Certainly not. We are not quite such flats as that; first of all we must have the key, and then a written pardon from Mr. Crawcour,” Collinson replied.

“I cannot promise anything of the sort, and bear this well in mind,” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

“What?”

“Mr. Crawcour will punish you all if you do not yield speedily. He says he will cane the entire school one by one; reflect upon the consequences of your rash act. What does your duty to your neighbor teach you? Is it not to obey all those who are placed in authority over you?”

“Goodnight. I want to finish my supper. Sorry we can’t ask you to join us,” said Collinson, turning away.

Mr. Mole groaned again, but made no further attempt to continue the conversation.

Presently Collinson joined his companions.

“It was no use wasting any further time with him,” he said.

All being of that opinion, the supper was proceeded with, and it was unanimously decided that the resistance should be carried on to the bitter end, unless their terms were complied with.

Songs were sung, and general mirth prevailed, the noise made by the boys being heard distinctly by Mr. Crawcour and his masters, who were assembled in the former’s drawingroom.

The little boys who had not joined in the barring out, had gone to their dormitories, delighted at the uproar in the school, and hoping that as the schoolroom was occupied, there would be no lessons on the morrow.

“Well,” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, as the senior master entered the room. “What say the rioters?”

The expression of his face was anxious. He was alarmed, because a rebellion is calculated not to do a school any good. It shows the authority of the master is defied. The boys write home a long account of the “glorious barring out,” and the probable result is the removal of the boys by their parents or guardians who do not altogether look upon this sort of thing in the same light as the boys themselves.

The ruin of the school was staring him in the face; so that it is no wonder the principal of Pomona House awaited Mr. Mole’s answer with anxiety openly expressed upon his sallow countenance.

“I was defied, sir,” answered Mr. Mole, abstractedly helping himself to a glass of sherry.

His example was followed by the other masters, Mr. Pumpleton, Mr. Stoner, and M. Bolivant, who thought their spirits wanted encouraging.

As for Mrs. Crawcour, she preserved her indolent attitude on the sofa, as if anything connected with the school could not possibly interest her.

“You could make no impression upon Collinson,” answered Mr. Crawcour.

“None, sir.”

“What did he say?”

“He demanded a complete pardon for himself and his associates, and the instant liberation of Harkaway.”

“And you told him”——

“That you could not possibly agree to such terms.”

“You were right,” answered Mr. Crawcour, after a few moment’s reflection; “such a surrender of our rights would be a confession of weakness which we should never get over.”

“They must give in in time,” said Mr. Stoner.

“I’ll flog them all,” cried the principal, adding, “help yourself, Mole. You are flustered. A glass of wine will do you good.”

Mr. Mole followed this excellent advice, and made valiant by the wine, said:

“I have a plan, sir.”

“Let us hear it, by all means.”

“Whether you will think it worth while to adopt it or not is another thing.”

“Never mind; an idea of any sort in such a crisis is valuable,” replied the principal.

“The singing and shouting are not so loud; in a short time they will have gone to sleep.”

“Yes.”

“Then is the time for a night attack.”

“How and where?”

“By the window on the side of the yard,” said Mr. Mole, with a a knowing wink.

“Excellent!” said Mr. Crawcour. “A night attack is a good idea—I may call it a brilliant suggestion. But how is it to be done, and who is to execute it?”

“I will!” replied Mr. Mole, grandly.

All eyes were fixed upon him with admiration.

He was the hero of the hour.

“That is what you call brave!” exclaimed M. Bolivant. “I say hurrah for Mr. Mole!”

“Thank you,” said the principal, shaking him by the hand; “you are my friend. Believe me, Mole, I shall never forget you. Try some more sherry.”

“I will,” answered the senior master, pouring the wine inadvertently into a tumbler. “In times like these one may indulge.”

“Certainly; and now be good enough to give us the details of your plan.”

“In the yard we have a ladder, Once on the top of the ladder, outside the window, a blow or two from a sledge hammer will insure admittance. I shall enter. My presence will strike awe into the hearts of the rioters. While they are in a stale of dismay you will all follow me, and the thing is done.”

“It is possible,” said Mr. Crawcour, thoughtfully, “and I am the more pleased with the scheme because the longer this absurd rebellion lasts the more harm it is calculated to do me. These things should be nipped in the bud. How boys whom I have trained so carefully could be induced to behave so badly is beyond my comprehension.”

“About twelve o’clock I will make the attempt.”

“So be it: and now let us while away the time with a pipe or a cigar,” said Mr. Crawcour. His wife arose.

“If you are going to defile my drawingroom with tobacco smoke I shall go to my own apartments,” she exclaimed.

“Just for once, my dear. What is happening in the school makes this an exceptional night,” said her husband.

“Why am I always to be worried by the school? You should manage the boys better, and such things would not happen,” Mrs. Crawcour retorted.

“Better? Am I not always thinking of the dear boys?”

“Look at your severity. It is disgusting. Would such things be tolerated at Eton or Harrow? Their demands are perfectly reasonable, and I am glad to see boys are not the sneaks, and hypocrites, and poor soulless things you have tried to make them.”

With this speech she swept from the room leaving her husband and his masters astonished.

“Poor creature,” said Mr. Crawcour; she has “no appreciation nor sympathies with my efforts.”

“None whatever,” answered Mr. Mole, helping himself again.

The senior master’s hand trembled a little.

He was not accustomed to strong potations, and the sherry, was taking effect upon him.

Talking with one another, the masters impatiently waited for the hours to pass, so that the attack might be made.

CHAPTER XXXIV

STORMED

At about twelve o’clock, Mr. Mole, accompanied by his friends, went into the yard, and noiselessly raised a ladder against a window of the schoolroom.

He ascended with a somewhat unsteady gait.

To his surprise the window was open, but he did not know that a sentinel was standing by in the shadow.

The night was cold, and two candles flickered on a table, showing him that the boys, in various positions, were slumbering on the floor, covered by rugs and blankets.

Stepping into the room, he gazed about him, astonished at his success, and scarcely knowing how to proceed.

In an instant, Carr, who was the sentinel, shut the window, and called loudly to the boys to come to his assistance.

Collinson and others were quickly on their legs.

Mr. Mole was surrounded and thrown on the floor, his hands being fastened behind his back with a rope.

He did not make much resistance, as, strictly speaking, he was hardly sober.

“Just what we expected,” exclaimed Collinson. “Carr, you’re a brick, and have done your duty like a man. Make the window fast now. Mr. Mole, you have fallen nicely into the trap.”

“Let me go,” said Mr. Mole, feebly.

“Certainly not. You are held as a hostage,” answered Collinson.

The window was shut and made fast, so that it would not be easy to open it from the outside.

Mr. Pumpleton, however, was not to be deterred.

Grasping an axe, he ascended, and began to attack the window, seeing that the senior master was captured, and wishing to rescue him.

With the first blow he dealt at the frame a pane of glass was shivered to atoms.

Collinson advanced, and speaking through the hole, said:

“Take care; we shall resist force by force. If you value your bones, go down. I shall not hesitate to push the ladder into the yard, and you will fall with it.”

“What are you going to do with Mr. Mole?” asked the second master.

“That is our business; we are not cannibals, and so you need not be afraid that we shall eat him.”

Mr. Pumpleton thought better of his rash enterprise, and descended, without further parley, to report the state of affairs to his colleagues. The principal was furious.

“Where is Mr. Mole?” he asked.

“Taken prisoner.”

“Go and rescue him.”

“Thank you, sir, I would rather not,” answered the second master. “The boys seem very determined.”

“I order you to do so,” thundered Mr. Crawcour.

“I must refuse, sir, I am sorry to say, as I value my neck. If you will go first, I will follow your lead.”

Mr. Stoner and M. Bolivant were equally reluctant to make the attempt, and they retreated to the house, followed by Mr. Crawcour, who was foaming with rage.

“Cowards,” he said.

“If we are cowards,” replied Mr. Pumpleton. “I respectfully submit that you are one, also, sir, since you are equally reluctant with ourselves to attack the boys.”

Mr. Crawcour made no answer.

There was nothing more to be done that night, so the besiegers retired to their rooms.

In a few moments Collinson pushed away the ladder, which fell with a crash in the yard.

He then turned his attention to Mr. Mole.

In his waistcoat pocket he found the key of the padlock, and going up to Harkaway, unfastened his chains, which he dragged with a clanking sound to the senior master.

“What are you going to do?” asked the latter, trembling.

“What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,” answered Collinson, fastening the chain round the master’s legs.

“Here, Harkaway,” he cried, “come and padlock him up. This is what I call retributive justice.”

Jack was nothing loath, and in a short time Mr. Mole was manacled as the boy had been, much to his disgust.

But the wine he had taken had somewhat blunted his faculties.

“Make him a bed of dictionaries, Caesars Ovids, Virgils—any schoolbooks you can find, and put him in a corner,” said Collinson.

Mr. Mole soon found himself extended on a hard couch, but the rope round his hands was cut, which gave him a little more freedom.

Two boys were told off to guard him.

“My dear Collinson, I forgive you,” said Mr. Mole, with drunken gravity. “I have a request to make. You have, I imagine, some liquors here? As it happens, I have been drinking the governor’s sherry, and it has given me a plaguing thirst. If you can gratify me with a glass of wine, or a drink of beer, I shall sign myself ‘Yours, ever gratefully, T. Mole.’ ”

“Give him some beer,” replied Collinson, smiling.

Accordingly, a quart bottle of Romford strong ale was emptied into a jug and handed to him.

He drank every drop and returned the jug with a sigh of satisfaction.

“I knew we should be friends,” he said. “Why should we not? Yet these chains are galling. There is an unpleasant weight about the ankles, and my shins begin to pain me. Cannot they be removed?”

“On no account,” said Collinson.

“Then I must even put up with them, though it is a trial. Perhaps a pipe of tobacco will not be refused me?” said Mr. Mole.

Stanfield handed him his pouch.

“Ah!” exclaimed he, as he filled his pipe, “this is a discovery! I have always suspected you of smoking, Stanfield, but I never could find you out. When order is restored I shall not forget this.”

“You ungrateful—well, I won’t abuse you,” replied Stanfield. “But I never met with such a fellow before. Here do I give him some tobacco to comfort him in his misfortunes, and he turns round upon me like a warmed viper.”

Mr. Mole did not reply.

A puff or two of smoke—the tobacco being sharp and stronger than the mild returns he was in the habit of smoking, overcame him, and, decidedly intoxicated, he let the pipe fall from his hand, and looking round him, laughed insanely.

“I say, boys,” he exclaimed, “what a jolly spree!”

Collinson and Stanfield, and all those who stood around, laughed loudly.

“You’ve driven the governor half wild; he’ll have a fit! But no matter. You’re jolly fellowship. Gives more old ale—capital stuff, old ale!”

His request was complied with.

“Givesh a shong, Col—Collinson!” he continued, letting the jug fall on the floor.

Before Collinson could reply, his head fell back, and he went off to sleep, snoring like a pig.

“I don’t think they ought to talk about us after this,” remarked Stanfield.

“Let’s tar and feather him, and put him out in the yard, and then ring the schoolbell,” suggested Jack, who was always full of mischief, and who began to recover himself since the removal of the chains.

“Where’s the tar to come from?” asked Collinson.

“Harvey had some to tar the top of his new rabbit hutch with, and it’s in his locker now, pot, brush, and all,” replied Jack.

“And the feathers?”

“They are easily got. Haven’t we a bed or two brought down from the dormitory?”

“Yes.”

“Well, rip it open with a knife, and we shall have any amount of feathers.”

“Capital!” cried all the boys who were awake, in chorus.

It was no sooner said than done.

Mr. Mole was stripped to the waist, he being so dead asleep as to be incapable of making any resistance, or oven protesting. They left him only his trousers, boots, and his socks. With a pair of scissors they cut his hair short, and applying the brush, gave him a thick coating of tar.

Ripping open the feather bed, the boys took up handfuls of feathers and threw them at him until he was as white as snow.

“That will do,” said Collinson. “Fasten him in a chair; he is too tight to stand, and we will carry him into the yard.”

“Properly speaking, he ought to be ridden on a rail. That’s the way they do it in America,” said Jack.

“Never mind. He’ll do as it is,” answered Collinson. “I say, Stanfield!”

“What?” asked Stanfield.

“Just unbar the door, and take a look out. Squint round the corner, and see if all’s clear.”

Stanfield did as he was requested, and reported all clear, and not a light to be seen anywhere.

“As I thought,” said Collinson.

“They’ve given it up for tonight, and have all gone to bed. So much the better; lend us a hand here, some of you fellows.”

Several willing hands helped Collinson to carry the chair, to which Mr. Mole was fastened so that he could not fall out.

They took it to the middle of the yard, and tied a lantern round the senior master’s neck.

Then they retired to the schoolroom, rebarricaded the door, and congratulated themselves upon the success of their enterprise.

Collinson seized the bellrope, and began to pull it violently.

Such a noise had never been heard in the middle of the night, since Pomona House was a school.

In a short time lights flashed at more than one window.

Mr. Crawcour thought the premises were on fire.

He rushed out partly dressed, quickly being joined by Mr. Pumpleton, Mr. Stoner, and M. Bolivant.

They directed their steps to the yard.

When Collinson saw them coming, he left off ringing, and the boys, with suppressed laughter, watched them wind their way, shading their candles from the wind with their hands, to the chair on which the unfortunate senior master was bound.

“What is it?” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, curiously examining him.

“Half man, half bird, I should think,” said Mr. Pumpleton.

“It has the feathers of a goose,” remarked Mr. Stoner.

“Some trick of ze rascally boys,” suggested M. Bolivant.

“Yes, that is more like it,” continued the principal. “Look here; it is Mr. Mole. God bless me! It cannot be! Yes, it is—it is his face!”

“Ah! where is his beautiful chestnut hair, tinged with ze light gray? Was it a wig?” said M. Bolivant.

“Mole—Mole, my dear fellow, wake up, do!” cried Mr. Crawcour, shaking him.

The inanimate senior master did not move.

“They have drugged him,” said Mr. Pumpleton.

“They have killed him,” chimed in Mr. Stoner.

At this dreadful suggestion everyone turned pale.

Mr. Crawcour put his ear to his mouth.

“No!” he exclaimed; “he breathes!”

This declaration was a relief.

“Carry him in; it is some trick; I do believe they have made him drunk, and tarred and feathered him,” said Mr. Pumpleton.

This remark did credit to the second master’s sagacity.

Mr. Mole was carried in.

But it was too late to wash him, though Mr. Stone, suggested that he should be put into a warm bath until the morning.

He could not be said to have gone to sleep in his clothes, but he certainly went to sleep in his feathers.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE DYING BOY

THE outrage which had been perpetrated upon Mr. Mole—for so the masters termed the trick which had been played him—exasperated them beyond all measure.

In the morning the unhappy man presented a lamentable aspect.

He could render no assistance to his comrades, for he was obliged to sit in swarm bath, and allow two strong countrymen whom he had promised half a sovereign apiece, to rub him with soap and lard to get the tar and feathers off his skin.

The others however were not idle.

Mr. Crawcour was determined to get possession of his schoolroom.

Taking Mr. Pumpleton, Mr. Stoner, M. Bolivant, and some of the keenest of younger boys who were not locked in, he went to the door of the school, and attacked it with hatchets, hammers, crowbars and other weapons.

Young Lord Mordenfield was one of the foremost in the attack.

The door offered a stubborn resistance.

For more than an hour was a shower of blows rained upon it, and large pieces were chipped out of its panels.

At last it began to give way.

Mr. Crawcour and the others pushed against it, and it swung backwards.

A loud hurrah broke forth from those outside.

Mordenfield was one of the foremost in the attack, and he did not see that a huge press which had been brought to the front by the beseiged, was swaying backward and forwards.

“Take care!” cried Mr. Crawcour, springing back.

His example was followed by all but Mordenfield who tried to rush into the schoolroom.

“Look out!” shouted Mr. Pumpleton.

The warning came too late.

The press fell heavily, crushing the boy underneath it.

He uttered a groan, and then was still.

Everyone was awe-stricken, by this terrible occurrence.

The rebels hung back, speechless with terror.

“Lend a hand all of you. This is no time for quarreling,” exclaimed Mr. Pumpleton. “Lord Mordenfield is lying under the press. He may be dying.”

Differences were now forgotten, and those who were a few minutes before so eager to keep themselves in rushed out, making great efforts to raise the press, which for some time defied their exertions.

At length the young lord was extricated.

He appeared lifeless, and the blood that issued from his mouth, nose and ears, gave him a forbidding aspect which was increased by the ghastly whiteness of his face.

“Merciful Heaven!” cried Mr. Crawcour. “I fear he is dying. I would have rather given a thousand pounds than this should have happened. Misguided boys, see what your thoughtlessness has resulted in!”

Collinson, Stanfield, and the other leading boys of the school, hung back abashed.

There is something in the appearance of death which hushes the angriest passions.

Mordenfield was carried to his bedroom, and a doctor was sent for post-haste.

No one thought of continuing the barring out.

The unfortunate accident which had occurred put an end to all hostilities between masters and boys. Besides there was little left to fight for.

Collinson gave up the key of the padlock, and Mr. Mole’s legs, which were by this time dreadfully swollen, were liberated.

The boys walked about the yard in the playground, conversing in whispers.

When the doctor came he carefully examined the injured boy.

Looking gravely at Mr. Crawcour, he said:

“Has he any friends living hereabouts?”

“Certainly; it is young Lord Mordenfield. His mother lives at Willow Copse Hall, which is about six miles from here,” replied the principal.

“Let her be sent for at once.”

A messenger was promptly despatched on horseback.

“I do not wish to alarm you unnecessarily,” continued the doctor, “but I will not answer for the young gentleman’s life. He has received dreadful injuries of an internal nature; of course all that human skill can do shall be done.”

“For heaven’s sake, doctor, do your best. My school will be ruined should this accident have a fatal termination,” cried Mr. Crawcour, in an agony of apprehension.

“As a medical man, I shall exert myself to the utmost; I can say no more,” answered the doctor.

After doing all that his experience suggested, he remained sitting by the bedside, holding the boy’s hand in his, and carefully noticing the alterations of his pulse.

Mr. Crawcour went down stairs, and, seeking Mr. Pumpleton—Mr. Mole being still under the cleaning process—said:

“Where is Harkaway? He is the cause of all this. He shall go this moment—he shall go! He is a curse to the school?”

“My dear sir, do not be hasty, I beg,” said the second master.

But Mr. Crawcour rushed into the yard, determined to send Harkaway about his business, without an instant’s delay.

Jack was conversing with Harvey, not suspecting that he was once more about to become the victim of the principal’s blind fury.

CHAPTER XXXVI

A FRIEND IN NEED

MR. CRAWCOUR was perfectly beside himself with rage.

He foresaw in the very remote distance the probable closing of Pomona House.

This would entail wretchedness and beggary upon him for his pupils would be taken away, and he would have to sell the goodwill of his school and his furniture for an old song.

His treatment of Jack Harkaway would make a sensational paragraph for a newspaper, and the subsequent events would rival it.

He already saw it in print.

How the boy was goaded to madness by the tyranny of his master, and ran away.

How the other boys, horrified at his cruel, barbarous and unheard-of-treatment, rose to deliver him. Then would come the barring-out.

The capture of the senior master, his being chained in the place of the boy victim, and his tarring and feathering.

The conclusion of this strange story would be the storming of the barricade and the mortal wounds received by the young Lord Mordenfield.

Certain to make a stir was the death of a lord.

And the doctor had said that Lord Mordenfield’s life was worth little.

Grasping a stick, Mr. Crawcour ran amongst the astonished boys, seeking Jack.

At length he found him.

Jack was the center of a group of admiring companions, who regarded him as at once the martyr and the hero of the hour.

A boy who has been subjected to ill-treatment by his masters is sure to be popular.

More especially will he be so, if he has done nothing to deserve the severity.

“How did you feel in the chains, Jack?” asked one.

“Did they hurt?” said another.

“Not much. I feel a little stiff about the legs, and that’s all,” answered Jack.

Strictly speaking this was not true, for the boy’s legs were much swollen and discolored.

Mr. Crawcour approached, and overheard the concluding portion of this dialogue.

“Oh, it didn’t hurt you, didn’t it, you little viper!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, sir, it did if—that will please you,” answered Jack, shrinking back.

“I’ve got something that will hurt you in my hand. Nothing’s too bad for you, because you are a murderer!” vociferated the almost insane schoolmaster.

“I don’t think you are justified in applying that term to me,” exclaimed Jack, coloring.

“Who killed Lord Mordenfield?”

“I didn’t know he was dead; and if so, I am very sorry to hear it; but I thought his injuries resulted from accident—some forms falling upon him.”

“Never mind that—who was the prime mover of the riot and the original cause of all the disturbances?”

Jack was silent.

“Answer me that,” thundered Mr. Crawcour.

“If I was the cause, as you want to make out, sir, I submit that I was the innocent cause.”

“No, you were not, hypocrite and villain that you are. I control myself when speaking to you, who are everything that is bad. His lordship is dying. I am ruined, and you shall not stay another night in my house? What did I say, another night! not another hour!”

“At least, sir, give me time to write to my friends, so that I may be removed properly.”

“I will not,” answered Mr. Crawcour. “You went away of your own accord a few days ago, and you want to stay to further incite my boys against me.”

“Indeed, sir, you are too hard upon me.”

“Am I? It is a wonder that I do not crush you under my feet.”

“You always had a spite against me,” said Jack, sulkily.

“Out of my house, at once—out of it,” cried Mr. Crawcour, “and never darken its doors again with your unlucky presence.”

And he began to belabor Jack most unmercifully with his stick, repeating:

“Out of my house, out of my house!”

“Get out of your house,” said Jack, running away to escape the flagellation. “You’re out of your mind.”

Finding that Pomona House should no longer be a home for him, Jack fled through the yard-gate and got into the road.

It was early in the morning of a bright cold day.

The door slammed heavily behind him, and was double-locked.

Without looking back, Jack was trudging manfully along when he heard his name called.

Turning round he saw that several of his schoolfellows had mounted the wall, and were waving their caps in the air.

“Good-bye, Jack,” they said. “Good luck to you! Good-bye. Good-bye.”

Touched by this expression of goodwill, he waved his hand.

Soon the boys disappeared, and sundry yells arose, indicating that Mr. Crawcour was at work amongst them with his big stick.

Jack was not at all sorry to get away from such a place as Pomona House.

But he was indignant at the way in which he had been treated.

He had no money either, which did not tend to raise his spirits, for he had given all his money to Collinson at the commencement of his barring-out to buy provisions.

His legs were very much swollen and inflamed, too, more than he had been prepared to admit.

A very little walking showed him that he was not capable of going far.

A pain arose in each foot, and extended in a short time up both of his legs.

“This is pleasant,” said Jack, as he was obliged to sit down on a bank by the roadside. “I’m a nice sort of fellow to run away at present. I wish they had put me right before they kicked me out.”

He attempted to start again, but by this time he was in such pain that he could scarcely crawl along.

It was with difficulty that he got out of the way of a carriage and pair driven along the road.

It was going at a furious rate.

But, quickly as it passed him, Jack recognized the livery of Lady Mordenfield.

“She is going to see her son,” he muttered. “Poor creature, I wonder how she will bear the shock. It is a dreadful affair; but it is unjust to say I was the cause of it.”

He had uttered the last words aloud, and was considerably startled to hear a voice behind him exclaim:

“Who says so, my little man?”

Thinking he knew the voice, ’he turned quickly round.

It was not a mistake on his part, for the person who accosted him was no other than Mr. Bedington.

The mysterious visitor who so strangely excited the mind of Lady Mordenfield.

The solitary traveler who had taken Jack’s part when pursued by Mr. Mole and Collinson on the memorable occasion of his running away.

“How do you do, sir?” asked Jack, holding out his hand.

“Very well, thank you. And how are you?” said Mr. Bedington.

“I can’t say much for myself. My legs hurt me.”

“How is that?”

“I had some heavy chains put on them, and the other boys not liking it, got up a barring-out.”

“Indeed! And that is why you are on your travels again, I suppose?”

“Mr. Crawcour turned me out—expelled me in fact.”

“You are quite pale,” said Mr. Bedington. “It is fortunate, perhaps, that I have met you. Where do you intend to go?”

“To London, I think, sir, and seek my friends at Highgate.”

“That will be the very best thing you can do. I much approve of such sensible determination. Is the disturbance over at your school?”

“Not yet. The barring out is over; but a heavy press fell upon Lord Mordenfield, who, they say, is dying.”

Mr. Bedington started.

“God bless me!” he said. “How strangely things come about in this incomprehensible world. Who would have thought it? Does his mother know it?”

“I saw her carriage pass just now going at full speed,” replied Jack.

“Well, you will find me a friend in need.”

“And that is, the old saying tells us, a friend indeed,” answered Jack, smiling.

“Stay here, and I will procure a fly, or some other conveyance which will take us to the station; and I will put off what engagements I have, and accompany you to town,” continued Mr. Bedington.

Jack thanked him very warmly for his kindness.

“I don’t know how it is, but I take a strange interest in you,” Mr. Bedington said.

“And I, sir, feel as if I could love you as a father,” answered Jack.

“You told me. I think, that you never knew your parents?” Mr. Bedington went on, thoughtfully.

“I have no recollection of them.”

“Well, you have lost a father, and I, years ago, lost a son. But time presses. Expect me here again shortly.”

So saying, Mr. Bedington hurried away, leaving Jack to his own reflections, which were of a mingled description.

CHAPTER XXXVII

“HOME AGAIN.”

MR. BEDINGTON was not long in procuring a fly, which, picking up Jack, drove them to the station at Lillie Bridge, where they caught a London train, proceeding afterwards to Highgate.

Mr. and Mrs. Scratchley were just about sitting down to an early dinner.

They were profoundly surprised to see Jack, who was the last person in their thoughts.

Emily came down stairs, having seen Jack get out of the fly from a window.

She met him in the hall.

“Dear, dear Jack,” she cried, throwing her arms about his neck.

“Bless you, my little sweetheart; so you have not forgotten me?” he exclaimed, kissing her.

“Forgotten you! Oh, Jack, how can you?” she replied, looking at him reproachfully.

“Come inside, Jack! you are just in time for dinner,” exclaimed Mr. Scratchley, with rather more than his usual kindness.

Addressing Mr. Bedington, Mr. Scratchley said:

“Whom have I the honor of speaking to?”

“My name is Bedington,” was the reply.

“And you are”——

“A friend of this neglected boy.”

“I have got to learn by what right you constitute yourself his protector,” Mr. Scratchley rejoined, a little nettled at the stern tone in which he was spoken to.

“By the right which all humane people have to protect the oppressed and friendless.”

“And you call yourself a humane person?”

There was in Mr. Scratchley’s voice what that gentleman intended to be, a tinge of sarcasm.

It was, however, totally lost upon his auditor.

“Come where I can speak to you for a short time, and do not bandy useless words in the passage,” replied the latter.

The was something in the visitor’s manner which awed Mr. Scratchley, and he led the way into his drawingroom.

“Now, sir, I am your humble servant,” he said.

Briefly but clearly Mr. Bedington related all that had occurred at Pomona House as far as he himself knew.

“The boy can give you the details,” he concluded, “and you can now judge whether or not my conduct is consistent with humanity, or if I am simply meddlesome and officious.”

“I find that I owe you an apology, sir, and I beg to thank you for your behavior in this distressing matter,” said Mr. Scratchley; “but, at the same time, I feel hound to tell you that Jack has always been a mischievous, ungovernable boy.”

“All boys have a spirit.”

“Be his apologist if you like.”

“Consider his loss in not knowing his parents”——

“Oh! he has told you that, has he?” Mr. Scratchley exclaimed, in a tone of annoyance.

“He has.”

“Now you are here, may I venture to extend my hospitality to you? We were about to dine.”

“I shall be most glad,” Mr. Bedington, replied, with a bow.

“Afterward we can resume this conversation.”

“As you please.”

They adjourned to the dining-room, where a substantial dinner in the shape of a cod-fish and a leg of mutton awaited them.

During the progress of the meal, Jack had related what had happened to him at Crawcour’s amid many expressions of sympathy from Emily and her mamma.

“You must have the doctor to see your ankles,” said Mrs. Scratchley.

“The great brute to treat you like that. I should like to put him in chains,” said Emily.

“He shall not go back,” exclaimed Mrs. Scratchley. “I find my confidence in the man was strangely misplaced.”

“It is a pity, if you will allow me to say,” remarked Mr. Bedington, “that you did not take the trouble sometimes to go and see how the boy was treated.”

This was a home thrust, and Mr. Scratchley was judiciously silent, for he had nothing to urge in his defense.

After dinner Jack and Emily retired into the garden, to sit together in the arbor, and he again told her all he had gone through.

He met with an attentive listener, and Emily was never tired of saying: “Poor Jack, how illused you have been!”

Mr. Scratchley brought out some of his old port, and a box of cigars, with which he and his visitor managed, to pass the time very agreeably.

It seemed that Mr. Bedington had a notion in stopping.

“I should like to adopt a child,” he exclaimed.

“Having none of your own, I apprehend?” said Mr. Scratchley.

“I had one, but his whereabouts is a mystery to me. We were separated when he was very young. I have reasons for believing him alive though.”

“That is sad,” remarked Mr. Scratchley, helping himself to the generous port.

“Harkaway, is a fine lad.”

“Physically, yes.”

“Well, boys are mentally what their trainers make them.”

“Not always. Look at the trouble I have taken with that boy,” replied Mr. Scratchley.

“You do not care about him.”

“Why not?” demanded Scratchley, sharply. “I am well paid for looking after him.”

“By whom?”

“That’s my secret,” replied Scratchley, with a cunning look, “and in my opinion, three hundred a year is worth having.”

“Especially when you do not expend one-third of it on the boy.”

“That is my business. The wine is with you; help yourself my dear sir,” Scratchley said, blandly.

Mr. Bedington did so.

“Are you paid by the boy’s friend, or by a solicitor?”

“The question is rather impertinent, but I don’t mind saying that a solicitor is the person who sends me a quarterly check.”

“For how much will you give me the name of that agent?” asked Mr. Bedington.

“Do you want to adopt the child?”

“I will say ‘No.’ ”

“Do you mean‘No?’ ”

“Yes.”

“You see,” continued Mr. Scratchley, “that if the boy is taken away from me, I lose the three hundred a year of which I have spoken. That is a fair way to look at it, is it not?”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Bedington.

“Very well. Give me a thousand pounds, and the name and address shall be yours.”

“It is a large sum, but you shall have it. Where is a pen and ink?”

Being supplied with these requisites, Mr. Bedington, in a very business-like manner, wrote a check for the amount, handing it to Mr. Scratchley, who in his turn gave him an envelope, with name and address on it, as follows: “Mr, Lucas,

“Solicitor,

“Knightrider Street,

“Doctors’ Commons.”

Mr. Bedington smiled.

“It is as I thought,” he observed.

“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Scratchley.

“I fancied Lucas would be the name.”

“Why?”

“No matter. I must ran away now. You will see me shortly. Tell Jack I shall not forget him. “Excuse my haste.”

They shook hands, and Mr. Bedington took his leave.

In the road he found a cab, which took him at once to Doctors’ Commons.

On reaching the lawyer’s office, he inquired for Mr. Lucas.

“He will be in directly, sir,” answered the clerk.

Mr. Beddington was shown into the solicitor’s private room, one side of which was adorned with tin boxes full of papers.

Names were written outside of them.

“On one larger than the rest was “Lady Mordenfield,” showing that Mr. Lucas was her ladyship’s solicitor.

When Mr. Lucas came in, he appeared surprised to behold his visitor.

“Dear me!” he exclaimed. “This is an unexpected pleasure. I heard you were dead. Have you seen her ladyship?”

“Lady Mordenfield and I have met,” was the reply.

“It is years since you and I have parted in this very room,” continued Mr. Lucas, an elderly man, with gray hairs, “and I can guess what you want to talk to me about; but I fear I have not time now. I have received a telegram summoning me to Hertfordshire. An accident has happened to young Lord Mordenfield.”

“I am aware of it.”

“Is it serious?”

“He is dying.”

“Bless me!” exclaimed the solicitor. “This will be a great blow to her ladyship.”

“I, too, am going to Hertfordshire; and if you have no objection, Lucas, I will accompany you, and we can talk on the way,” said Mr. Bedington.

“With all my heart,” answered the solicitor.

In half an hour they were in a cab, going to the station.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

LADY MORDENFIELD’S GRIEF

MR. BEDINGTON showed no signs of excitement.

The most important questions were agitating his mind, but he was calmness itself.

In the railway train he lost no time in questioning Mr. Lucas.

The solicitor’s brain was at work with matters connected with his business, and an expression of abstraction was visible upon his ordinary astute countenance.

He started when addressed by Mr. Bedington.

The latter, leaning back upon the luxurious cushion of a first-class carriage, lighted a cigar, and smoked with apparent unconcern, as if he thought that the best way of extricating information from the wily lawyer was to exhibit no anxiety.

“You know as much of my life, Lucas, as most people,” he began.

“It would be odd if I did not, seeing that I have been acquainted with you for twenty years,” answered Mr. Lucas.

“And during the period you have acted as my wife’s solicitor?”

“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Mr. Lucas, as if he did not catch the question.

“It is useless to pretend ignorance with me,” said Mr. Bedington, sternly. “I am determined to establish my rights in a court of law, if necessary.”

“Your rights?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask their nature?”

“The rights that a husband has over a wife.”

“Oh! I understand, you have contracted an alliance of a matrimonial nature during your residence abroad,” replied the lawyer, as if a new light struck him.

“Nonsense. You know I have done nothing of the kind.”

“I know! How should I? Have I been your professional adviser all the time you have been away? You talk as if I had been at your bedside during your trials.”

“You know what I mean,” said Mr. Bedington, displaying some excusable irritation.

“My dear sir, allow me to remind you that a lawyer knows nothing until he is told,” said the solicitor, with a cunning smile.

“Oh! if that is the case, I will repeat certain facts for your information.”

“If you please.”

“To begin with, you remember my marriage with the present Lady Mordenfield?”

“Yes. She was then an attractive young lady, whose father objected very much to the alliance,” replied Mr. Lucas.

“We were poor.”

“Very. You wanted to barrow some money from me, but you did not succeed.”

Mr. Lucas laughed, as if congratulating himself upon his acumen in this matter.

“My wife’s father advised me to go abroad,” continued Mr. Bedington. “I did so, saying that I should send for my wife as soon as I got in a foreign land. I left my wife and infant child. We corresponded, but treachery was at work. She never received my letters, and hers were not allowed to reach me. In the course of time she was told that I was dead. Am I right so far?”

“Perfectly.”

“After that fact, as it was falsely called, was forced upon her conviction, she was brought into contact with Lord Mordenfield, an old but rich man, and all the influence of her friends was exerted to induce her to marry him.”

“Which she did,” put in Mr. Lucas.

“Precisely. Her previous marriage was kept a secret from the old peer, and her child—my son—was sent away among strangers. His existence has been a profound secret ever since. Of course, you, as a lawyer, know that the marriage of my wife—I being alive—with Lord Mordenfield is no marriage.”

“That is so,” said Mr. Lucas.

“Very well. I have come back to claim my wife and child.”

“Have you told Lady Mordenfield this?”

“I have.”

“How did she receive the news?”

“She defied me.”

“As I expected,” said Mr. Lucas.

“In fact, she told me that if I claimed her as my wife, I should never know where the child is.”

The lawyer was silent.

“But,” Mr. Bedington went on, “events seem to go in my favor, If the young Lord Mordenfield dies, as there is every chance of his doing, her love may revert to her first child, and as I am rich, she may he inclined to give up her rank, and live with me, her lawful husband, in the position of a commoner, sufficiently well off to maintain her in luxary similar to that which she has enjoyed of late years.”

“You are rich?”

“I have not worked for nothing during the time of my weary exile,” answered Mr. Bedingtion with a look of proud contentment.

“I am happy to hear it, and now what do you want of me?”

“You know where the boy is.”

“How should I?” asked the solicitor, elevating his eyebrows.

“Mr. Scratchley has told me that you deposited the child with him.”

At this shot the lawer’s eyes fell, and it was clear that he was perturbed.

“You have seen Scratchley?” he exclaimed.

“But an hour ago.”

“And—and the boy?”

“Oddly enough,” returned Mr. Bedington, “the boy and I have been acquainted for some time, but I was not aware of his relationship to me, until a strange feeling for which I could not account, induced me to make inquiries about him. It will be best for you, Lucas, if you consult your interests in the future, to be frank with me.”

“Why so?” asked Mr. Lucas, who turned pale.

“Because I will proceed against you in the criminal courts for conspiracy.”

“On what grounds?”

“For taking the child away and concealing its identity under a false name. You know well enough that John Harkaway is in reality John Bedington, my son!”

“You require proof of this,” remarked the lawyer.

“Legal proof, yes; though I am morally convinced, and that is why I have sought you out, I am resolved to humble the spirit of the proud woman his mother, whom, strange to say, I love still.”

“Is it possible?”

“Yes; all this time I have cherished her image in my heart, and I am also anxious to do justice to the poor boy who shall have a bright future to makeup for his wretched past, if I can bring any influence to bear upon his fate.”

“Where is Jack now?”

“At Mr. Scratchley’s.”

“Well, my dear sir,” answered Mr. Lucas, “on the understanding that I continue solicitor to the parties interested in this strange romance, I will meet you half way.”

“You admit that my suspicions are correct?” cried Mr. Bedington, joyfully.

“I admit that Jack Harkaway, at present under the care of Mr. Scratchley, is Jack Bedington, and the son of the so-called Lady Mordenfield and yourself.”

“You will repeat this?”

“Whenever and wherever you like.”

“A thousand thanks,” exclaimed Mr. Bedington; “with such an ally, I shall soon bring her ladyship to reason.”

He was satisfied at having gained this important point so easily, and waited impatiently until the railway journey was ended, and they found a carriage to take them to Pomona House.

Here they learned that Lady Mordenfield had insisted upon taking her son to Willow Copse Hall, where, she thought, he would be quieter and better attended to.

The doctors, however, held out little hope.

“It was certain,” they said, “unless a miracle intervened, that the young lord must die.”

On receipt of this news, the travelers went on to the Hall.

Ere they reached the palatial residence, it was the abode of death.

Lady Mordenfield’s grief was intense.

She wept passionately over the body of her dead son, snatched from her in so untimely a manner.

And she had cause to weep.

Not only had she lost her favorite child, but at the same time she lost all title to the valuable property which went with the title of Mordenfield, it being strictly entailed.

She was veritably a pauper.

When Mr. Bedington and Mr. Lucas arrived, they found her stretched on a couch in the drawingroom, the picture of grief and dismay.

CHAPTER XXXIX

CONFUSION AT THE SCHOOL

As Mr. Crawcour had expected, the news of the rebellion at his school, and the unfortunate death of young Lord Mordenfield, quickly got wind.

He feared that the gentlemen living in the neighborhood, who had sons at Pomona House, would immediately send for and take them away.

This expectation added to the principal’s distress.

On the day following the accident the masters had no control over the boys.

A few went into the schoolroom and attended to their ordinary lessons in a listless manner.

The majority wandered where they liked, and received no punishment for doing so.

All discipline was at an end.

To complete Mr. Crawcour’s concern, the senior masters behaved in a most extraordinary manner.

Mr. Mole evinced a strong liking for brandy all at once.

In the evening, after the young lord’s removal by his mother to Willow Copse Hall, there was a loud noise in the dormitories.

One room was having a stand-up fight with another, and bolsters flew through the windows and fell into the yard, amidst the shouts of the combatants.

“Mr. Mole,” said the principal, almost beside himself with annoyance and vexation: “why do you not check this uproar?”

“Check it yourself,” answered Mr. Mole, seating himself in the principal’s favorite armchair, and stretching out his legs in a contented manner.

“Sir?” ejaculated Mr. Crawcour.

“Sir to you!” replied Mr. Mole.

“What is the meaning of this extraordinary conduct?”

“You are at liberty to find out.”

“Sir?” cried Mr. Crawcour, a second time.

“I have been tarred and feathered,” remarked Mr. Mole.

“I am very sorry”—— began Mr. Crawcour.

“So am I. You can’t be more sorry than I am. It was not a distinction I coveted at all.”

“Forget it.”

“Never,” said Mr. Mole. “I shall never forget it. I feel that I have got a feather under my left arm. It itches. Probably you will say, ‘Scratch it.’ I shall proceed to do so.”

“Are you mad to indulge in this coarse levity?” asked Mr. Crawcour.

“It does not run in our family. If I am a little excited, consider the indignities I have been subjected to through my zeal for your service.”

“I know your zeal.”

“I have been put in chains, and I have still patches of tar on my body. I am like a spotted leopard.”

“Believe me, I regret”——

“Bother your regrets,” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “Give me something to drink.”

“To drink. Mr. Mole are you mad?”

“Not a bit, of it old boy. Bring out the brandy, and pay me my account. I’m going to London.”

Mr. Crawcour went up to Mr. Mole, and taking him by the collar of his coat, shook him violently.

“Don’t you shake me,” cried Mr. Mole.

“I shall shake you, sir. You are intoxicated.”

“You’re another.”

“How dare you?” cried Mr. Crawcour.

“Take that,” replied Mr. Mole.

He hit the principal in the eye.

Mr. Crawcour saw stars.

“Help! help!” he exclaimed, at the top of his voice.

In a few moments Mrs. Crawcour entered the room, and by this time a fight was going on between Mr. Crawcour and the senior master, both mad with rage.

“What is the meaning of this disgraceful conduct?” she inquired.

“He shook me,” said Mr. Mole.

“The wretch is drunk,” said Mr. Crawcour.

“Don’t call me names,” said the senior master.

“I shall if I like,” answered the principal.

Mr. Mole made a rush at Mr. Crawcour, but missing his aim, he lost his balance, and fell heavily under the table, remaining where he fell, and snoring loudly.

“There must be an end of this,” said Mrs. Crawcour.

“So I think,” replied her husband, gloomily.

“I shall send all the boys home tomorrow morning, and retire to my friends. You can do what you like.”

“Would you ruin me?” asked the principal of Pomona House in alarm.

“You are ruined already. The school is as good as broken up. You can never recover the ground you have lost within the last week, so better make an end of it sooner or later.”

“But my dear, consider.”

“I have considered, and fully. You have only your own savage temper to thank for what has happened. My mind is made up. I am determined upon the course I intend to pursue.”

With these words she left the room.

A little persuasion, however, on the part of Mr. Crawcour induced her to change her mind.

He convinced her that the school was not doomed.

“You forget, my dear,” urged her husband, “that even if a lord has died at our school, the fact of his being at Pomona House at all is an advertisement for us. I am not cast down; I have courage enough to continue the struggle, and I believe we shall conquer in the end.”

Mrs. Crawcour could not help admiring his courage.

“Well,” she said, “I will help you. I do not like to leave you in such a strait as you are in at present.”

“Will you really try and help me?” he said.

“I will indeed.”

“Then we must be successful,” he continued; “nothing can prevent us getting on.”

“Try moral persuasion with the boys, and use the cane less.”

“I will.”

“I used to think that severity was the only course to pursue, but I have seen reason to change my mind.”

His wife’s conversation charmed Mr. Crawcour beyond the power of words to express, and he felt a different man.

“The holidays are close at hand,” Mrs. Crawcour went on. “Have a circular printed to the effect that owing to the unfortunate and deplorable occurrence that has taken place, you feel compelled in respect to the memory of the late Lord Mordenfield, your most promising pupil, and in compliance with the wishes of his friends, who acquit you of blame, to send the boys under your care home a week earlier than usual.”

“Excellent!”

“And you hope to meet a continuance of the favors of your kind patrons.”

“Capital!” cried Mr. Crawcour, rubbing his hands.

“Some few boys may be removed by their parents, but that loss will soon be made up if you advertise again.”

“You are a genius, my dear!”

“And do not forget one thing.”

“What is that?”

“Go amongst the boys—admit frankly that you made a mistake in regard to your treatment of Jack Harkaway. Gain the goodwill of the boys; they are generous and impulsive enough if spoken to properly. I myself will speak to Collinson.”

“You will?”

“Yes; you must pardon Mr. Mole. Consider what he must have gone through.”

“They tarred and feathered him! It must have been very trying to the temper,” said Mr. Crawcour, laughing.

“I know it would be to yours. But as a matter of fact, a schoolmaster ought never to give way to his temper. He should be severe, but just. You should also try and get Harkaway back.”

“Why?”

“Because he was the cause of all this commotion, and if he returns it will look well.”

“There is the devil in that boy,” said Mr. Crawcour, musingly.

“I like the boy—he is not a sneak.”

“No; far from it.”

“Pursue a different system with him. We will talk the matter over. Gain his affections, appeal to his sense of honor, and lay claim to his gratitude. There are ways of reclaiming the most ungovernable boys.”

“Very well, my dear,” answered her husband. “Since you have kindly said you would help me, I will be guided by you. My system has failed, now we will try yours. You put new life into me.”

The next day Mr. Crawcour assembled the boys, and talked to them in a paternal manner.

They one and all listened to him with attention.

“Many of you,” he said, “have grown up under my care. You would not like to see the school broken up. It has been, and shall be, my pride for you to say when you go to the universities, or make a start in life, ‘I was at Crawcour’s.’ Let the past be forgotten; let bygones be bygones, and next half I hope we shall be a united community, working for our mutual interest. What do you say, boys, shall we begin a new era in the history of Pomona House School? I am sorry if I have been too severe. I cannot say any more.”

“And we, too, are sorry for what we have done,” said Collinson. “I am sure we never expected such a terrible result as that which has taken place. We have no wish to leave the school, or see it broken up. I think I speak for my schoolfellows as well as myself.”

There was a murmur of assent.

“Three cheers for Mr. Crawcour! Now, then, boys, three cheers for the governor, and a little one in?” cried Collinson.

The schoolroom rang with the united cheers of the boys, not one of whom seemed to have any personal dislike to the schoolmaster.

Suddenly there was a laugh which ran all around the room.

A white-looking face appeared at the door.

It was Mr. Mole, who had come out of soak, and who had recovered from his excessive potations of the night before.

“One more for Mr. Mole, you fellows,” said Collinson. “Hurrah for Mr. Mole!”

The boys took up the shout with a “hip, hip, hip!” which showed the senior master that he was not really disliked by the boys in their hearts.

It was arranged that the examinations should take place as soon as possible.

The prizes were given, order was restored, and the schoolwork went on as usual, until the time came for the boys to go home.

They sang, “Domum, domum, dulce domum” with a will, packed up their trunks, and rejoiced that the holidays were at hand.

During the recess, Mr. and Mrs. Crawcour held many serious conversations together regarding the future management of the school.

Christmas came and went, and they looked forward with hope to the ensuing quarter, hoping that success might attend their renewed efforts.

Mr. Crawcour determined to try if kindness and good treatment generally might help him to gain the affection of his boys, so as to prevent a repetition of the disgraceful scenes of the last portion of the year.

He came to regard the management of a school as the government of a country. If it is ill done rebellion will ensue.

A school, after all, is only the world on a small scale.

“But, my dear,” he would say to his wife, “Jack Harkaway is very trying.”

And the schoolmaster’s temper was destined to undergo further trials through Jack’s love of fun.

CHAPTER XL

JACK FINDS A MOTHER AND A FATHER

VERY different was Lady Mordenfield’s manner from what it had been when Mr. Bedington saw her before.

She was submissive and humble.

The proud and haughty demeanor, mingled with defiance, she had assumed on a former occasion had vanished.

Scarcely was she the same woman.

“Oh, John,” she exclaimed, as she saw Mr. Bedington, “why do you come to me at such a moment?”

“To comfort you,” he replied, his heart melting at beholding her distress.

“Have you heard”——

“All, my darling.”

“Do you call me your darling still? After all that has happened, do you call me so? Am I your darling, or do you come to me with a hypocritical pretence to find out where your son is?”

She raised herself up on her elbow, and looked at him suspiciously.

“Mary,” he exclaimed, slowly, “I know where our son is, and have not long left him.”

“You do?”

Her face expressed the astonishment she felt.

“Ask Mr. Lucas, if you doubt me.”

“I beg your pardon. I was so preoccupied that I did not notice you before,” she said, looking at the lawyer.

“Your servant, madam,” he exclaimed.

“Have you betrayed me?” she continued.

“Not in the least. Mr. Bedington, by a singular combination of chances, found every thing out for himself, and knows that John is at Mr. Scratchley’s house at Highgate.”

“It is the will of Providence,” said her ladyship, sinking back on the sofa.

“Mary, Mary, dearest,” said Mr. Bedington, sinking on his knees by her side, “I have always loved you, and I love you still. Will you not give me some assurance that you can be happy yet?”

“You must not ask me now. Consider my loss; I will regard you as a friend. God knows I want a friend at this crisis. My head feels as if it would burst. Oh, my poor head!”

She pressed her hand to her forehead, and in a few minutes her eyes closed.

She had fainted.

*

Three weeks after the events we have narrated, Mr. and Mrs. Bedington, and their only son Jack were to be seen every morning on the parade at Brighton.

Mr. and Mrs. Bedington were a very happy couple, and Mrs. Bedington did all that she could to make up for her former neglect to her son.

In fact her love for the young Lord Mordenfield seemed to have centered in Jack.

Not a word was said which could recall the past.

Jack did not forget his young friend Emily, who was still his sweetheart, and corresponded with her regularly.

He was his mother’s pet, and did as he liked, except a few hours in the day when he attended a tutor who was keeping him up to his work.

His propensities for mischief slightly abated, but he got into scrapes occasionally, from which his father extricated him.

“Boys will be boys,” he said.

“You can’t put old heads on young shoulders,” said his mother.

And so Jack was spoilt, and did very much as he liked.

Mr. and Mrs. Bedington returned to Willow Copse Hall, and lived rather a retired life.

“Owing to Lord Mordenfield’s death and the declaration of Mr. Bedington’s former marriage with her ladyship, the heir-at-law claimed the property, but Mr. Bedington being rich, bought Willow Copse, and was enabled to maintain his wife in a manner suitable to her requirements.

When Mr. Crawcour heard that they had come back, he lost no time in paying them a visit.

Although he had determined to govern his school upon new principles, he could not lose his unctuous manner.

He was the same principal of Pomona House that he had always been.

Mr. Bedington saw him in his library.

“Well, sir,” he said, rather, coldly, “what can I do for you?”

“I am, sir, the schoolmaster of your son, Jack Harkaway,” answered Mr. Crawcour.

“Of that fact I am already aware; but in future my son will be called John Bedington.”

“As you please,” replied Mr. Crawcour; “but to me and to his associates he will always be Jack Harkaway. Under that name he has endeared himself to us, and we cannot allow our popular idol to be rechristened.”

“I understand from the boy that your treatment was not everything he could desire.”

“My dear sir,” replied Mr. Crawcour, “my very dear sir, if you will allow me the liberty, is a boy ever perfectly satisfied with his preceptors?”

“Well, possibly not. I know I was not,” answered Mr. Bedington with a smile.

“There we are, sir. I am sure if you appeal to Jack he will vote for going back to my school.”

“I thought of sending him to Eton.”

“Too young, sir; and if I may so far venture, I will say it is an extravagant school, where boys learn nothing but expensive tastes.”

“At all events they learn one thing.”

“And that is” —

“To be gentlemen.”

“I trust, sir, that at my humble seminary gentlemanly principles are inculcated,” said Mr. Crawcour, with offended dignity.

“Well, I will tell you what I’ll do,” exclaimed Mr. Bedington. “I will put it to the boy himself, and ask him the question fairly and plainly, and if he says he will go back, he shall.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you satisfied?”

“It is all I ask, sir.”

“Very well. I will send for him. May I trouble you to touch the bell? Jack is, I believe, in the garden with a little playfellow of his.”

Mr. Crawcour did as he was requested.

The servant came—Jack was sent for.

CHAPTER XLI

JACK’S PLAYFUL DISPOSITION SHOWS ITSELF ONCE MORE

The little playfellow alluded to by Mr. Bedington, was Emily Scratchley.

At his particular request, she had been invited to spend a week at Willow Copse, and her parents had been only too glad to allow her to accept the invitation.

She was delighted to meet her old friend again, and called him “dear old Jack,” as she gave him a kiss and asked after her camphor bag.

“I like Emmy,” said Jack, to Blocks, the butler, with whom he was great friends. “She is such a jolly girl.”

And so she was.

If ever there was a regular tom-boy it was Emily.

She would engage in ail the amusements and games of boys; and though she was very delicate and feminine in her manner, had no affectation about her.

In short she was just the sort of girl that boys like.

Emily happened to be in the house when Mr. Crawcour came, and hearing of his arrival, she hurried out to Jack to tell him the news.

Jack was setting some bird-traps made of bricks in the shrubbery.

“Oh, Jack!” she cried, “such news! Who do you think has come?”

“I don’t know. Is it any one to say the Dutch have taken Holland?” answered Jack, blowing on his fingers to warm them, ‘after placing a top peg, as the weather was cold and frosty, “It’s old Crawcour!”

“Nonsense!”

“It is though. I heard Blocks say so.”

“Well I never did!” exclaimed Jack. “I’ll be blowed!”

And he stood with his hands in his pockets upright in contemplation.

“What does he want, Jack?”

“Me.”

“You?” said Emily.

“Yes; or else old Scratchley won’t pay his bill, and he’s come for the money. Fancy the old duffer coming here! Well I like his cheek! that I do! He ought to be jolly well ashamed of himself.”

“Didn’t you like the school?”

“I didn’t object to the school,” replied Jack, “the fellows behaved stunningly to me. Collinson was a cock, and all the sixth were bricks, when I was chained up. Hunston was the only skunk. It’s Crawcour himself I don’t care about.”

“Would you like to go back?”

“Now I’ve got mother and father and a good home, perhaps he wouldn’t make a set at me as he did before; if he did I could easily step it, and I can tell you my name would soon be Walker. But I say, Emmy.”

“What, dear Jack?”

“Where is old Beans?”

“Old who?”

“Old Beans!—Old Fireworks!—Crawcour I mean!”

“In the drawingroom,” answered Emily.

“With the governor?”

“Yes.”

“I must give him a turn before be goes—oh, yes! He mustn’t come here without knowing that your humble servant is within hail. I’ll wake the old duffer up. Where’s a bit of cord?”

“What sort of cord?” asked Emily, her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Thickish sort—sort of stuff you wouldn’t break if you kicked ever so hard against it.”

“There’s some drying cord in the backyard.”

“Get that, and look sharp. You will find me on the steps of the front door,” said Jack.

Away went Emily, who executed her mission without delay, and joined Jack with about fifteen feet of strong cord.

Gliding up to the front door and treading noiselessly Jack fastened the cord about a foot and a half above the drawingroom door, tying it on one side to the hall table, which he pushed close to the wall, and at the other to the hat and umbrella-stand.

The drawingroom door opened inwards so that he knew any one coming out in a hurry must infallibly fall over it.

“That’s beautiful,” said Emily.

“Won’t he go a cropper?” remarked Jack, looking admiringly at his work.

“Won’t he, that’s all!”

Just at that moment, some sweeps, who had been upstairs to sweep the bedroom chimneys, came down with a sack of soot.

An idea struck Jack.

He always used to say “a fellow is no good without ideas.”

“I say you Mayflowers?” he exclaimed.

“Yes sir,” exclaimed the foremost sweep.

“The governor says that as sweeping chimneys is dry work, you’re to go down stairs and have some beer.”

“Thankee, sir.”

“And as it won’t improve the passages to carry that stuff about everywhere, lay it down on the oilcloth, just here.”

“Here, sir.”

“Yes, do as I tell you. Go and get the beer and come back for the sack,” exclaimed Jack, with an air of authority.

At the prospect of speedy beer, the men did not hesitate.

They set the sack down and went away.

No sooner had they gone, than Jack took out his pocket-knife and slit up the side of the sack, turning the two sides over, and making what he called “a lovely bed of soot.”

“Oh, Jack!” exclaimed Emily, clasping her hands.

“Isn’t it stunning?” he asked.

“Lovely!”

At that moment, Blocks, who had been sent into the garden to look for Jack, came into the hall, and cried:

“Master John! Master John!”

“I’m not deaf, Blocks,” answered Jack; “and you needn’t go about the house like a town crier. What’s the shindy now?”

“Master wants you, sir.”

“Oh, does he? All right. I’ll go to him. He’s in the drawingroom, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and old Swishtails with him,” repli ed Blocks, with a grin.

He went away, and Jack said to Emily:

“I say Emmy, open the door just a little bit and sing out loud, ‘Mr. Crawcour’s wanted. Something’s happened at Pomona House, and his wife is at the door. He’s to make haste.”

Emily nodded her head sagaciously, and went to the door.

Jack retreated to the staircase, and half way up, watched the expected sport through the banisters.

CHAPTER XLII

UP TO HIS TRICKS

HE had not long to wait.

Emily knocked at the drawingroom door then opened it, and delivered the message just as Jack had told her.

Mr. Crawcour was nervous.

Recent events had made him so; and, besides, he was afraid of his wife; so he started up from his chair, saying:

“My wife! Dear me! What can have happened?”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” said Mr. Bedington.

“I hope not, indeed. You will excuse my unavoidable absence for a brief space?”

“By all means. Pray ask your wife in.”

“I will. You honor me. Thank you kindly,” answered the principal.

“Make haste, please,” said Emily again, at the door.

Mr. Crawcour drew back the door and rushed out.

As a natural consequence, his feet caught in the rope, and he pitched forward, head first, into the outstretched bag of soot, making quite an elegant somersault.

He made frantic efforts to regain his legs, but it was some time before he could do so, and when he did, he was as black as his hat.

Coughing, sneezing, and trembling with rage, he tried to get the soot out of his eyes, mouth, ears and nose, and during this interval Jack very quietly slipped down-stairs.

He cut away the cord, and entered the drawingroom his meeting father in the middle of the room.

The latter had been aroused by the noise outside, and was going to see what it was about.

“Did you send for me?” asked Jack.

“Yes, my boy. What’s all that noise outside?” answered Mr. Bedington.

Jack did not move a muscle of his countenance.

“I think it’s a drunken sweep,” he said.

“A sweep!”

“Yes; I see that he has dropped his sack in the hall, and the fellow does not seem to know what he is about.”

“Indeed. I won’t have such disgraceful proceedings in my house. Open the front door, Jack.”

“Yes, father.”

Jack ran to the front door, guessing what was about to ensue, because he knew his father was a hasty man, and not to be trifled with.

Certainly Mr. Crawcour did look like a drunken sweep.

Jack’s description of him was a very good one indeed.

“Hullo, you fellow, what’s the meaning this?” cried Mr. Bedington, disgusted at the state of his hall.

In vain Mr. Crawcour tried to speak; he could only splutter out a mouthful of soot.

“Get out!” exclaimed Mr. Bedington; “get out. I’ll teach drunken vagabonds like you a lesson!”

As he spoke, he kicked the unlucky principal of Pomona House behind, and propelled him forward.

Mr. Crawcour put his hands behind his back, and, turning half round, looked piteously at his assailant; but kick followed kick, and he ran toward the front door to save himself further pain.

“Out you go!” said Jack, giving him a parting kick as he passed him.

“The scoundrel!” said Mr. Bedington, looking round. “What next, I wonder?”

Little Emily had sunk down on a mat in a comer, and was trying in vain to stifle her laughter.

“What a funny little girl that is,” observed Mr. Bedington, “she’s always laughing.”

“Yes,” said Jack, and he burst into a loud guffaw.

“It seems catching.”

“Very. It’s that sweep. He looked so odd. There he is on the lawn, shaking his fist at you. He looks as if he were going to shy stones at the windows. He’s talking and going on awful. See, he’s on to the gardener now.”

“So he is,” answered Mr. Bedington, remarking that the supposed sweep was in earnest conversation with the gardener, who had just emerged from one of the shrubberies.

Mr. Bedington walked down the steps, intending to order his man to instantly remove the sweep.

“Emma!” cried Jack.

“Oh, you’ll kill me, I know you will!” she answered, “See how I’ve been laughing. I’m quiet ill.”

“It’ll be found out directly. You’d better come with me into the drawingroom, and we’ll [go] down and look over the album, or the stereoscopic slides, like two little innocents that were are. Of course, if we are questioned we know nothing about it.”

“Of course not, Jack, dear,” replied Emily.

They went into the drawingroom and sat down on the sofa, with their arms round one anothers’ waists, and amused themselves with a book, taking a sly peep out of the window now and then, to see what was going on.

The sweeps, meantime, came after their tack, and wondered how it could have burst.

However, they tied it up and swept up the mess and retired, while Mr. Bedington and the victim of Jack’s last joke were in the garden.

Turning to the gardener Mr. Crawcour said:

“Hold me tight—don’t let him come near me. I shall do him a mischief if he does. He has dared to kick me from his door—me, the principal of Pomona House.”

“What does he say, Ford?” inquired Mr. Bedington.

“He says he’s a gentleman, and his name’s Crawcour, sir; and if he gets at you he’ll kill you for kicking him,” replied the gardener.

“Can it be possible! Why, yes. The features are the features of Mr. Crawcour, but the complexion”——

“Is the result of this diabolical outrage, sir,” interrupted Mr. Crawcour. “My wife is not here. It was all a trick. I fell over a rope, and pitched into the soot, which was prepared for me.”

“Not with my knowledge. I hope you will acquit me of blame.”

“I will. Yes, I will be frank and candid. Here is my hand.”

Mr. Bedington declined to take it.

“Take the will for the deed,” he said “You are a little grimy, excuse the remark. Come into my dressing-room. You shall have a warm bath and I can lend you some things to put on. What a strange occurrence? It must have been Jack’s doings.”

“Not a doubt of it, my dear sir,” replied Mr. Crawcour; “I know him of old. He’s always up to his tricks. The deuce is in that boy. Bless him!—yes, emphatically, I say bless him!”

They walked toward the house, and when they had passed the window, Jack popped his head out, and exclaimed:

“Holloa, boys! There goes another guy!”

Mr. Bedington looked in at the drawingroom door, and said, in a stem voice:

“Jack, I want you upstairs in my dressing-room presently. Bring up the sherry, will you? It is in the cheffonier.”

“ All right,” answered Jack.

In about ten minutes Mr. Crawcour emerged from the bath clean and comfortable.

And he was just putting on some clothes the valet had laid out for him, when Jack and his father came in.

“We have brought you some wine,” said Bedington.

“Ah! wine—sherry—very good!” said the schoolmaster, smacking his lips.

“Jack says he knows nothing about it,” continued the boy’s father. “It’s very odd. The careless fellows must have laid their sack down thoughtlessly, and you have had the misfortune to fall into it. However, try a glass of wine.”

“I was smothered in soot,” remarked Mr. Crawcour.

“Sooth’ch is life, sir,” said Jack making a pun.

The principal smiled, and took a brimming wine-glass tendered him by Jack, and gazed fondly at it as he said:

“Life is a ship tossed upon a stormy ocean. You, my young friend—you are like a young bear, who has all his troubles to come. Amontillado, I think you said—a fine wine and a fine rich color. Your health, Mr. Bedington.”

He drank the wine off at a gulp, and turned pale.

Then he drew a long face, and put his hand upon the region of his stomach.

“Amontillado!” he exclaimed. “Dear me! What a peculiar taste—acrid is the word for it. I should have said it was vinegar, if I had not your assurance to the contrary.”

Mr. Bedington took up the glass and smelt it.

It was vinegar.

“Can I have made a mistake?” said Jack, in a tone of apology. “Yes, in my hurry I must have taken up the vinegar bottle instead of that which contained the sherry. I ask the gentleman’s pardon, I’m sure.”

“Go away!” cried his father, angrily. “Go out of my sight, or upon my word I shall be tempted to box your ears.”

“Oh, oh!” ejaculated Mr. Crawcour, twisting about in pain. “The vinegar gripeth me. Truly it is a pungent liquid. I feel as if I was being tied in a double knot. Verily, I am griped! Oh, oh!”

Jack disappeared in a trice, like a sprite in a pantomime, and Mr. Bedington handed the schoolmaster a pocket-flask of brandy, which he sipped, much to his internal comfort.

At length they descended to the drawingroom, and Mr. Crawcour had recovered his serenity.

Wine—real Amontillado—was this time put on the table, and Jack was sent for.

“Playful boy, come and shake hands with your old friend,” exclaimed the principal.

Jack did so.

“Glad to see you, sir,” he said.

“That’s right and manly. Now I am going to talk to you. Let bygones be bygones, only admitting that if I erred on the side of severity with you, there was much that was aggravating in your conduct to me?”

“I admit it freely, sir.”

“So far so good; now the question is, would you or would you not like to come back to your old school. Your father has wisely perhaps left the choice to your own hands.”

“I should have thought you would not like the worry of me, sir,” said Jack.

“That is nothing,” answered Mr. Crawcour. “If a good man wishes to straighten a crooked sapling, he minds not the labor required.”

“So I am a crooked sapling, am I?” thought Jack “I wonder what he’ll call me next.”

“Now, my dear boy, believe me to be your sincere friend.”

“That’s like the end of a letter,” Jack interrupted. “I know what you want to say, sir— will I come back to you or not?”

“Yes.”

“Well, just to show you I am not afraid of you and that you have not conquered me, I will come back, and you shall see me amongst the earliest arrivals at Pomona House when the holidays are up.”

Mr. Crawcour got up, and throwing his arms round him, embraced him.

“The best boy I have, sir—the best and most promising boy in the school!” he exclaimed in delight.

“Draw it mild,” muttered Jack.

“Well,” said Mr. Bedington, “Jack has made his choice, and I am satisfied. That’s over, and now you must take a little refreshment before you go, Mr. Crawcour. What is there, Jack. You generally know the state of the larder.”

“Cold pigeon pie in fine cut,” answered Jack.

“Thank you kindly. Make no ceremony on my account, I beg. Another glass of wine would be grateful and comforting, and correct a passing spasm arising from the vinegar. If I may make so bold as to suggest it,” said the principal.

“Certainly, and to make sure you have the right stuff, I will attend to you myself,” answered Mr. Bedington, adding, “Jack, see to the pie, will you?”

Jack went out.

Mr. Bedington poured out some wine, asking his visitor to come to the sideboard to taste it.

Mr. Crawcour made an effort to rise from his chair, but somehow could not succeed in doing so.

It was a heavy oak chair, and looking round with a puzzled expression, he said:

“There is some species of connection between this chair and myself. I adhere to it. Is there anything peculiar in these trousers you were good enough to lend me, in place of my own?”

“They are nearly new,” answered Mr. Bedington. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know; l am held down,” replied the principal with a hopeless look.

CHAPTER XLIII

JACK ACQUIRES A NEW ACCOMPLISHMENT

MR. BEDINGTON walked over to the principal and tried to assist him to rise from the chair, but he could not.

“Why you are stuck?” he said.

“So it appears,” answered Mr. Crawcour, with a ghastly smile. “But I will make an effort.”

“Never mind the trousers.”

The principal put his hands on the chair, and jerked himself up once or twice. There was a sound of a tear; another jerk, and he was free; but he had left the seat of his trousers behind him.

“Dear me,” he said. “I am liberated, but my nether garments have suffered some damage. This hard and sticky substance would appear to be cobbler’s wax, judiciously mixed with bird-lime.”

“Jack again,” cried that worthy’s father.

“So I apprehend. But no matter: a time will come.”

“You must run upstairs again,” said Mr. Bedington. “You can’t go about like that, It will not be decent.”

“Besides I am subjected to rheumatism, and the cold air is trying to the limbs,” answered Mr. Crawcour.

“Bother that boy!” exclaimed his father leading the way, to his dressing-room, closely followed by the principal, who held his coat tails tightly pressed against his legs.

When they returned, they found Jack had caused the pigeon-pie to be brought upon a tray, with a fine jug of beer.

“Fall to, sir; make yourself at home. This is Liberty Hall, and I fancy I can promise you that you will find you have a good pie before you. It has not been cut yet, and I shot the pigeons myself,” said Mr. Bedington.

The principal poured a glass of beer into a tumbler, but to his surprise it fizzed up tremendously.

“Does your beer always fiz?” asked Mr. Crawcour, regarding it curiously.

“What?”

“Is it sparkling beer?”

“Who ever heard of such a thing! Let me look. Why, I say some one must have put a seidlitz powder in the glass! Jack again!”

He opened the window and threw it out. There was another glass on the tray, and this being clean, the beer was drinkable.

Having satisfied his thirst, the principal cut into the pie.

“You will have seen by this time that your son is trying,” he observed; “and if I have been severe, it has not been without a cause. Never mind, mine is not a disposition to harbor envy, hatred, or malice.”

He put the crust on his plate, and dived into the recesses of the pie for a pigeon, succeeding in bringing a dark looking object to light.

“Hallo!” he cried.

“What’s the matter now?” asked his host.

“You will excuse me for finding fault, but there is something remarkable about the appearance of this—this—I know not how to name it!”

He touched with his fork something with a shining, furry skin.

“Hang it all, this is too bad!” exclaimed Mr. Bedington. “The young rascal has taken out the pigeons, and put in a rat! My dear sir, accept my apologies for the young savage’s behavior. I deeply regret it, believe me.”

“So do I. It is aggravating. Very.”

“He is incorrigible.”

“There is a limit to human forbearance.”

“Try some cold meat,” said Mr. Bedington.

“Thank, you, on consideration, no. I could not touch anything. I am covered with soot, kicked, and afflicted with cruel gripes; your beer fizzes, and I am about to eat dead rat, when my instinct fortunately saves me from the shocking ordeal. My dear sir, we must part; it is time I should go. When I sit down, I do so, in fear and trembling, lest I should again leave behind me the seat of my unmentionables. My compliments to your good wife. I will say farewell.”

“I am deeply grieved, but I cannot help it. Another time I hope your visit will be more agreeable.”

“I trust so. In this weary world we live in hope.”

Mr. Crawcour ordered his trap, and soon afterwards drove away.

As he passed a seat near the lawn, he saw Jack and Emily, with a plate of pigeon pie before them, which they were evidently enjoying.

Jack bowed, and held up a bone.

Mr. Crawcour groaned and drove home, but did not eat anything that day; the cold rat had given him an appetite he could not get over.

The fact was, Jack had lifted up the crust, taken out the contents, put in a couple of rats he found in a trap, and replaced the covering.

Jack thought he had a pretty good innings, and was satisfied. He had now paid the principal off for chaining him up, and he felt happy.

Mr. Bedington, however, was far from being contented. His son displayed qualities which seemed to unfit him for the ordinary business of everyday life.

He sent for him, intending to speak to him seriously, and when Jack came into the library, he said: “Sitdown, Jack; you and I must have a quiet chat together. I fear you are frivolous and inclined to go wrong. I am not going to mince matters with you. What do you think of doing when you grow up?”

“I should like to go to sea,” replied Jack.

“And that,” said his father, “is just what I should not like you to do. You are too old for the navy, and the sea is not a good field for a young man. The life is hard; and you have no idea of the hardships you have to encounter. Perhaps you think because you have found a father who is rich that there is no necessity for doing anything.”

“I am sensible of your kindness,” answered Jack. “But I have a spirit above being dependent upon anybody.”

“That’s right. You will have money when I die, if you deserve it; but during my lifetime you must work. I do not believe in young men being idle, and my idea is to put you in a mercantile house.”

“I should like it very much.”

“Say some large silk and tea house with a connection in China. You might go out to Shanghai in a few years with a good salary; but any levity of conduct would lose you your place.”

“I don’t mean any harm,” said Jack.

“Look how you have treated Mr. Crawcour to-day.”

“He is fair game.”

“So you might consider your employer. I tell you it won’t do.”

“I will try,” answered Jack, “to be more careful; but I can’t help playing a trick when I get the chance.”

“Think over what I have said to you,” exclaimed his father. “You are getting a big boy, now, and ought to know better.”

Jack did think the matter over for a few minutes, but the conversation did not make a great impression upon him.

The time passed rapidly, and he soon began to get ready for school.

But he had gained an accomplishment during the holidays.

Blocks, the butler, was a ventriloquist, and Jack finding out the quality, asked him if he could teach him to throw his voice into any place he pleased.

Blocks thought it was a natural gift, but he would try him.

Jack and the butler went into a meadow at the back of the house, and practiced ventriloquism.

It happened, oddly enough, that Jack did in some measure possess the gift.

Ventriloquism enables any one proficient in the art, to speak as it were, in his stomach, and throw his voice into a distant part of the room in which he is.

By the time Jack went back to Pomona House, he was a pretty good imitator of his master, and Blocks was delighted with him, saying that he would in time become a first-rate ventriloquist.

“I’ll astonish the natives,” he said, “when I get back, there will be such a row in the house as never has been before.”

“Don’t make bad use of it, master Jack, and keep out of mischief,” replied the butler.

“That’s past praying for, Blocks,” said Jack, with a laugh.

Mrs. Bedington and her husband lived together very happily, enjoying one another’s society, seldom, if ever, going out, or receiving people at home.

They loved Jack dearly, and told him if he had any complaint to make of his treatment at Mr. Crawcour’s, he was to write to them at once, or come over to the Hall, which was not far distant, and they would see into the matter.

So he went back with plenty of pocket-money, a box full of clothes, and a hamper of good things, determined to be as good a boy as circumstances and his own inherent love of fun and mischief would allow him.

It was arranged that our hero should retain the names he had hitherto been known by, adding to them his father’s name, so he was called John Harkaway Bedington.

He found few alterations in the school when he returned, and there were only two new boys who require any mention.

They were, first, a quiet, unobtrusive young fellow named Turner, who from his gentle manner, became at once a subject for bullying.

The other was Hunston senior.

This was Hunston’s brother, and he had been in the Royal Navy, but at sixteen he was court-martialed and obliged to leave for bad conduct.

His father had sent him to Mr. Crawcour’s to be prepared for a Civil Service examination.

Jack had not been at Pomona House ten minutes, before Filmer said to him maliciously:

“That’s Hunston’s big brother, and he says he is going to be cock of the school, and kick you to start with.”

“He’d better try it on,” answered Jack shrugging his shoulders.

Collinson and Harvey both assured Jack ho w glad they were to see him back again, as did several other fellows.

For some days everything flowed smoothly.

The events of the last half seemed to be forgotten.

Mr. Mole, who had a holiday at the sea-side was radiant, and never alluded to the past.

Jack thought things were going on too pleasantly and quietly, and that it was necessary for him to wake them up and put a little life into them.

One morning in class, he resolved to astonish Mr. Mole, to whose division he had been promoted.

He had not tried the effects of ventriloquism.

The subject before them was geology, and the boys had been reading a lecture upon the crust of the globe, upon which they were to be examined.

CHAPTER XLIV

JACK WAKES THEM UP

“Now, boys,” said Mr. Mole, “open your books, and turn to the word ‘Physics.’ ”

“Blue pill, and a draught in the morning,” said Jack, throwing his voice down to the bottom of the class.

“Who said that?” asked Mr. Mole, passing along the form.

No one answered.

“We must have none of these unseemly interruptions. I think it was you, Hunston senior. You are old enough to be above sort of thing, and you are not going the right way to pass your examination.”

“It wasn’t me,” said Hunston senior, a big, hulkling, heavy, repulsive-looking boy, more disagreable to contemplate than his brother.

“Don’t let it occur again. Now, listen to me,” cried Mr. Mole. “The crust of the globe is composed of two great classes of rocks, called strata. Some are stratified, some are stratified. Hunston, tell me what unstratified rocks are?”

“They have pebbles in them, and the remains of living bodies,” replied Hunston, senior.

“How were they formed?”

“Under water, from the surface downwards.”

“Good! What are unstratified rocks?”

There was no answer.

He began at the top of the class, saying:

“You, you. Next, next,” and so on.

“This is bad!” he exclaimed; “very bad.”

Suddenly a little boy was supposed to exclaim:

“They come to the surface, by volcanic origin, from the interior of the earth, after the disposition of the strata; and you divide strata into primary, secondary, and tertiary classes.”

“Very good! Come up to the head of the class. I am pleased with you, Turner,” said Mr. Mole.

“Please sir, I didn’t answer,” replied Turner.

“Who was it, then? Was it you, Mallinson, or you, Filmer.”

“No sir.”

“Oh, my, here’s a go!” was heard in the center of the room.

Mr. Mole turned sharply round.

He could see nobody.

“This is very odd,” said he. “Now attention. What distinguished primary rocks?”

“You don’t find any moles in them,” said Jack.

“Hunston senior, that was you. Don’t deny it; the voice came from you. Go down to the bottom of the class,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, angrily.

“It’s hard lines”—— began Hunston senior.

“No arguing, sir. Go down, or I’ll report you.”

Hunston senior, went sullenly to the bottom [of] the class, muttering:

“Somebody’s having a lark with me.”

“Now, listen. Primary rocks have no fragments of pre-existing rocks, and are hard and [..ty],” Mr. Mole went on.

“So are you,” said Jack, throwing his voice [in] Hunston’s direction again.”

“Hunston senior, leave the room, cried Mr. Mole.

“But”——

“Don’t answer me. I shall report you to the head master. Go!”

Harry Hunston—that was his name—put his [..ok] under his arm and walked away.

Jack threw his voice after him, saying:

“Don’t try any of your games on with me. [I’ve] been in the navy, and you don’t perform [on] me.”

The boys laughed.

Mr. Mole grew white with rage.

“Chain him up,” said Jack.

This time the voice came from the window.

“Who’s that?” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

He rushed to a table, climbed up, looked out, but, of course, could see nobody.

The boys, meanwhile, were convulsed with laughter.

“This is very odd,” Mr. Mole remarked, “Order in the class. What are secondary rocks?”

The head boy answered:

“[They] extend from the primary strata to [..k].”

[A] voice at the window said:

“[..r] chalk, Mr. Mole, isn’t good at the [.] Bridge Tavern. They say they won’t [..] any more.”

Mole made another frantic rush to the [window] with the same result.

“If I am to be disturbed and insulted in [this] way, the lessons cannot go on,” said Mr. Mole.

M. Bolivant’s French class was next to the senior master’s, and seeing what was going on, [he] came over to his colleague, and asked if he could assist him.

“Vat is it?” he said. “Shall I shut the [vindow for] you? Is it that it makes too cold?”

“[No,]” answered Mr. Mole; “it’s”——

“[Frogs,]” answered Jack, putting the word [in the master’s] mouth.

“[What’s] that you say? Frogs to me? Frogs, [Frogs.] Vat you say?” cried M. Bolivant, furiously.

“Waterloo,” said Jack.

“Ha! ha!” exclaimed the French master, dancing with rage, “you say frogs and Vaterloo. Ver well. I shall speak to ze principal. I know you new boy, you Turner. You shall be cane.”

“Talk English,” said Jack.

This time the voice came from Mr. Mole himself.

M. Bolivant looked at him seriously.

“Mr. Mole,” he said. “is it you that chaff me, as the boys say? I am surprise. Sir, you forget yourself; you are one scumbug.”

“I beg your pardon. I did not say anything.” Mr. Mole hastened to exclaim.

“Vat! You think I am one fool. Goto bed.”

“Ha! ha! Waterloo! frog!” said Jack.

“You say ha, ha!” exclaimed the French master, in an ungovernable passion, “you say Waterloo, and frogs to me. I say to you booby, plumb-pudding. That vat I say to you, sare, and I snap my fingers in your face!”

“Go it, Bolivant,” said Jack, from the window.

“Who is that say, ‘Go it, Bolivant?” cried the French master, stopping in the midst of a roar. “To you boys I am Monsieur Bolivant; for I will not lower myself like this Mole, this earth creature, this insect.”

“Give him snakes,” cried Jack again from the window.

“Where is that boy? I wish I could catch [him,]” said M. Bolivant “But I will not be […] call chaffed. I will give you one hit on the nose—so; and I will kick you a la savate—so!”

He struck Mr. Mole in the face, and attempted to kick him; but the senior master caught him by the foot, and threw him backward.

The whole school was now in a ferment.

Mr. Stoner and Mr. Pumpleton left their respective classes, and the principal happened to come in to correct the English exercises.

“What is this?” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour. “Mr. Mole with his fists clenched, and M. Bolivant on his back. Disgraceful! How can you expect the boys to be orderly when they have such a bad example? Gentlemen, I am ashamed of you.”

“Shut up,” said Jack, making his voice come from the senior master.

“Mr. Mole!” exclaimed the principal in astonishment.

“I said nothing, sir,” replied the senior master. “My opinion is the place is bewitched. I shall go out; and then, perhaps, you will get at the bottom of it.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s caned a good many.”

This time Jack made Mr. Pumpleton speak.

“Mr. Pumpleton,” said the principal, “did that remark emanate from you?”

“No, sir; it did not, on my honor.”

“Don’t believe him,” said Jack.

This time it was Mr. Stoner.

“Mr. Stoner, are you, too, forgetting yourself? It seems to me I shall have to change my staff.”

“Go it, old cock,” said Jack, making M. Bolivant the speaker this time, the French master just having recovered his legs.

“Dear me—dear me! I am bewildered!” cried the principal. “This is so very extraordinary.”

All at once there was a cry from the fireplace.

A voice seemed to come from the chimney.

“Help! help! I am stuck in the flue,” said the voice. “Help! help!”

“Who is it?” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, running to the spot.

“Who is it?” he repeated.

“Mr. Mole. I am stuck up the chimney.”

“Who put you there?”

“Two of the boys. Help! help.”

“This is very strange,” said the principal. “Mr. Mole is up the chimney.”

“And you’ll be up a tree soon, if you don’t look out,” said Jack behind Mr. Pumpleton.

“Mr. Pumpleton,” cried the principal, turning sharply round.

“I really must beg that you will behave with decency. Assist me in extricating your fellow master from this deplorable position. He is up the chimney. I repeat, Mr. Mole, terrified by the violence of the boys, has sought refuge in the chimney, and stuck there.”

Mr. Pumpleton, with an air of desperation, seized the poker and began ramming it up bringing down a shower of soot.

“Give it him,” said Jack. “Old Crawcour likes soot; it suits him.”

“Mr. Stoner did you speak?” asked the principal.

“No, sir; I never uttered a word, on my solemn oath,” replied Mr. Stoner.

“This is perplexing. Have we a ventriloquist amongst us?”

A boy stepped forward.

It was Maple, Hunston’s friend and companion—the sneak of the school.

“Please, sir, may I speak to you?” he said.

“Certainly. What have you to say?”

“I heard Harkaway—at least he’s Harkaway Bedington now, but you know who I mean, sir, talking to Harvey.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Crawcour, smelling a rat.

“And he said he could ventriloquize.”

“Oh, did he!”

“Yes, sir; and he said he’d wake you all up before long,” continued Maple.

“Thank you,” replied Mr. Crawcour. “You are a good boy. I shall not forget you. Boys, school is over till after dinner. You may go and play.”

The boys rushed out.

“Harkaway Bedington,” cried Mr. Crawcour.

Jack ran harder than anyone else.

Mr. Stoner, who was standing by the door, caught him by the arm.

“Did you not hear the head master call you?” he said.

“I heard him say ‘Hark away Bedingion!’ and I harked away,” said Jack, innocently.

Mr. Stoner pushed him into a seat, saying:

“You will stay.”

Jack made no resistance, but began to whistle.

“No whistling, sir,” cried Mr. Stoner.

“Shall I sing, then,” asked Jack. “You won’t let me do anything to make my miserable life happy.”

Mr. Crawcour came up, and patting Jack gently on the shoulder, said:

“I have made it a rule never to punish a boy on the impulse of the moment; and I mean to have every body who offends greatly tried by a mixed jury of masters and schoolfellows. I shall empannel a jury of six in three days. You can plead your own cause if you like, or get some one to do it for you.”

“Thank you, sir. May I object to the members of the jury?”

“That depends. They will be fairly chosen; and remember one thing, whatever sentence the judge—that is myself—passes upon you, if you are found guilty will be strictly enforced. You may go now.”

Jack walked away, and joined the other boys in the playground.

Mr. Mole and M. Bolivant had made friends and all the masters were talking and laughing together about what had taken place.

“I should expel him,” said Mr. Mole.

“I should. He is the most mischievous boy in the school,” remarked Mr. Stoner.

“The chief can’t afford it after what happened last half,” observed Mr. Pumpleton.

“Ah!” said M. Bolivant. “He is one boy of what you say esprit, spirit verve. Go? He is fine boy although he say to me frogs and Vaterloo.”

The masters laughed, and the boys gave them a cheer of derision as they entered the house.

The spirit of rebellion was not quelled yet.

“I say, Jack, how do you do it?” asked Harvey.

“I’ll show Maple how I do it,” answered Jack, “when I get hold of him.”

“Will you?” said a voice at his elbow.

“I said so and I mean it,” answered Jack.

The speaker was Hunston senior.

“I advise you to mind what you are about,” he said, “because Maple is a friend of mine, and I won’t have him licked. You are no cock of this school, and you had better mind what you are about.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” answered Jack, looking at him contemptuously.

The continuation of the adventures of Jack Harkaway can be found in No. 1220 of The Five Cent Wide Awake Library, entitled “HARKAWAY AFLOAT.” Price 5 cents. For sale by all newsdealers.

THE FIVE CENT WIDE AWAKE LIBRARY No. 76/1226.

JACK HARKAWAY AFLOAT

CHAPTER I

WHICH IS THE BEST MAN

“Look here,” replied Hunston, senior, “I mean to have my own way.”

“Not if I know it,” answered Jack, fearlessly; “at least, not if having your own way means any interference with me.”

“I shall interfere with whom I like, I don’t come here as a schoolboy, and I mean to do as I like.”

“Always provided you can,” replied Jack, with a provoking smile.

“Do you want to have a row with me?” replied Hunston, senior.

“Go it, Harry. He can’t fight,” said his brother.

“You ought to know something about that,” observed Jack, turning round and kicking him.

“What do you mean by kicking my brother?” asked Hunston, senior, clenching his fists angrily.

“If you don’t like it, you may do the other thing,” replied Jack.

“What’s that?”

“Lump it!”

“Oh, that’s the size of it, is it? I must teach you better manners,” said Hunston, senior. “I’ve licked better men than you on board ship, and since you’re so cockey, we’ll see who is the best man!”

“All right!” replied Jack.

“I’ll back you up,” said Harvey.

“Take my jacket then and my cap,” answered Jack, giving them to Harvey as he took them off.

“A mill—a mill!” cried every one.

And in a short time the intending combatants were surrounded by a dense ring.

There was no usher in the playground, it being part of Mr. Crawcour’s new programme that the boys should do as they liked while they occupied themselves in their own amusements in play hours.

Hunston, senior, was not long in following his opponent’s example.

They both stripped themselves to their shirts and trousers.

Hunston, senior, was a tall, well built young fellow, rather clumsy in his movements, but strong and wiry.

It was evident that he did not think Jack formidable.

“You’ll see how I’ll polish him off,” he said to his brother.

“He can fight, though I chaffed him just now, and said he couldn’t; do lick him; you don’t know how I hate that fellow,” answered Arthur Hunston.

“Leave him to me. When I’ve done with him his own mother wouldn’t know him. I learned fighting at Portsmouth, and his friends will have to fetch a shutter to carry him off.”

Popular feeling was slightly in Jack’s favor.

It was considered an unequal match, and the boys fancied that though Jack’s pluck might carry him through a half-a-dozen or more rounds, he was sure to be badly beaten in the end.

Besides this, Hunston, senior, was a newcomer, and his “bouncing” off-hand manner was not liked either by young or old.

“Pepper him well, Jack,” whispered Harvey.

Jack nodded and stepped into the ring.

Hunston, senior, faced him, and carelessly threw out his left arm.

Jack parried the blow and stepped back, which threw his opponent forward.

Then he dashed in and struck him a violent blow on the nose.

The blood began to flow, but, nothing daunted, Hunston struck out right and left, and hitting Jack on the temple, he went down.

“Time!” cried Harvey.

The principals retired each to his corner, and their seconds attended to them.

Hunston’s brother had got a sponge dipped in water, with which he bathed his face, and Harvey patted Jack on the back, saying:

“Not hurt, are you, old man!”

“Right as a turnip, and fresh as a daisy,” replied Jack.

“Go in and win, then. They have sent their man up.”

Hunston, senior, looked very determined and savage.

He made a rush at Jack, but failed to hit him, whereupon Jack feinted with his left and struck him in the stomach with his right.

“Oh!” ejaculated Hunston, doubling himself up.

Jack followed this advantage by dealing his opponent two heavy blows, one after the other, in the face, and Hunston rolled over.

“Time!” exclaimed his brother, who began to look rather grave.

Hunston, senior, gasped for breath, and sat still for nearly half a minute.

“I’m ready,” he said. “That swab isn’t going to have it all his own way.”

“Hit straight at him and keep at a distance—your arms are long enough,” replied his brother.

“Wait a bit,” returned Harry Hunston, through his teeth; “I’ll show him a trick I learnt at Port Rico.”

Jack was waiting for him, and they walked round one another warily.

Presently Hunston, senior, retreated and drew Jack after him.

Then he advanced, ducked his head, causing Jack to miss his blow, put out his foot and tripped him up, dealing him a terrific cut between the eyes which sent him spinning into Harvey’s arms.

For some seconds Jack showed no signs of consciousness.

But at length he opened his eyes.

“Where am I?” he said.

“I knew I would make him see stars!” exclaimed Hunston, senior, loudly.

At the sound of his voice Jack remembered everything, and was on his feet directly.

“Get him into chancery,” suggested Harvey.

Jack nodded, and went up smiling, though he trembled a little and showed signs of punishment.

This time he made straight for his opponent, and they exchanged blow for blow several times without doing much damage.

At length Hunston made a rush.

Jack stumbled purposely, and Hunston fell over him; but Jack was up in an instant, and caught him round the neck with his left arm, holding him in an iron like grip.

Then he dealt him blow after blow in the face, until he fell from his hold and lay like a log on the ground.

“Bravo, Jack! Well done, Harkaway! Go it, Bedington!” arose on all sides.

And Harvey fairly danced with joy.

Hunston was dizzy and half stunned.

Suddenly he began to cough and choke, and gurgle dangerously in his throat.

“What’s the matter?” said Collinson, stepping forward.

“I think he has swallowed a tooth,” said Arthur Hunston.

It was as he supposed.

Harry Hunston had had one of his teeth broken short off by Jack’s sledge hammer blows, and he swallowed the fragment.

It stuck in his throat first, but when slapped on the back it went down, and he breathed again.

Plucky to the last, he would not give in.

Stepping into the ring again he looked wildly around him, scarcely able to see out of his left eye.

“Give it to him, Jack!” said Harvey.

“You’ve bunged up one of his eyes, and the other isn’t much good. You’ve half choked him with his own tooth, and if you don’t give him what’s-a-clock, it’s your fault.”

Jack knew that there was some strength left yet in his powerful opponent, and he advanced warily.

Hunston, senior, now tried what is known in France as the savate.

This is a sharp and quick kick in the face, which is not allowed in fair English fighting.

Unprepared for this, Jack was struck under the chin by the toe of his antagonist’s boot in a way that made his teeth rattle like castanets and cut his tongue.

“Shame! shame!” cried half a dozen voices.

Jack spat out a mouthful of blood.

“The cowardly brute!” said Collinson.

Advancing on his toes, Jack showed he was not beaten, and Hunston, pretending to strike, tried the same plan.

This time Jack was ready for him, and he caught his foot in his hand and held him firmly, making him hop up and down while he hit him with his disengaged fist in the mouth and on the nose until he dropped to the ground beaten.

Arthur Hunston carried his brother to a corner and tried to revive him, but it was some time before he could do so.

When he opened his eyes, he said:

“You’ll go up again?”

“No; I’ve had enough of it,” replied Hunston, senior.

“Can’t you peg away any more?”

“Not now.”

Harvey approached.

“Well,” said he, “are you licked?”

“Yes,” replied Arthur Hunston, sulkily. “For this time, at least.”

“Oh, don’t alarm yourself,” rejoined Harvey; “we’ll oblige you whenever you call upon us.”

Jack’s friends came up and patted him on the back, congratulating him on his victory, which was a popular one.

Hunston, senior, had a very bad face, and felt weak and ill, but he contrived to go into school, and though the masters could tell there had been a fight, they took no notice of it, as Mr. Crawcour had advised them not to be too particular.

He had found that the very strict severe principle had failed, and he was going upon a different system.

“Boys will be boys,” said his wife. “Let them fight and find their level.”

Harvey and Jack walked away together to the pump in the yard after the light, and Jack had his head pumped upon, which did him good.

“You’ve given Hunston, senior, what for,” exclaimed Harvey.

“Yes; and now I must settle Maple. I won’t have fellows sneaking about me. Besides, it spoilt my ventriloquism. If I try it again, everyone will know who does it,” said Jack.

“The little beast, I’d wig him.”

“I say,” exclaimed Jack, “you know the chiefs aquarium? Wouldn’t it be a lark to take it out of the drawingroom, and empty it into Maple’s bed?”

“Rather!”

“We’ll do it!”

“Fish and all?”

“Yes; we can carry it together.”

“Right you are,” replied Harvey. “I’m on!”

They were passing by the studios of the sixth form, one of which was occupied by Hunston, senior, who, as a big boy and an exceptional sort, of pupil, had a right to one.

“Hark!” whispered Harvey.

Harry Hunston was speaking, and they could see his brother Arthur and Maple through a chink of the door.

“He’s knocked me about pretty well,” exclaimed Hunston, senior, “and I did not think he could fight, but the fact is his wind is good, and I am out of training; but I’ll have my revenge—if I don’t I’ll eat my hat! If I can’t be revenged one way, I will another!”

“How?” said Maple.

“You leave that to me. I’m not the fellow to stick at trifles. I don’t have my teeth knocked down my throat for nothing.”

“I should think not,” said Maple.

“I hate that fellow Harkaway, or Bedington, or whatever his name is, and always did,” remarked Arthur Hunston; “and now I hate him more than ever. He is like poison to me.”

“I know how we got a fellow we didn’t like kicked out of the navy,” observed his brother.

“How was that?”

“I’ll tell you some day when we take a walk in the fields. I don’t like to talk here, because you never know who’s sneaking about.”

“That fellow Harvey is always poking his nose in something,” said Maple.

Harvey shook his fist at the door.

“Come on!” exclaimed Jack. “I can’t bear the idea of listening.”

“But they are plotting against you.”

“Let them plot. I’m not afraid of them,” replied Jack fearlessly.

And they passed on.

“They mean to do you some harm in an underhand way, that is clear,” said Harvey.

“If they can.”

“What’s to prevent them?”

“Oh, don’t bother yourself about shadows. I tell you I’m not afraid of them,” replied Jack impatiently.

The dinner bell rang and they went into the lavatory to wash and brush their hair before dinner.

In spite of Jack’s easy manner, he could not disguise from himself that there was danger in the hatred of such a young man as Harry Hunston.

He had been dismissed from the navy for bad conduct, so he boasted that he would stick at nothing, and was capable of anything.

CHAPTER II

THE PLOT

AS Maple slept in the same dormitory as Jack and Harvey, it was easy enough to play him the trick they had agreed upon.

When the house was still Jack went down stairs and took the aquarium from the drawing room.

Harvey pulled down the clothes of Maple’s bed, and Jack emptied the water, fish, sand and shells into it, while Harvey immediately covered the sleeper up again.

Both boys then got into bed, Jack having put the empty aquarium into a corner.

Maple woke up with a scream.

“What’s the matter?” asked Jack. “How you do snore tonight! You won’t let a fellow sleep.”

“I’ve had a bad dream,” answered Maple.

“What was it?”

“Oh, a beastly dream, and so like reality. I thought I was on board ship and we got wrecked. I fell into the sea and began to sink until I reached the bottom, and lay among the shells and sand with all sorts of beastly big, shark-like fish swimming round me. I feel quite wet and slippery. I never had such a beastly dream before, and I can’t bring myself to believe it isn’t real.”

“Go to sleep and don’t bother me with your sharks,” said Jack.

There was a momentary silence.

Suddenly Maple exclaimed:

“Hallo!”

“At it again, are you?” cried Jack. “I shall have to lick you, my boy, if you aren’t quiet.”

“I’ve caught a fish,” said Maple.

“Caught your grandmother,” replied Jack, derisively.

“And here’s another, and the bed’s wet through and through. Am I at sea, or where am I? Can I have been drowned?”

“It’s my opinion you’re going off your nut,” answered Jack.

Maple, however, sprang out of bed, and pulled up the blind, which let the moonlight through and enabled him to see that his bed was literally soaked through.

Fish of all sorts were moving about, and a pretty mess there was in the sheets, what with sand and shells and the rest of it.

“What a shame!” exclaimed Maple. “I’ll tell Mr. Crawcour of this. Here’s a trout and goldfish, and a horrid red-looking thing. You’ll get it for this, Jack.”

“Why, you little disguster,” said Jack, “do you mean to say I did it? I’ll skin you if you tell stories about me.”

Somewhat alarmed, Maple answered: “I did not mean to say it was you, but——”

“You’d better not, that’s all.”

“It’s very odd, though,” continued Maple, “and somebody must have put all these things in my bed; they could not have come there of their own accord.”

“No one said they could.”

“Will you let me sleep in your bed tonight, Jack?”

“No, I’ll see you hanged first, and then I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hate sneaks.”

Maple turned to Harvey, but he was equally obdurate, and at last he rolled himself up in the counterpane and slept on the floor, vowing that he’d let Mr. Crawcour know all about it in the morning, and then somebody would find out his mistake.

Jack employed himself, with Harvey’s help, in picking up the fish and shells as well as he could, and putting them back in the glass bowl, which he filled with water from the jug.

Only one carp was dead, and that he threw up the chimney.

Then he carried the aquarium down stairs and put it back in its usual place.

Maple watched Jack at work, and could not help saying:

“I know it was you, Harkaway, and I’ll tell of you as sure as fate.”

“Will you? then you shall have something to tell about,” answered Jack, adding, “Harvey, old man, get the poker and rake that fish down I shied up the chimney.”

Harvey did so, and held it out in his hand nicely covered with soot.

“You like fish, and you shall eat it,” exclaimed Jack, seizing Maple by the neck.

“What! Eat that nasty thing?”

“Yes, soot and all.”

“It isn’t cooked.”

“All the better! Shove it down his throat, Harvey, if he won’t chew it, while I hold him tight.”

A little pressure under the ears caused Maple to open his mouth.

The fish was put in, and to avoid being choked, he was obliged to eat, which he did slowly and with great disgust.

“Is it gone?” asked Jack.

“Yes,” answered Maple, with a gurgle, as he gulped down the last bit of the head, adding with a shudder:

“Oh, I feel so ill and sick! Let me lie still! Let me die!”

Jack laughed and said:

“That will teach you not to sneak about me; and if you get me into a row for this I’ll have it out with you somehow.”

“I’ll never sneak again—never, never,” muttered Maple.

“Then I’ve done you some good, and you’ll grow up a decent fellow, for which you ought to truly thank your humble servant.”

Maple groaned, and Jack and Harvey went to bed again, leaving the wretched victim of their cure for sneaking to digest his supper.

However revengeful Maple might have felt, he took very good care not to incur Jack’s resentment by saying anything, which was all the more agreeable to Jack, as he was to be tried by a jury, as we have said, in three days, and his sentence would have been more severe if any other complaint was made against him.

Mr. Crawcour expected great results from his new system of trial by jury. As half the jury was composed of the boys and the other half of masters, it was a fair and impartial tribunal.

When the time came the jury was selected, and sat in Mr. Crawcour’s study.

The case against Jack was stated by Mr. Mole, and on Maple’s evidence against him he was found guilty of maliciously practicing ventriloquism in school hours to create a disturbance, make the boys laugh, and upset the master.

But the jury recommended him to mercy. Mr. Crawcour then passed sentence, saying that, had it not been for the recommendation of the jury, he should have inflicted the punishment of the birch, which he intended to use in the future instead of cane, in extreme cases; but, as it was, he should sentence him to Coventry for one week, and anyone caught speaking to him would be heavily dealt with.

Jack thought he had got off very well, as he infinitely preferred the silent system to being soundly birched, and congratulated himself on his good luck.

“A week will soon pass,” he said to himself; “and I have several books I want to read. “I shall be able to get through ‘Robinson Crusoe’ during play hours, which I shouldn’t have been able to do if I had been playing at prisoner’s base or hoppy in the playground.”

So Jack put a good face on it and went about smiling, though no one addressed a word to him, for fear of being themselves punished for such a breach of discipline.

The insurgent spirit which for the last half day had pervaded the school, from the highest to the lowest, had passed away.

The boys spoke of the barring out with pride, but didn’t hint at doing such a thing again.

In fact, Mr. Crawcour’s authority was restored, and his heart was cheered by the efforts his wife made to help him in his business.

She behaved now as a schoolmaster’s wife should; attended to the boys, and spoke to them in a motherly manner.

The week passed quickly as Jack had expected, and though the enforced silence was irksome he bore it bravely, and did not murmur, for he knew he had been wrong, and had sense enough to know that order could not reign in the school if the boys did not obey their masters.

He did not mind the infliction of a fair amount of punishment when he knew he had deserved it.

One day a circumstance occurred which enabled his enemies to have their revenge upon him in a remarkable manner.

He received a letter from little Emily.

It contained a post-office order for two pounds ten, which she said were her savings for two years, and she did not know what better to do with the money than send it to her dear old Jack.

She had thought of giving it to the missionaries, but she had changed her mind.

In conclusion she begged him not to say a word about it to anybody, as her father, Mr. Scratchley, would be very angry if by any means he heard she had broken open her money-box and sent its contents to him.

Jack took Harvey on one side and showed him the letter.

“We’ll go into the town,” he exclaimed, “and get it changed, and go to the pastry shop and have a tuck in. I owe Mrs. Croy some money, and I’ll pay her.”

“All right,” said Harvey. “Won’t it be jolly?”

And his mouth watered at the prospect of unlimited tarts, cheese, cakes and cream.

“Don’t say a word, because if Mr. Crawcour heard of it he might write to Mr. Scratchley, and I don’t want to get Emily into a row.”

“Not I,” answered Harvey. “I’m as tight as wax when a fellow wants to keep a secret. I shan’t blab.”

By some chance Maple overheard this conversation, and, hastening to Hunston, senior, he repeated it to him.

“Well, what of it?” said Harry Hunston.

“Why, I’ll tell you,” replied Maple, his wicked little eyes twinkling maliciously. “My father sent me two pounds ten yesterday, and I haven’t touched it.”

“What of that?”

“Suppose I were to give it to you to mind for me?”

“Where is it now?”

“In my desk.”

“It’s quite safe there.”

“Yes, I know,” said Maple; “but you don’t understand me.”

“No, I don’t,” replied Hunston, senior, bluntly.

“I’ll say somebody stole it, and swear I saw Jack at my desk.”

“Oh,” ejaculated Hunston. “I smell a mice; in other words I begin to twig.”

“You see,” continued Maple, “he won’t admit that he has had any money, because of this Emily who sent him it.”

“But he can prove payment of the order.”

“He can if he likes, but I tell you he won’t. I know him better than you do. If he says a thing he sticks to it. We’ll prove that he has had two pounds ten. I’ll say I have lost that sum, and if he can’t and won’t account for the money he’s had, people will say he stole mine. If he does clear himself, and tell about this girl Emily, I can say I’m sorry for accusing him, and there’s an end to it.”

“It’s good enough to try on,” said Hunston, senior.

“I hate him,” cried Maple, “for making me eat that fish and lots of other things. Whenever he passes me he pulls my ears or kicks me, and calls me a sneak.”

“You don’t hate the big slashing brute more than I do, my dear boy,” answered Harry Hunston, feelingly. “I haven’t forgotten the hiding he gave me, nor ever shall.”

“Will you help me in my plan?”

“Like a shot.”

“All right. I’ll bring you the coin and tonight I’ll begin to sing out about my loss,” said Maple.

“It’s a good dodge,” answered Hunston, senior. “What will the chief do with him, do you think? Send him away?”

“No, he’ll birch him. Crawcour does not send felIows away; it doesn’t pay. But the birching isn’t much; he’ll soon get over that. It won’t hurt after a day or two. What I am thinking of is the shame he will feel, and the fine chaff we can have against him.”

“So we can. He won’t like being called a thief.”

“All the sixth form will cut him, and even his friend, Collinson, will have to give him the cold shoulder after he has been found out thieving,” exclaimed Maple.

“It’s a rattling good idea,” said Hunston, Senior. “and I’ll back you up in it like a brick. Go and get the tin.”

Maple went to his locker and brought the money to Hunston, who put it in his pocket with a subdued grin. It may be added that Maple never saw a halfpenny of it again, for Hunston, senior, did not like parting with money when it was once given into his hands except for the gratification of his own pleasure.

He would drink beer and spirits in town, and play at billiards at the inn when there was a holiday and he could get out.

Maple little imagined that the money was not safe in Hunston, senior’s, hands, or his miserly little heart would have been broken, and he would have given up his idea of vengeance upon Jack.

Our hero meanwhile, was perfectly unconscious of the plot in preparation against him.

But the mine was soon to burst, as his enemies were active, and that very night Maple began to talk about his loss.

It is very unpleasant to everyone in a school when money is lost, and the boys soon began to take an interest in it.

Jack was almost the last to hear of it, and the information came from Harvey.

“What do you think?” exclaimed the latter, “Maple’s lost his money.”

“A good job, too, I’m glad of it, the dirty little cur,” answered Jack.

“But he says you have bagged it.”

“I? Does he say that?” Jack cried, coloring up angrily.

“Well, he doesn’t exactly say so in so many words, but he says he saw you at his locker to-day.”

“That’s odd. I did go to his desk,” replied Jack, “this afternoon to borrow a ruler. It was the only desk I saw unlocked, and as he wasn’t there I took it. Where is he?”

“Up at the other end of the room, talking to Hunston senior, and Collinson.”

“I’ll give him something for talking about me,” exclaimed Jack, compressing his lips tightly together.

The boys were preparing their lessons for the next day; some were talking, some writing, others reading. Mr. Mole, the master in charge, was out of the room.

“Maple,” said Jack, addressing his enemy, “What do you mean by saying I took your money?”

“I only said I thought you might have done it out— out of a lark,” said Maple, turning pale.

Jack caught him a stinging box on the ears.

Maple began to cry, and got behind Collinson, who said:

“Don’t hit the fellow; I won’t have it. He was complaining to me as head of the school, and I won’t have him touched.”

“Why does he go and tell lies about me?” yelled Jack, his eyes flashing indignantly.

“How do I know they are lies?”

“Oh, Collinson!” exclaimed Jack, looking hurt; “you can’t believe I would steal anything?”

“I did not say so, but the charge must be inquired into. Here’s Mr. Mole. I will speak to him.”

“The senior master approached Collinson, saying, “Who is that crying? I was walking in the yard when I heard a dismal wail.”

“Harkaway Bedington struck Maple.”

“That was wrong. I am afraid, Harkaway, you have a fondness for bullying, and you know Mr. Crawcourt does not like it,” said Mr. Mole, addressing Jack.

“He deserved it, sir.”

“No matter; if he is impertinent, you should complain to me.”

“The fact is, sir, Maple has lost two pounds ten out of his desk,” exclaimed Collinson; and he says that he saw Harkaway there, and just after he had taken something out he missed the money.”

“Oh, indeed,” observed Mr. Mole, looking grave.

“It seems very curious, sir,” remarked a boy named Jackson. “But yesterday Harkaway was so hard up that he borrowed a shilling from me.”

“Yes,” said Hunston, junior. “I saw him do that, and to-day he was in the pastrycook’s with Harvey, when I was there. He paid his tick, and he and Harvey ate nearly everything in the shop.”

“This is very strange,” Mr. Mole exclaimed. “What have you to say, Harkaway?”

Jack was silent.

He could have cleared himself in a moment, but he had said he would not betray Emily, whose request to preserve secrecy about her present to him was sacred in his eyes, and his dogged, obstinate nature would not allow him to break his word.

Yet he could see how cleverly he was caught in the meshes of the net prepared for him by his enemies, though he did not suspect them, just then, of being so base as to have plotted for his annoyance.”

He thought Maple was sincere in saying that he fancied Jack was the thief.

“Have those boys spoken the truth?” continued Mr. Mole, in a loud and severe voice.

Everyone looked at Jack, whose face grew deadly pale.

CHAPTER III

THIEF! THIEF!

“Well!” cried Mr. Mole, impatiently, “can’t you speak?”

“Yes,” replied Jack. “It is all true.”

He spoke with difficulty, and seemed much embarrassed, which those near him put down as signs of guilt, when, in reality, he was only nervous at having such a charge brought against him.

“You had no money yesterday?”

“None at all, sir, except the bob—the shilling that Jackson lent me.”

“And yet you paid a bill and treated Harvey to tarts, this afternoon, at a shop in Lille Bridge,” continued Mr. Mole.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you had any money sent you, or seen any friend, who has given you some?”

“I can’t answer that question, sir,” replied Jack.

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons.”

A murmur of astonishment ran round the little circle of boys.

“Foolish fellow,” said Mr. Mole, with more kindness than he usually displayed. “Don’t you see that the only way to clear your character is to account for the possession of the money you are proved to have had? By the way, how much had you this afternoon?”

“Two pounds ten, sir.”

“The very amount Maple has lost,” cried Mr. Mole, exchanging a significant glance with Collinson.

“All in gold it was,” put in Maple.

“Silence!” exclaimed the senior master. “Don’t you see the force of what I say, Harkaway?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And yet you won’t speak?”

“I cannot; as I said before, I have my reasons.”

“Do you deny taking, or I should say stealing the money of Maple’s?”

“Certainly I do. I never knew he had it in his desk. I am not a thief, sir,” Jack replied, openly and boldly.

“It is very odd,” said Mr. Mole, in perplexity.

“He had it safe enough,” exclaimed Maple.

“Will you hold your tongue? If not, I shall send you to bed without any supper!” Mr. Mole exclaimed.

Maple subsided.

“Harkaway did not take the money, sir,” said a voice. It was Harvey.

“What do you know about it?” asked the senior master.

“He could clear himself in a moment, if he liked.”

“How?”

Harvey was about to speak, when Jack said:

“Harvey, remember what you promised. If I don’t say anything, I don’t want you to.”

Harvey was silent.

“Come, come, come; you can do your friend a service, do not hesitate,” Mr. Mole said.

But Harvey remained obstinately silent.

“It’s as clear as daylight,” exclaimed the irrepressible Maple. “Of course he stands in—”

Mr. Mole seized Maple by the collar, and put him in a corner with his face to the wall.

“Just you stop there till the supper-bell rings,” he exclaimed.

The boys laughed and Maple made a wry face, but remained in the “fool’s corner” all the same, knowing that the senior master was not to be trifield with.

Then returning to Jack, Mr. Mole said, very seriously:

“Look here, Harkaway; this is no trifling matter. I must repeat it to Mr. Crawcour. You are accused——”

“By whom, sir?” asked Jack.

“Well, suspected of stealing money can’t mince the matter, and I really must say in all candor that the evidence, so far as I have heard it, points in your direction. Does it not, now, I ask you?”

“Yes, sir, it does, and I don’t blame you for your remarks.”

“Then my duty is clear, by your own admission. I must consult the Principal.”

“Very well, sir.”

“You still refuse to speak?”

“I cannot say anything more than that I am innocent, and perhaps you will know all some day,” answered Jack, in a tone of resignation.

Mr. Mole looked at him crossly and left the room.

A buzz of conversation instantly arose, and the matter was loudly and generally discussed.

“Collinson,” exclaimed Jack.

“Don’t talk to me,” replied the captain of the school.

“Why not? We used to be such friends.”

“Used to be.”

“Are we not now?”

“I don’t want to say anything unpleasant, Mr. Harkaway Bedington,” replied Collinson; “thorefore, if you have any regard for your feelings, you won’t speak to me.”

“Oh, very well,” replied Jack, looking hurt and turning away.

“Tell him what he is,” said Hunston, senior.

“What’s that?”asked Jack, facing him sharply.

“A dirty thief.”

In an instant Jack struck at him, and sent him rolling over a form half stunned.

Then he caught up a ruler and brandished it threateningly.

“Don’t any of you touch me,” he exclaimed; if you do, by George, I’ll floor the first fellow who comes near me.”

The crowd shrank back.

“I’m not a thief, whatever you may think, he continued, “and I don’t mean to stand any nonsense or humbug.”

Whatever disposition Collinson and the other members of the sixth may have had to resent, his sudden but not unprovoked assault upon Hunston, they did not attempt to interfere with him, and retired down the room to where Harvey was sitting.

A small hiss arose, which grew into a general chorus.

Some one said, “Thief!” and “Thief! thief!” was heard on all sides.

Jack sat down by the side of his only friend, and his eyes burned, and his lips were parched and dry.

“Here’s a go,” said Harvey.

“Never mind,” answered Jack; “they will find it out some day. I’ll write to Emily and ask her permission to tell. It don’t matter; it’s a new sensation for them, and I know I’m not guilty.”

“You are an ass,” said Harvey.

“Why?”

“For putting up with this, when one word put it right.”

“That one word will never be spoken by me, unless I have dear little Emily’s permission.”

“It’s carrying one’s idea of honor a little too far.”

“I don’t think so. I’m a peculiar fellow, and I think I once told you so; you don’t know me yet, old boy. I’m like a rosebud, and I shall unfold slowly beneath the sun of your acquaintance.”

“You’re a fine fellow anyhow. I know I couldn’t bear this like you. You’ll get flogged, perhaps.”

“It won’t kill me,” replied Jack, with a smile.

“It’ll hurt, though, confoundadly.”

“I shall think it is for Emily’s sake.”

“I won’t try and argue the point with you, because you know best.”

Jack was about to reply, when Mr. MIole entered, telling him that Mr. Crawcour wanted him in his study.

He rose, and slowly followed the senior master to the Principal’s room.

His heart fluttered a little, but he determined not to give way.

CHAPTER IV

IN TROUBLE AGAIN

MR. CRAWCOUR looked up as Jack entered and exclaimed:

“Oh, here you are, Bedington. What is this Mr. Mole tells me?”

“About Maple’s money, sir?” answered Jack.

“Yes: somebody has extracted a large sum from his desk. I wish my boy’s friends would not send them so much at a time. It is only a temptation to them and to others. I am told that the evidence paints to you as the—ahem!—the culprit.”

“I know nothing about it, sir.”

“Do you persist in that denial?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“In that case there will be nothing for it but to have you tried by my new system of the jury; and that you may have nothing to complain of, the twelve shall be all chosen from your schoolfellows by yourself, and Collinson shall be the judge. Is that fair?”

“It seems so, sir.”

“And you will not think it unjust if I inflict upon you any punishment the judge sentences you to?”

“No, sir. I can’t clear myself, so I suppose I must put up with it; still I should be glad if you did not believe me guilty.”

“What else can I do?” answered the Principal.

“Circumstances are against me. I may be mischievous and troublesome, but I am not so bad as to thieve. Besides, why should I? I can always get money from home by writing for it.”

“I know your friends are rich. But I must do my duty for the sake of example. Sleep over the matter, and perhaps tomorrow morning you may have changed your mind and be inclined to speak. If you can clear yourself as you say, it is sheer insanity to remain silent. You can go now.”

Jack went away and spent the evening in preparing his lessons for the morrow.

The master being in the room, the boys did not tease Jack any more, though in going up to bed he was chaffed on the stairs.

However, he bore it with fortitude, and treated his enemies with contempt.

The next day he, at Mr. Crawcour’s request, selected twelve of the boys from the sixth form to try him.

They went into the evidence, and, as a matter of course, he was found guilty.

Collinson passed sentence upon him, saying that a boy who could commit so mean an action as to steal another’s pocket-money deserved to be birched.

Accordingly, Jack had to kneel down before a chair, in the middle or the room, in the presence of the whole school, and Mr. Mole and Mr. Stonor held him, while Mr. Crawcour gave him twenty strokes with a birch.

He got up tingling with the pain, but not caring much for it, as he knew he had not deserved it, and took his place next to Harvey, as usual.

Silence reigned in the school, and the ordinary work of the day was proceeded with.

Mr. Crawcour spoke to Collinson and some of the leading boys, saying that as Jack had been dealt with he hoped they would not make his life miserable and chaff him about the theft.

But Jack was decidedly cut.

Harvey stuck to him, and during the play hour walked around with him.

Jack was dull, and did not speak much.

“Don’t be down in the mouth, old fellow,” said Harvey.

“I can’t help it,” answered Jack. “There is a fatality about me. Everything I do is wrong, and I am sure to get into rows somehow, whether I deserve it or not.”

“What will you do now? Write to Emily?”

“No. They have done their worst. I shall simply defy the whole school, and the masters included. I Shan’t write to Emily,” said Jack, putting his fists together, as he always did when he was determined.

“Oh, Jack,” cried Harvey, in surprise.

“What more can they do?” continued Jack. “If Maple’s money has really been stolen, the thief will be found out some day.”

“I don’t think it has.”

“Don’t you? That view of the question never occurred to me before.”

“I think he did it out of revenge, and Hunston, senior, backed him up in it.”

“I’ll make it my business to find out. But of this I am certain. God never allows a wicked action to pass undiscovered. If they have done me this great wrong it will all come home to them.”

“Shut them up at once, Jack,” exclaimed Harvey. “You can do it by writing to Emily.”

“I won’t. What does it matter to me if the fellows I was formerly chums with cut me? I shall know who my friends are in future. It will be rather fine to be called a thief.”

“But if you don’t write to Emily, and nothing turns up, they will always think you one.”

“Something will happen; I know it will.”

“Won’t you feel wretched at being chaffed and [..ssed]?”

“They don’t try to do it here, because they are afraid of me. Let me catch them at it. I’d fight any half-dozen of them; one down and the other come on,” replied Jack, fiercely.

“You gave Hunston, senior, a regular nose-ender last night,” observed Harvey, with a laugh.

“Served the big overgrown brute right, too. That fellow is a beast. He has a bad face.”

“So I think. I wonder how the tooth you made him swallow, when you milled him, agreed with him?”

“Here he is. Let’s walk away, Come to the field; we shall be alone then. I don’t want another row with him,” said Jack, hastily.

And they moved away.

They had not gone far before they met Collinson, and they were passing by without speaking, when the captain of the school said:

“Oh, Harkaway, I want a word with you, if you can spare me a moment.”

“Certainly,” answered Jack, in his usual good-natured, cheery manner.

“At this time of the year, February, we always start our paper chase. I think I spoke to you about it last week.”

“Yes.”

“Will you lead one for us?”

“I might steal your paper,” answered Jack, sarcastically.

“Don’t chaff,” replied Collinson. “If you were guilty, it does not follow that you are always to be taunted with it, and as you and Harvey are two of the best runners in the school, and the longest-winded, and you know the country pretty well, we want you to lead us a good chase. Will you do it?”

“I don’t mind,” replied Jack. “But if you have such a bad opinion of me as to think that I stole—”

“We won’t talk about that. I hope it is not so. I believe you to be innocent. I do, indeed; but appearances were against you, and are now.”

“Thank you for that,” said Jack, warmly. “I’ll lead your paper chase, but I would not have done it before. You will all find out your mistake some day, but at present I cannot put myself right.”

“I hope sincerely you will. You cannot have a better well-wisher than I am,” replied Collinson. “I am very much in the position in which you are.”

Jack wrung his proffered hand.

“Then,” continued Collinson, “I will tell the fellows that you and Harvey will lead the chase with pleasure.”

They separated, and Jack said to Harvey:

“Collinson is a stunner. He sets a good example to the school; we shan’t get another captain like him when he’s gone.”

“He leaves next half.”

“Yes, I know, to go to Oxford.”

“Have you ever led a paper chase before?” asked Harvey.

“No, but I know all about it, as I have heard the fellows talk.”

“Ive been here longer than you, and we had several beauties last year. Do you know the line of country?”

“Not much,” answered Jack.

“Well, I do. I have been all about for miles round, and the best way is to go as the bird flies and take all the ditches one comes to.”

“Have you got any bags to put the paper in?”

“Yes, and I have some paper left over from last year. We must get all the old papers and books we can find to tear up, for I mean to give them a winder this time. Collinson knows I am the best runner in the school, and always had the best chance, and he also knows I wouldn’t go without you, which—”

“Accounts for his asking me to lead,” said Jack.

“Exactly.”

“Never mind; I don’t hate any of them. I dare say I should behave as they have done if circumstances had been different. Let’s go and get the paper ready.”

“All right; I’m your man,” answered Harvey.

And they went together to the schoolroom, where Harvey found his bags.

They soon began to fill them with paper, which they tore into little bits.

Each boy who led was accustomed to carry two bags, one slung over each shoulder.

In starting, they had a quarter of an hour’s grace allowed them.

That is to say, the head of the following party, or the hounds, took out his watch when the leaders of the hares, as they are sometimes called, started, and counted fifteen minutes.

They all ran along in their track quickly.

The leaders dropped bits of paper in the roads and the fields as they went, to show the direction they had taken.

If they jumped, or swam, or plunged through a brook—of which there are plenty in Hertfordshire—they left paper on each side.

So that the hounds or followers could plainly see which way they had gone, though they were far away and out of sight.

The object of the chase was to catch the hares before they could get home again; and there were many good runners in the school, so that the chase was always an interesting feature in the outdoor amusements of the boys.

Two better, or stronger, or swifter hares than Jack and Harvey could not have been selected.

We must give an account of the chase, which might by itself be uninteresting, because it gave rise to an occurrence which proved of some value to Jack.

CHAPTER V

THE PAPER CHASE

THE occasion chosen for the “hare and hounds,” or paper chase, was a half-holiday.

Dinner was over at a quarter of two, and at half-past the hares started.

The boys seemed to have forgotten Jack’s conviction for the supposed stealing of Maple’s money, for they gave him a cheer when he set off at a good swinging jog trot, elbows went into his side, back bent and head thrown a little forward, with Harvey on his left hand.

Thin and wiry, Harvey was a splendid runner, and when he boasted that he did not think the hounds could catch him, he was not bragging idly.

Perhaps Collinson’s sensible conduct in picking out Jack to lead the chase had some effect on the boys.

If the sixth form frowned on him and led a persecution, all the lower boys would follow, as a matter of course.

But Collinson really liked Jack in his heart.

He could not help thinking him guilty of stealing Maple’s money, although he could not understand the why and wherefore, but he made an allowance for him in a spirit of true Christian charity, and did not want to see him sent to Coventry again, and this time by the consent of his schoolfellows.

In fact, he had by his generous behavior done much to remove the prejudice existing against Jack, which was fostered in every way by Maple and the two Hunstons.

They raised an objection, to “following a thief,” but as they did not find any one to agree with them, they made up their minds to join the hunt, rather than lose the fun of it.

Harvey and Jack were in excellent form, and cut out the pace at a rate which promised to baffle their pursuers.

The country thereabouts was admirably fitted for Just the sort of pastime they were indulging in.

It was flat and moist, rich meadows were intersected by ditches full of water and streams, the hedges were but stunted bushes on raised banks.

There was scarcely any wind, so that the paper lay where it fell, and the trail was perfect.

“Do you know Black Adder Wood, Jack?” said Harvey.

“I’ve heard of it,” answered Jack, “though I’ve never been there. It’s on my father’s estate, a mile or two beyond the Willow Copse. They say it grows good blackberries.”

“I should think it did, too. That’s just what took me there, and the recollection of a very tidy stomach-ache brings it forcibly before me. Blackberries are awful things to give a fellow the mully-grubs. But what I was going to say is this, it wouldn’t be a bad lark to take the hounds through the wood. On the other side there is a lot of plowed land leading down into the main road, which we could use as an easy means of making for home.”

“I don’t mind,” replied Jack, “though I must confess I should not like to get lost in the wood.”

They had stopped to talk.

Suddenly they heard a shout.

It came from the hounds.

Jack climbed up a tree, which gave him a view of the surrounding country.

“Hunston, senior, Collinson and Maple are leading,” he said. “And very pretty play with their legs they are making, too.”

“Wire in,” answered Harvey, starting again. Putting on the steam and throwing a little life into it, as Jack observed, they were soon out of sight.

So they went on until they reached the confines of Black Adder Wood, a wild and extensive piece of timber-covered land, which was never interfered with or thinned out.

Occasionally the wanderer in its depths would come across a couple of swarthy fellows, who looked like demons, but who, in reality, were nothing more than charcoal-burners.

They had a hut in the wood where they lived for three or four days and nights, only going into the town on Friday night, and staying in their regular homes till the beginning of the next week.

The boys plunged into the wood, pushing their way through, and making the trail lie as well as they could, but it was hard work.

“I wish we had kept to the open,” said Jack. “Are you sure you know your way through?”

“I think so. We can’t go back now, because we should be caught if we did, and that would look foolish,” answered Harvey.

“It was a stupid thing to leave the grass. Hang the twigs, how they hurt!” cried Jack, beating back the branches, which would fly in his face.

“That’s what you said yesterday, when the Principal was performing, wasn’t it?” said Harvey, with a sly smile.

“I shall answer you, as somebody says to the queen, in Virgil: ‘Oh! cruel queen, you order me to renew my grief.’ Birching is one of the delicate operations which ought not to be alluded to out of school, so with your kind permission we will drop it.”

Harvey laughed and said:

“By the way, Jack, it would be a Jolly spree to make the hounds lose themselves in the wood, by breaking off the trail. If they came to a break, they’d hunt here and there and get utterly fogged at last.”

“Let’s do it, and start the trail again on the other side of the road. Some of them will strike it.”

“All right. Don’t throw any more paper,” Harvey observed.

They stopped casting away paper and pressed on.

It seemed as if they would never come to the extremity of the wood.

An hour or more had passed since they entered it.

The shouts of boys calling loudly to one another showed that the hounds had entered the wood and had lost their way, as Jack and Harvey had anticipated they would.

By ceasing to cast down paper, the hounds had become puzzled.

While the leaders did so, the followers could always keep the main track.

Now they were all at sea.

“Here’s a pretty how-d’ye-do,” laughed Harvey, standing still in a small, open glade which had some bundles of straw in it, put there for the pheasants by the keepers.

“Yes, it’s a nice start, and it’s my opinion we are in Queer street,” replied Jack.

“If we could only find one of the paths used by the charcoal-burners.”

“It’s getting dark, and I’m getting peckish. I didn’t have much to eat at dinner to-day, so that I might run better, and now I feel as empty as an old drum.”

“I could do with a chop and some muffins,” answered Harvey; “but it’s my idea we shan’t have the luck to tumble across anything till we get home.”

“Which may not be till next week.”

“Don’t croak,” said Harvey.

They were bewildered and perplexed, not knowing which way to turn, and the growing darkness threatened to add materially to their troubles.

“Hark! what’s that?” said Jack.

Both listened.

“Hide! hide! It’s Maple and Hunston, senior,” continued Jack, almost forcing his companion behind the trunk of a large tree.

Hunston, senior, and Maple were quarreling.

“I don’t believe a word you say,” exclaimed Maple.

“It’s true; when I first got lost in this infernal wood I stumbled across some fellows with fires, burning charcoal,” said Harry Hunston.

“It is very odd I didn’t see them.”

“You were not in that direction. They are on the eastern side, and this is the western; and, as I take it—”

“And they robbed you?”

“Yes.”

“A likely story. What did they steal from you?” growled Maple.

He knew he could afford to be impudent and familiar with Hunston, senior, because they were accomplices in the plot to ruin Jack’s honor.

“Why, all I had; your two pounds ten, I mean.”

Jack squeezed Harvey’s arm convulsively.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered, hoarsely.

“Listen,” returned Harvey, in the same tone.

“What shall I do ?” said Maple; “that tin was to have lasted the half, and now I shan’t be able to buy a walnut, or a pear, or an apple. I shan’t have any tarts or sweet stuff. What a nuisance! Are you sure it is all gone?”

“Quite sure. Just as you took the money out of your locker, i put it into my pocket; the charcoal-burners rushed at me; one held me, while the others turned my pockets inside out.”

There was an air of sincerity about Hunston, senior’s, narrative which convinced Maple that the prospect of seeing his money back again was very slight indeed.

“I wish those charcoal-burners had been, I know where, before they had my money,” he said.

“Don’t stand jawing there, you young donkey,” cried Harry Hunston. “I want to get home before it’s quite dark.”

“Come on, then. I can’t help being wild,” Maple said.

They moved in the direction of a path in the brushwood, which was just what Harvey was looking for.

It was the footway used by the charcoal-burners, which Hunston had hit upon accidentally.

Jack sprang forward before they had gone more than a few steps.

“Stop a bit, Hunston,” he said, putting himself before him. “I have something to say to you before you go any further.”

Hunston, senior, turned pale, visible even in the dim light.

Maple tried to get away, but Harvey caught him by the neck and nearly throttled him.

“Oh, don’t! don’t hurt me, Harvey!” he whined.

“I’ll do anything you ask me. I will indeed. Oh, I wish I had never come here.”

“Shut up,” was Harvey’s reply.

For a moment there was a dead silence.

CHAPTER VI

SUNSHINE AFTER STORM

“WHAT do you want?” asked Harry Hunston, standing at bay.

“You ought to know as well as any one,” answered Jack.

“If I did, I should not ask you. What’s your little game?” Hunston continued, affecting a bold air, and intending to brazen it out.

“I have overheard your conversation, Mr. Maple.”

“Listeners never hear any good of themselves. I thought you were mean enough for anything, and now I know it,” sneered Hunston.

“I am not so mean as to get up a plot to take away a fellow’s character because I hate him.”

“We’ll talk about that when we get home.”

“No, we won’t; I have found you out.”

“You’ve got to prove it, and my word is as good as yours,” Hunston replied.

“You will come with me to the charcoal-burners, and I will ask them what money they took from you.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort; make me.”

Hunston folded his arms and assumed an attitude of defiance.

“I’ve licked you once and I can do it again,” Jack replied; “and by Jove I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life, if you don’t walk before me to those men. I am determined to sift this matter to the bottom, now that I have begun.”

“Oh, you are. Come on then. I can stand a little punching; and perhaps you won’t have it all your own way this time.”

Jack knew the value of the first blow, and seeing that his enemy meant business, he dashed out his right and rolled Hunston over like an ox.

He was standing over him in an instant, and as soon as he got on his knees hit him again.

“You coward!” said Hunston, lying on the grass. “It Isn’t fair to hit a man when he’s down.”

“I don’t mean to fight fairly with you,” Jack rejoined. “I shall take every advantage I can.”

Hunston, senior, tried to get up; but he was knocked over again, his nose and mouth streaming with blood.

In fact, Jack had it all his own way.

He was not fighting fairly, and he knew it; but with such an opponent he thought any means justifiable.

“Will you do as I tell you?” said Jack, seeing Hunston did not attempt to rise.

“No, I shall lie here. You’ll have to drag me; I won’t walk. Perhaps you’ll kick me; you’re brute enough!” exclaimed Hunston, senior.

“I shan’t kick you; but I’ll cut a stick from one of these trees and leather you with it till you consent to go with me. I’m not joking. If I say I’ll tan you, I will.”

Jack bent down a bough and cut from it a long pliable switch which he brought in contact with Hunston’s shoulders with a will.

He soon tried to get up and meet his assailant on more equal terms; but Jack was too quick for him and he went to grass again.

“You’d better knock under,” Jack exclaimed, holding the switch in the air.

“All right. Your one too many for me,” replied Hunston. “I’ll go quietly if you’ll leave off.”

Jack let him get up, which he did with a cowed and sullen air; and, without saying a word, he led the way through the forest, taking the path we have mentioned which led direct to the charcoal-burners’ haunt.

“Don’t you attempt to bolt,” said Jack, warningly. “It’ll be the worst for you if you do; I’m just in the humor to warm you again.”

But Hunston was not in the humor to do so.

His heart was full of anger and hate; but he was bruised, bleeding and in pain.

For the time at least he was thoroughly beaten.

What his thoughts were the reader can imagine.

Shame was mingled with fear, and his mind was torn with conflicting emotions.

The walk was not long.

Night now fell fast, and it was difficult to make progress.

So much so that they all felt a sense of relief when a bright glare brought them in sight of the charcoal-burners’ haunt.

It was a wild, weird scene.

They had chosen an open space in the heart of the forest, on one side was a hut, in which they slept and had their meals.

It was composed of stakes driven in the ground, between which branches were twined. Outside of this, again, were walls of turf, and the roof was thatched with straw.

The charcoal was smoldering in heaps, and the men were sitting round the fire, smoking their pipes, and drinking something out of a bottle.

“Now,” said Jack, “which is the man who robbed you?”

“Both of them,” answered Hunston.

Harvey, holding Maple by the collar of his jacket as if he were a policeman, stood in the background.

“I say, my men,” cried Jack.

“Servant, sir; what is it?” answered one of the men, respectfully.

“This young gentleman says you have robbed him of two pounds ten. Is this true?”

“Lord love you, sir, we never robbed anyone in our lives. We’re poor chaps, but honest, and gets our livin’ a burnin’ this charcoal stuff.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“Who?”

“This person before me,” said Jack.

“Yes, this afternoon. He said about an hour ago he’d lost himself in the wood. We told him which way to go, and my mate ’ere begged a pipe o’ baccy, which he gave him.”

“In that case,” said Jack to Hunston, senior, “you have told Maple a lie. Hand out the money or I’ll make you.”

Reluctantly Hunston put his hand in his pocket and produced two pound ten.

“It’s all I’ve got,” he said. “There it is, just as Maple gave it me.”

“Then you admit that your saying that I stole the money from the desk was a conspiracy between Maple and you?”

“Yes.”

“The money was never taken at all by anybody?”

“No.”

“Will you repeat this to Mr. Crawcour?” pursued Jack.

“You can. I shan’t deny it, now I’m bowled out.”

“It doesn’t matter much. These men have heard your confession,” Jack replied, triumphantly, adding, “What a lying, deceitful, wretched thief you must be! You are not content with telling falsehoods about me, but you must even rob your friend.”

“Jack,” said a voice in the rear.

It was Maple.

“Well, what do you want?” answered Jack, turning round.

“Give me my money, will you?”

“Not a halfpenny of it,” Jack answered, firmly.

“I’ll tell the principal if you stick to it,” observed Maple.

“You may tell him what I did with it, and I think the whole school will say I acted very properly,” Jack answered.

“What is that. You’ve got it now.”

“Look here, my man,” continued Jack, to the foremost charcoal-burner, who remained standing respectfully before him.

“What’s your name?”

“Sam Adams, sir,” answered the man.

“And your companion’s?”

“Bill Simson.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes, sir; both of us.”

“And got families?”

“I’ve got ten, and Bill’s got twelve, and he’s expectin’ another on ’em shortly, though what to do to pay the doctor he don’t know,” replied Adams.

“I suppose five-and-twenty shillings a-piece for you would be acceptable.”

“Bless your young heart!” the man exclaimed, as the tears of emotion stood in his eyes. “It would be a fortune to us; we don’t often make as much as that in a fortnight, we don’t.”

“Take this money,” exclaimed Jack, handing it to Sam Adams. “Divide it between you. No questions will be asked. Never mind what that whining cur says to the contrary.”

He pointed to Maple.

“You’ve no right to give away my money,” he said, tearfully. “It’s a beastly shame, and Mr. Crawcour will make you give it me back again.”

“Will he? I don’t think he will. However, I’ll take my chance about that. Think that you have done an act of charity, and that the money is of more use as I have disposed of it than it ever would have been in your dirty hands.”

“I suppose it’s all right, sir,” said Adams.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. My name is Harkaway Bedington, and I’m the son of a gentleman near here,” replied Jack.

“What, the gentleman that’s come to live to Willow Copse Hall, along of Lady Mordenfield, who was his wife all along, or something? I don’t quite know what it is, but I heard a talk of something down at the ‘Three Brewers,’ on Saturday night. Why, sir, he’s taken my son on to work in the stables, and a werry nice gentleman he be.”

“That’s all right. Now thank this boy for his present. I’m only the agent in the matter, Maple.”

“Yes, Jack.”

“Go and shake them by the hand. Don’t hang back; their hands are honest, my lad, and that’s more than yours are. Tell them how glad you are to be of use to them, and say you hope the money will do them and their families good.”

Maple hesitated.

“What, you won’t, you obstinate young beggar! Where is my persuader?”

Jack picked up the switch he had cut to beat Hunston, senior, with, and which he allowed to fall from his hand, and shook it over Maple’s back.

“Oh! don’t Jack—don’t, please don’t! I’ll say anything you like, only don’t hit me!” screamed Maple.

“Cut along, then, and look sharp.”

“Maple went to the charcoal-burners and shook their hands timidly.

“Say what I told you!” cried Jack, in an an authoritative voice.

“I hope you will be benefited by the money I gave you, and that it will do you and your family good,” he said.

“That’s it; now you and Hunston may go. Slope away—hook it—do you hear!” exclaimed Jack.

“Won’t you come with us?” asked Harry Hunston.

“Come with you? Not I!” replied Jack, with intense scorn. “I wouldn’t be seen at a dog fight with either of you. See how you’ve treated me; I don’t like such contemptible humbugs. Be off!”

“Which is the way?”

“Find out.”

“But suppose I can’t.”

“Then sleep in the wood. They kicked you out of the quarterdeck, and if you’re not good enough for the navy, I’m sure your society is not good enough for me. Don’t stand there, unless you want to have it hotter than you have had it already; that’s all I’ve got to say.”

Smothering something which sounded very like a naughty exclamation, Harry Hunston shrugged his shoulders and bent his back, as he always did when he was annoyed, and, making for the little path, strode into the mazes of the wood.

Maple ran after him, receiving a sharp cut from Jack’s switch as he went.

“Wait for me, Hunston!” he cried, in piteous accents. “Oh, do please wait; I shall be lost in the wood, and then I shall die of fright; I know I shall! Oh, do, do, wait!”

Presently the sound of his voice died away and they wore both lost to sight.

“Now,” said Jack, “I think it is about time for us to think of making tracks. What do you say, Dick?”

Harvey, for whom this remark was addressed, replied in the affirmative.

“It gets dark at five, and it’s been dark a full hour, sir,” exclaimed Sam Adams, the charcoal-burner. “I ain’t got no watch, but I can guess the time pretty well.”

“It’s jolly dark, too,” observed Jack.

“The moon’ll be up about ten, sir. Would you like to stop wi’ us till then? I’ve got some beer in a bottle; my mate can sing, and we could get up a bit of a blarney.”

“No, thank you; we should be missed,” answered Jack, “much obliged all the same to you, my friend. I’ve made a mistake in coming into the wood at all, though I’m glad of it for one thing.”

“Bowling out Hunston,” said Harvey.

“Exactly; but I think we’ll hook it.”

“You are welcome to stop if you will, sir. But if not, thank’ee for me,” exclaimed Adams.

Jack extended his hand, and did not disdain a drop of beer when it was proffered him, as he was thirsty after his long run.

They took leave of their friends, the charcoal-burners, with many exclamations of gratitude on the part of the latter, and receiving instructions which way to go, they struck out in the dark forest.

Black enough it was in that dense wood in all conscience.

They could scarcely see their hands before their faces.

Jack’s pluck was a little in excess of his prudence, or he would have got one of the charcoal-burners to show him the way to the open. However he neglected the opportunity and did not accept Adam’s offer, which the latter bawled out after him as an after-thought.

“It’s all right,” he shouted. “We can find our way, thank you. Good night!”

“Good night, sir, and many of them, thank you, for us,” answered Sam Adams.

They followed the path for some time, but at length contrived to miss it, and went floundering about in a dense growth of underwood and trees.

It was excusable in the dark, for the path, such as it was, was not so big or clear as a sheep track.

The brambles tore their clothes, and the overlapping twigs hit them in the face in an irritating manner.

A last Jack, who was leading the way, came to a halt.

“I say, Dick,” he exclaimed; “it is a case.”

“A case of what?” asked Harvey.

“Case of stump. I’ll be jiggered if I know where we are.”

“Then we’re in for a night of it.”

“Right you are, hollow tree—bed of moss—babes in the wood, and all that sort of thing.”

“I don’t like doing the Robinson Crusoe dodge, but if we’re in for it, it’s no use making any bones about it,” said Harvey, dismally.

“Not a bit; we’ve got to camp, and it’s no good crying.”

“I wonder where Hunston and Maple are?”

“I think the same as we are, and hope,” replied Jack, “Maple wall have a fit.”

“What’s the odds to us? Those follows deserve all they get, and a precious sight more. I’ve no pity to spare for them; all I’ve got I want for myself. It’s cold and chilly, and to tell you the truth I could do with a bit of grub; I’m peckish.”

“Look what a run we had,” replied Harvey. “I have pelted along full tilt, and I could eat a horse.”

“I’d rather have a cow for choice,” said Jack, laughing; “or a bit of cow—say a sirloin of beef, with plenty of horseradish and mustard.”

“Don’t!” exclaimed Harvey; you make my mouth water.”

“Be a Nebuchadnezzar, King of the Jews, and treat yourself to a salad.”

“If I can find one.”

“Seriously,” said Jack, “what are we to do?”

“Blest if I know!” replied Harvey.

Suddenly they heard just over their heads, “Oo, oo, oo, oo!”

“What’s that?” said Harvey, shrinking back. “I say,” he added, “no tricks upon travelers.”

Jack laughed.

“It’s an old owl, you fool!” he exclaimed. “Have you never heard an owl before? and it’s a good thing we have heard him. Owls generally roost in hollow trees, and we may find a shelter. We can’t build a log house, because we have neither logs nor tools, and we can’t wrap ourselves in our blankets like the men we read of in books of foreign travels, because our blankets are on our beds.”

“I thought it was some tramp going to rob or murder us,” replied Harvey. “What an unearthly sound it was! I’m glad we are in England, where there are no wild beasts or snakes.”

“I hate snakes!” Jack remarked. “I’d rather face a tiger ever so much. I’m as tired as a dog, and can’t go any further. We’re in for a night of it!”

“That’s about the size of it,” replied Harvey, who did not seem to relish the prospects at all.

Jack groped his way to the tree from which the owl hooted, and to his delight found that it was hollow, having a large aperture into which he could easily squeeze himself.

“Here’s a slice of luck !” he cried. “The tree’s hollow!”

“Where are you?” asked Harvey.

“Inside,” replied Jack, in a hollow voice.

“I’ve heard of being up a tree, but never of being inside one,” Harvey said, laughing, and he, too, groped his way into the tree, which had a hollow trunk just big enough to hold them both.

Its shelter kept them warm and prevented them feeling the cold wind which blew without.

“It’s snug,” Jack remarked, “if it isn’t roomy; and if we only had some grub we should be as right as the mail.”

“At all events,” Harvey replied, “it is better than running about the forest in the dark; that was awful! Don’t you feel happy at finding out these fellows, Jack?”

Jack rather thought he did.

“What will Mr. Crawcour do with them?”

“He ought to serve Maple as he served me, and as for Hunston, senior, he’s a disgrace to the school, and ought to be kicked out of it.”

“I should tell him so.”

“Don’t alarm yourself. I shall, and make no bones of it,” replied Jack. I’m not afraid of a live lion stuffed with straw.”

“I heard Hunston, junior, say that his father paid something extra for his brother, or the chief would not have had him at all.”

“Very likely. Hullo, what’s that?” exclaimed Jack.

They listened and heard a shouting at a distance.

Some one was crying out at the top of his voice.

“Hillo! hi! hi! Hullo! hullo!”

“Some one after us,” said Jack. “Like my luck. When I am comfortable for the night I don’t approve of interruption.”

“I suppose others beside ourselves are lost, and the fellows who followed us have told Mr. Crawcour that they lost the trail in the wood and people have been sent after us,” said Harvery.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” replied Jack.

“Hullo! hullo!” again arose the cry.

“Shall I fog them?” said Jack.

“How?” asked Harvey.

“You know I can ventriloquize.”

“Oh, I see; do. Suppose it’s the governor himself! What a lark it will be! They’ll be cutting about in all directions, and you can say it’s a deceptive echo.”

“A very deceptive echo,” answered Jack. “However, I’ll have a go in at them. See if I don’t give ’em fits.”

Jack stepped out of the owl’s nest, and Harvey stayed inside, because he rather liked his comfortable quarters.

“Hi, hi, hi!” said a voice, which Jack recognized as Mr. Mole’s.

“Hi!” answered Jack, throwing his voice before him.

“Where are you?” asked Mr. Mole.

“This way. More to the right.”

“Why do you say to the right?” asked Harvey.

“Because I noticed a little pond, as we came along, where the pheasants drink,” answered Jack, and I want him to go a cropper into it.”

There was silence for a brief space.

“Hi, hi!” again said the senior master. “It’s dark here, and I can’t see the stars. It’s muddy, too. Is it ah right? Hi, hi!”

“Hi, hi!” replied Jack. “All right. Safe as a house. Come on, sir.”

“Who is it?”

“Harkaway.”

There was a short silence again, but it was soon broken by lugubrious cries from Mr. Mole, who shouted:

“Help, help! Harkaway, where are you?”

“Up a tree, sir.”

“A what?”

“A tree, sir. A gum tree.”

“Help me out of this, will you? I’m in a pond up to my middle, and the mud sticks so. I’ve lost my right boot. Oh, my, what shall I do? There, the left boot gone now.”

Mr. Mole spoke in a plaintive tone.

“Jack threw his voice into a remote part of the wood, saying, faintly:

“Where are you, sir? I’ve lost you. Speak again.”

“Hi, hi!” answered Mr. Mole, floundering out of the mud as well as he could.

“Deuce take the boy! I wish they’d come up with the lantern.”

As he spoke, Mr. Crawcour, Mr. Pumpleton and Mr. Bolivant came up, Mr. Stoner being left at home to keep the boys in order.

The only ones who were lost were Hunston, senior. Maple, Jack and Harvey. These were unaccounted for; and hearing that the boys who returned from the paper chase had very nearly been lost in the wood, the principal sent down to the “Crown” for a chaise, and drove over with all the masters he could spare.

“Ha!” cried Mr. Bolivant. “Jack o’Lantern in ze swamp, ha, ha, ha!”

The light enabled Mr. Mole to flounder out of the mud and gain firm ground again.

As may be imagined, he was not in the best of tempers.

Going up to M. Bolivant, he said:

“What do you mean, Monsieur, by gibing at me?”

“I not gibe. What is gibe? I only laugh. So—ha, ha! ven I see you in ze mod,” answered M. Bolivant.

“Perhaps you won’t laugh when you see yourself there,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, giving him a push which sent him backward into the pond.

“Mr. Mole, this violence—” began the principal.

“It’s excusable under the circumstances, sir,” replied Mr. Mole. “This infernal—I beg your pardon—this Frenchman has mocked me before now, and I will not be mocked by any man living.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” said a voice close by.

“He’s at it again,” cried Mr. Mole.

“Ha, ha, ha!”

“I’ll knock him down,” Mr. Mole continued, furiously.

M. Bolivant extricated himself from the mud and water, and came out dripping like a rat.

“Vot does he say?” he exclaimed. “I no speak a vord—not von leetle vord. He strike me! he push me in ze mod. I am a Frenchman, and ze blood of ze Bolivants not stand it.”

“Frogs.”

The word seemed to come from Mr. Mole’s very lips; and Mr. Crowcour, putting aside the French master, stood between the two.

“That’s a little too bad, Mr. Mole,” he exclaimed. “I heard you say ‘Frogs.’ ”

“Nothing of the kind, sir. I deny it,” exclaimed the senior master.

“Don’t deny it, because I heard you.”

“It’s— it’s a—”

“Chain ze English beest up!”

This time it seemed to be M. Bolivant who spoke.

“Monsieur,” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, “I must really beg of you to be temperate.”

“Shut up!”

“Mr. Pumpleton, did you speak?” cried the principal, turning sharply round.

“No, sir.”

“It was your voice. This is disgraceful. What am I to understand by such conduct? I did not expect this from my staff.”

“Mr. Mole has grossly insulted me, and I demand ze satisfaction of a gentlemans, or I vill make him know ze reason why, as you say in your wretched country,” replied M. Bolivant.

“The injury is on my side,” said Mr. Mole.

“I too am implicated in this matter, without rhyme or reason,” remarked Mr. Pumpleton.

“Go it ye cripples! crutches are cheap! Ha, ha!”

Those dreadful words were put into the mouth of Mr. Crawcour himself.

The principal of Pomona House stood aghast at the sound of them.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “we are the sport of some delusion—some spirit of the wood.”

“Ho! ho! ho!” sounded wildly and weirdly close to him.

They all started.

“Ah, I have eet!” exclaimed M. Bolivant. “It ees that Jack Harkaway. He play tricks with his voice. Ve are made what you call ze sacres fools of.”

“That’s it,” said Mr. Crawcour. “It’s that Harkaway! What a stupid to be sure I was not to think of it before!”

“Of course it is,” answered Mr. Mole.

“I’d dust his jacket,” observed Mr. Pumpleton, savagely.

“Gentlemen, be reconciled,” said the principal.

“Mr. Mole,” answered M. Bolivant, “I have always ze great respect for you; tonight you push me into ze pond. I am covered with mud. I have ze taste of ze fish in my mouth, but I forgive you.”

“A la bonne heure,” replied the Frenchman, shaking his hands with characteristic good nature.

Harkaway and Harvey now deemed it prudent to emerge from their hiding-place, which they did, and guided by the light of the lanterns carried by the masters they quickly discovered their whereabouts.

Mr. Crawcour had lost all patience with Jack, and he no sooner saw him than he seized him by the collar and shook him heartily.

“Look what you have done!” he exclaimed.

“What, sir.”

“Behold Mr. Mole and M. Bolivant; do you see what a plight they are in?”

“I’m sure I’m very sorry, sir,” Jack answered in a penitent tone.

“I believe you have no organ of veneration. Is this your respect for your teachers?”

“He is one little scamp,” said M. Bolivant, shaking his fist in his face.

When the principal had done shaking him, Mr. Mole began, and shook him so thoroughly that Jack gasped for breath and began to kick.

“Oh, my shins,” cried the senior master, “the little clodhopper’s boots are like iron.”

“Turn it up then,” replied Jack; “I can’t stand too much of it. You’ll shake my inside out; drop it.”

“I’ll owe it you,” replied Mr. Mole with a vindictive grin.

“It’ll keep it sir,” replied Jack.

“Now, gentlemen, let us retrace our steps to our gig. The boys can get into the boot or run behind, whichever they like,” said Mr. Crawcour.

“Eu route,” said the French master.

The party began to make for the highroad, where they had left the gig in charge of a countryman, who for a consideration was holding the horse.

Not caring about a six-mile run home, Jack decided upon going in the boot, and he and Harvey were accordingly put inside, Hunston and Maple having been previously dispatched on foot.

The boys were closely packed—something like herring in a barrel.

But, being tired and hungry, they were pleased at the prospect of supper, and did not complain.

Pomona House was reached in time.

The senior master and M. Bolivant changed their clothes, as did Jack and his companions, who had warm baths.

A hot supper was served to the masters, which Jack and Harvey were graciously asked to join, in consideration of their fatigue.

They were asked how it was they came to lose themselves, and Jack gave a vivid account of the adventure, telling all about his exposure of Hunston, senior, and Maple, and the disposition of the latter’s money.

When the masters heard this, they were loud in their expressions of regret at what had happened after Jack’s being found guilty of the supposed theft, when he was really innocent.

“I’ll make an example of those two boys the first thing tomorrow morning!” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, indignantly.

“Hunston, senior, is too big to flog,” remarked Mr. Mole.

“I’d flog him, sir, if he were as big as a house. I can make no distinction; he has behaved in a mean, rascally and cowardly manner. But how was it, Harkaway, that you did not clear yourself, when you knew you were the victim of a conspiracy?”

“I don’t mind telling you now in confidence, sir,” answered Jack. “My old playfellow, Emily Scratchlay, sent me her savings, amounting to two pounds ten.”

“They will tell you at the post-office that I cashed an order for that amount on the day of the charge against me.”

“But Emily begged that I would not say a word to any one, as her father, who is very close, would perhaps beat her, and I did not say anything, as you know.”

“And you put up with the indignity of being called a thief?”

“I knew it would all come out some day, sir, and then you would none of you think the worse of me. Wickedness like that of Harry Hunston and Maple never prospers.”

“Right, it never does,” replied Mr. Crawcour. “I owe you an apology for whipping you when you did not deserve it, and I will let you off the next time you do.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jack, making a note of this promise, and determined to do something outrageous before long.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You can give me some more of that boiled rabbity and plenty of onion sauce, sir, as well as a good thick slice of pork. I’m uncommonly fond of rabbit, and I feel rather sharp-set after wandering in the wood.”

Mr. Crawcour smiled at Jack’s unabashed impudence. He rather liked it, though. The boy was open and straightforward, and he had his good qualities.

M. Bolivant patted Jack on the head, saying:

“He was one fine fellow, this Jack Harkaway.”

“Paws off, Pompey,” said Jack, moving on one side.

The French master grinned, and the boys retired to get ready for prayers.

“I’ve had a rattling good supper.” observed Jack to Harvey. “Sort of a regular buster, and I feel as happy as a king.”

“Won’t Hunston, senior, and Maple catch it?” replied Harvey.

“Rather, and serve them right, too.”

When they entered the schoolroom everyone crowded round them.

“You’re a nice couple of fellows to lead us into the woods,” exclaimed Collinson.

“We got the worst of it,” answered Jack.

“It spoilt the chase.”

“It wasn’t bad fun, though, after all. I led the masters such a dance.”

“Tell us. Jack. Tell us all about it,” exclaimed half a dozen voices. Jack recounted the adventure, much to every one’s delight, and had scarcely finished before Mr. Crawcour entered at a side door and mounted his desk to read prayers.

CHAPTER VII

UGLY BOB

MR. CRAWCOUR said nothing that night about the discovery he had made respecting Jack’s innocence, and the confederates were on thorns to know what course Jack had adopted.

Hunston, senior, scarcely slept at all during the night; he was drowned with rage and shame. To be pointed out to the whole school as a villain base enough to take away a boy’s character because he hated him, was a terrible anticipation.

At length, worn out with fatigue, he fell into an uneasy slumber, soon to be roused by the ringing of the bell which sounded at seven every morning for the pupils to dress and come down to school.

Mr. Crawcour never made his appearance at early school.

Breakfast took place at nine, and afterward half an hour was allowed for recreation, so that school began again at ten and continued till twelve, when the boys had two hours to themselves, dinner being ready at two o’clock, and work recommenced at three.

The principal was at his place when the boys trooped into the schoolroom to the ringing of the great bell at ten.

Mr. Mole stood by his side, holding in his hand the dreaded birch.

“What’s up now?” said Collinson to Jackson.

“Can’t tell,” replied the latter, though it looks as if somebody was going to be swiped.”

“Silence!” exclaimed the principal, raising his hand.

In an instant every voice was hushed, and you might have heard a pin drop.

“I have a very agreeable, and at the same time a very painful duty to perform,” began Mr. Crawcour. “Agreeable, because I am enabled to do tardy justice to a boy who has been wrongly suspected and punished for a fault which he never committed, and painful because I am compelled to publish the lasting infamy of two boys whom it is a disgrace to have among us. Harkaway Bedington, as you are all aware, was publicly punished in the most severe manner I could adopt for stealing two pounds ten, belonging to Maple. I am in a position to prove that money was never stolen at all, but that Maple conspired with Hunston, senior, to fix this charge upon your friend, Harkaway, in order to blacken his character, and bring him into disrepute with both masters and companions, to gratify some private grudge they had against him.”

Loud murmurs of astonishment arose.

“Order!” cried Mr. Crawcour.

And again all was still.

“I am now about to punish the guilty,” continued Mr. Crawcour. “Hunston, senior, stand forward.”

“What for?” demanded Hunston, assuming an attitude of defiance.

“As Harkaway Bedington was punished, so shall you be.”

“That’s all nonsense,” said Hunston, senior, with a laugh. “You forget that I am a young man, and cannot be birched like a boy.”

“While you remain one of my pupils you must conform to my rules and subject yourself to proper discipline,” returned Mr. Crawcour.

“Then I cease to be one of your pupils from this moment. I shall go home.”

The principal looked surprised.

“Don’t attempt to stop me, any of you,” exclaimed Hunston, senior, grasping a ruler. “I’ve knocked a man down before now with a belaying-pin, on board ship, and I shan’t be too particular now. I’m not going to allow myself to be performed upon, don’t make any mistake.”

He rose and took his hat down from a peg and put it on with a jerk.

Then he moved toward the door.

No one attempted to stop him.

“Go, bold and bad boy,” said Mr. Crawcour, in a most severe tone. “You are a moral pestilence, and the school will be purified at your departure.”

The door shut with a bang.

Hunston, senior, was gone.

Without betraying any disappointment, Mr. Crawcour called up Maple, who advanced, trembling.

Two masters seized him, and presently his howls were mingled with the hissing sound of the birch as it descended through the air.

At length it was over.

Maple was wriggling and crying back to his seat.

“Boys,” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, “I shall give you a holiday in honor of Harkaway’s vindicated innocence. There will be no work to-day.”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted the boys, who all rushed pell-mell out of the schoolroom.

Jack’s friends shook his hand heartily, and he was once more the popular favorite, overwhelmed with congratulations.

Hunston, senior, went to the “Crown,” where he was well known, and sent up to Pomona House for his box, going home that afternoon.

Every one thought they had seen the last of him, but they were mistaken, as will be found out presently.

Mr. Bedington was informed by a letter from Mr. Crawcour of what had happened, and he marked his sense of Jack’s conduct by sending him a handsome new gold watch and chain, which was the envy of all his companions.

Jack was now once more at the top of the tree.

Three weeks passed very pleasantly, and nothing of any consequence occurred, except that Jack was put in the school football eleven, and by his brilliant play contrived to win the game in a match between the boys of Pomona House and an eleven from Hertford.

One day he was walking in Lillie Bridge, having paid a brief visit to his favorite pastrycook’s.

To his surprise he ran up against Hunston, senior, who, with his hands in the pocket of a pilot coat, was smoking a short black pipe, and strolling along as if all the town belonged to him.

“Hunston!” exclaimed Jack.

“Yes, I’m the man, alive and kicking, as they say,” replied Harry Hunston, coolly. “Didn’t you know I was here?”

“No.”

“I’m at Dr. Begbie’s. Crawcour wouldn’t have me, and I thought I’d try t’other crib, which I like a precious deal better.”

“What a strange thing!” Jack exclaimed.

“ I don’t see anything at all strange about it,” Hunston said. “I’ve got a right to go where I like if I pay for it, haven’t I?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, tip us your fist. You’re not above shaking hands with a fellow, are you?”

Jack hung back.

Somehow or other his instinct made him distrust Hunston, senior, who had always been his enemy.

“It was through you I got the dirty kick out from Crawcour’s, but I don’t bear malice,” Hunston went on.

“I can’t see that it was my fault,” replied Jack.

“It was in reality all Maple’s doings. He put me up to the dodge, but I’m sorry for it, and I beg your pardon. I can’t say more than that, can I?”

Won by this affection of frankness, Jack took his proffered hand.

“Consider that I’ve made you a handsome apology; let’s be friends,” “and now suppose; we have a beer at the ‘Crown.’ and drink to our noble selves.”

“All right,” replied Jack, whose great fault was his easy, good-natured way.

Hunston slipped his arm in that of Jack’s, and they walked to the “Crown.”

Shortly afterward they passed Collinson, who was going to the stationer’s.

He stared hard at Hunston, senior, and looked both grieved and puzzled to see Jack with him.

“He’s too proud to speak,” remarked Hunston, senior, as Collinson went on. “It’s his loss, however, not mine. By the way, how’s my pup of a brother? Tell him to come down to Begbie’s and see me.”

“I will,” replied Jack.

They entered the “Crown,” which was an old-fashioned hostelry of some consequence in the posting day, and had two glasses of bitter beer in front of the bar.

A flashily-dressed man was standing by, wearing a profusion of jewelry, which did not look real.

Near him was another man of the same dissipated appearance.

They had two dogs with them, and accosted Hunston familiarly.

“Who are those fellows?” whispered Jack.

“One we call Ugly Bob, and the other is known as the ‘Brum,’ because he hails from Birmingham. I’ll introduce you,” said Hunston.

“What are they?”

“Sporting men.”

“What do they do for a living, I mean?” cried Jack.

“Oh, bet on races. Get up pigeon-shooting matches, dog-fights and billiard matches, and all that sort of thing; they’re two stunners. I say, Bob, here’s a friend of mine anxious to make your acquaintance, and you too,” he added, addressing the Brum.

The men shook hands with Jack, and proposed, as it was cold out there, they should go to the billiard-room fire.

Jack followed them, scarcely knowing whether he was doing right or wrong in mixing with such peculiar people, but his suspicions vanished almost as soon as they were formed.

“Suppose we have a game at billiards?” said Ugly Bob, adding, as he looked at Jack, “Play, sir?”

“I know a cannon counts two, and a white ball pocketed is also two, and that anything off the red is three; and I can make a bridge and knock the balls about a little; but I can’t play,” replied Jack.

“No more can I,” answered Ugly Bob. “When I play it is for amusement, like. But I’ve no objection to play you twenty points up, and I give you five, for half a crown.”

“Play him. He’s the biggest duffer I know,” whispered Hunston, senior.

“I thought you said he was a sporting man.”

“Ah, but he knows nothing about billiards. It’s horses he’s so big upon. Don’t bet with him,” answered Hunston, senior, with a significant shake of his head.

The Brum took up a position near the board and said he would mark.

Jack, against his will, began to play.

The balls run very easily and luckily for him, and, by the aid of a few flukes, he won the game.

Ugly Bob handed him a half-a-crown, saying:

“So help me never! you’re pretty good for one who doesn’t play.”

“He’s one too many for you, Bob,” said the Brum.

“I’ll try him again. Never say die.”

Hunston patted Jack on the back, and exclaimed:

“What do you say to my novice? Isn’t he a beauty?”

“Reg’lar lamb,” answered the Brum, rapturously. “I mean a wonderful good ’un to play.”

Jack did not see the connection between a good player and a lamb, as he was not aware that young sheep indulged in the pastime of billiards, nor did he see the exquisitely comic grimace with which that intelligent countryman, the Brum, favored him behind his back.

Flushed with success, and fully believing, in the innocence of his heart, that, he could beat Ugly Bob on his merits, he felt no reluctance in playing him again, and this time for a larger stake.

As a matter of course he won.

Ugly Bob growled a little, and was advised by his friend to leave off.

“I tell you he’s too good for you,” said the Brum. “If you are wise, you will turn it up before yon drop any more coin.”

“I shan’t. I’ve lost a pound. It ain’t much, and I’ll stake another pound and my watch and chain against his watch and chain; and mine’s the heaviest by far. I gave thirty-five guineas for the two in London last year.”

“Go it,” said Hunston, senior. “I say, Jack, I’ll give you thirty for them if you win.”

“I don’t know,” replied Jack. “I think I ought to leave off now.”

“What! without giving the man his revenge!”

“It’s nearly time to go.”

“After winning his money, too,” continued Hunston.

“Oh, if the gentleman likes to behave shabby, the money’s of no account. There’s more where that came from,” said Ugly Bob.

“By the rules of the game, you’re entitled to your revenge,” observed the Brum. “That’s law,” he added, emphatically.

“It’s only twenty minutes past one,” Hunston exclaimed, “and you’re not due at dinner till two. You can run home easy in a quarter of an hour. I’ve done it myself scores of times; so that excuse won’t hold water, my beauty. But still, if you want to go, don’t let me persuade you to stay, only I shall be obliged if you will not play any more with my friends.”

“If I ought—” began Jack.

“I’ll have a spar with you, Bob,” interrupted Hunston, almost rudely, taking no notice of Jack’s exclamation.

“Did the gentleman speak?” observed Bob.

“I was about to say that I will play you,” replied Jack, his face burning painfully.

“Right you are, I’m agreeable. You’re kind, and I’m grateful. Twenty up to save time, and I give you five. It’s odds against me, but no matter. ‘Be jolly,’ is my motto.”

“I’ll hold the stakes,” said Hunston, senior.

Ugly Bob handed him a sovereign, and his watch and chain.

Jack did the same, though he felt an aching at the heart when he took his beautiful watch out of his pocket, and thought how wrong it was to risk the loss of his father’s valuable gift.

Drinking a glass of brandy neat, Ugly Rob exclaimed: “I’m in form now. I feel fit to play for a man’s life. A dollar I win him.”

“It’s a pound to a pinch of snuff,” remarked the Brum, “if he’s inform. If he says he’s fit, I’ll back him.”

Jack began to tremble, and his nervousness increased as Ugly Bob led off with a break of ten.

“I’ll bet on Harkaway,” said Hunston.

“Done with you for a fiver,” exclaimed the Brum.

“Now, Jack, my boy, look out. You are not playing well this game. Your hand shakes. This won’t do. Have a nerver. A little brandy will liven you up,” continued Hunston, senior.

Jack shook his head, and made a miss.

“Eleven, five, that’s the game,” exclaimed the Brum. Ugly Bob now muttered something about “putting the poor beggar out of his misery,” and scored very rapidly the remaining points necessary to win the game.

“Didn’t give him a smell,” remarked the Brum. “I knew how it would be.”

“Hand over,” said Ugly Bob, taking the watches as a matter of course, and pocketing them, together with the money.

Suddenly a light broke upon Jack, who thought it very odd that Ugly Bob should play so badly at first and so very well all at once afterward.

“It’s my belief,” he said, with his usual impulsiveness, “that I’ve been swindled.”

“What?” said Ugly Bob, striding up to him.

“Well I never did,” remarked the Brum. “The young gent wants to say that he’s been had, when it was all as fair as fair could be. Says he’s been done. Well, if that don’t lick cock-fighting. It was as square a match as ever I see, but that’s how they always goes on when they loses.”

“Look here,” exclaimed Hunston, senior. “I won’t have my friends insulted.”

“But they’ve got my watch,” answered Jack.

“Wouldn’t you have kept mine if you’d won it?” asked Ugly Bob.

“No; I had made up my mind to give it you back.”

“More flat you, then,” replied Ugly Bob, with a grin of contempt.

“It’s like your impertinence,” continued Hunston, senior, “to talk about being swindled. You’ve lost your watch, and I’m jolly glad of it, because I hate you.”

Now Harry Hunston’s real sentiments were appearing.

“You brought me here under the guise of friendship, so that I might be cheated!” exclaimed Jack.

“Punch his head, Bob,” said Hunston.

“Right, sir,” replied Ugly Bob.

And before Jack properly realized what had happened to him he was standing in the road outside the “Crown,” with a black eye, a loose tooth, and nose which was bleeding.

All of which favors Ugly Bob had conferred upon him in the brief space of one minute.

It was useless to attempt to go back to the billiard-room.

That course would only be to subject himself to a fresh attack.

So with Hunston, senior’s, jeering laugh ringing in his ears, he wended his way back slowly and mournfully to Pomona House.

He saw how shamefully he had been treated and tricked.

It was all a trap of Hunston, senior’s, to get him into the billiard room, so that he might lose everything valuable he had about him.

His friendship was a sham and a pretense.

He was not a man to forgive an enemy.

Jack’s triumph over him rankled in his mind.

He had not forgotten the affair in Black Adder Wood. Jack did not like to say anything about his loss to the boys, for fear of being chaffed, and he was still more reluctant to speak to the master.

What Should he do?

He leaned against a tree which grew by the side of the road and reflected.

A couple of minutes were passed by him in great perplexity.

Then he heard his name called.

It was Collinson, who was hurrying home from Lillie Bridge to be in time for dinner.

“Been in the wars, eh?” he exclaimed. “How’s that? But I needn’t ask, since I saw you with Hunston, senior, who, I find, is at Begbie’s; a nice young man for a small tea-party that is; and now, Master Harkaway, walk along by my side, and tell me how you came to fall in and chum with one who tried to do you a very grave injury.”

“I am very glad I met you,” answered Jack, “very glad indeed, Collinson, for I am just out of my mind.”

“A pleasant state of things! But out with it.”

Jack hesitated no longer, and faithfully recounted to Collinson all that had taken place.

“The low scoundrel!” exclaimed Collinson, indignantly. “But it’s just like him, and I am not a bit surprised—not a bit. It only serves you right for being too good-natured. Don’t you understand that we cannot get on in this world if we are unable to say ‘No?’ That little word, judiciously uttered, often saves us from a deal of worry and trouble.”

“I shouldn’t care so much if it wasn’t for the watch,” said Jack. “My father, you know, is very kind, but strict also, and he has a horror of my being in any way fast. What he would say if he knew I had in so foolish a manner gambled away his handsome present, I cannot imagine. Isn’t it a case for the police?”

“I am inclined to think it is,” rejoined Collinson. “But leave it to me till after dinner; I’ll get leave from Mr. Crawcour to go to Lillie Bridge this afternoon, and we will see if we cannot give Mr. Hunston and his pleasant companions, Ugly Bob and the Brum, a dressing they little expect.”

“Thank you a thousand times,” said Jack, warmly. “If you can only get me out of this scrape, I’ll never be so foolish again—never, never.”

“I’ll do my best. Are you satisfied with that promise?” Collinson replied, with his pleasant smile.

“Quite.” Jack answered, gratefully.

The bell was just ringing for dinner as they entered the school-yard, and Jack washed his face, which was not so much swollen as he had expected.

He buttoned up his jacket, so that the loss of his watch would not be noticed, and sat as near the bottom of the table as he could get, in order to avoid observation.

CHAPTER VIII

THE FOOTBALL MATCH

MR. CRAWCOUR readily gave Collinson leave to go into the town instead of attending school, when he heard why he wished to go.

“You are acting very wisely in Harkaway’s behalf,” he said. “I never heard of a more infamous transaction. Why, it’s rank swindling. The boy was foolish, but they had not any right to take advantage of his in experience.”

“You don’t blame Harkaway, sir,” said Collinson.

“Not much. If you take my advice you will go at once to Dr. Begbie. We are rivals in the scholastic line, but I have always heard him spoken of as a high-spirited gentleman and a good scholar. He surely will not tolerate such conduct in any pupil of his.”

“I should think not, sir; and I am obliged to you for the hint. I did intend to go to the police-station, but I will go to the doctor first.”

“Do so, and let me know the result of your interview as soon as you return. These men must give up their spoil, or be punished for their shameful behavior.”

Collinson thanked the principal, who added that he left the matter entirely in his hands, and he went at once to Doctor Begbie’s.

It was nearly tea-time when he returned, and Jack had passed an uneasy, restless time of it during his absence.

He wondered if he would be successful in getting back his watch or not.

Collinson, however, returned and handed his watch and chain.

Jack was too much overcome to speak.

“I do not deserve this!” he exclaimed. “How did you get it?”

“I had some difficulty,” replied Collinson. “But I did it, and I will tell you how. I went straight to Dr. Begbie, who saw me, and behaved, I must say, in the most handsome manner. When he heard my story he declared that he was shocked, and he sent for Hunston, senior.”

“What did he say?”

“He heard the accusation against him and replied that the men, of whom he knew nothing, had, in his opinion, won the watch fairly. The doctor retorted by saying that it was a cheat from beginning to end, and that he looked upon Hunston as an accomplice and should at once send for a policeman.”

“Did he?” asked Jack.

“No. Hunston turned pale, and at last consented to go to the ‘Crown,’ where the men were, with the doctor and myself, and see if he couldn’t get the watch restored. So we went down together, and found the men, who were in the bar. We told the landlord he would probably lose his license for allowing such characters in his house, and be prevented them from running away. We threatened them with the police; they then gave up the watch and chain; had they not done so, we should certainly have given them in charge.”

“Capital,” said Jack. “Didn’t Harry Hunston look small?”

“He did, and sneaked away with his tail between his legs, as we say of a dog. Dr. Begbie assured me he was very sorry that any boy of his should lend himself to such a discreditable transaction, and regretted that the victim was one of our boys. He said further that he was very anxious to establish a friendly feeling between the schools, and should be happy if you would accept a challenge to play at football.”

“Did you accept it?”

“Yes. I said I was captain of the Pomona House eleven, and that we would play his fellows in our field this day week.”

“Bravo! I say, Collinson, you’re a stunner,” cried Jack, delightedly. “You’ll put me in the eleven!”

“Certainly.”

“May I tell the fellows?”

Jack thanked him again and again for his kindness to him, and vowed that the affair of that day would be a lesson to him for life, and that he would never more go into a billiard room.

The news that Begbie wanted to play Crawcour’s at football flew through the school, and when it was known that a match was actually arranged the enthusiasm knew no bounds.

Those who were likely to play in the eleven were spoken of very much as possible cabinet ministers are after a general election.

Nothing else was talked of.

“We’re safe to beat them,” said Harvey to Jack.

“I don’t know that,” answered Jack. “Theirs is a larger school than ours, and they have bigger fellows and more weight. They have a larger choice than we. It will be a hard tussle.”

“Are you chosen?”

“Yes. Collinson has promised to put me in, and I think you will be the goal-keeper.”

“Try and work it for me, will you?” said Harvey, anxiously. “I should so like to play. Collinson is fond of you, and if you ask him it is sure to come off.”

Jack promised to do his best for him, and exerted his influence on his behalf successfully.

The eleven being chosen, the boys practiced every day, and played very well together.

When the important day arrived, chairs were placed near a tent, in which refreshments were provided for the ladies. A reporter was present from the country paper, and a good number of spectators thronged the field.

The boys of both schools were present, ready to back up their respective eleven.

The Eton game was selected, and the game began in the center of the field by what is called a bully.

Collinson was post, Jack side-post, Emery, a strongly-built boy, second side-post, and the other fellows close by supported them.

Behind was the flying-man, and behind him again the goal-keeper.

At the side of the bully was the corner, whose duty it was to put in the ball and watch for it’s coming out.

Hunston, senior, was post for Begbie’s supported by Merriman and Silcox.

“Are you ready?” said the corner.

The reply being in the affirmative, the ball was put in between the two posts, and the bully swayed backward and forward.

Hunston, senior’s, side being the heaviest, their strength enabled them to push the ball through; and Merriman, pushing it along at about a yard at a time, first with one foot and then with another, came up with the flying man, dexterously tripped him up and made play for goal.

Every eye was now fixed upon him and Harvey, who advanced to meet him.

“Well played, Begbie,” shouted the doctor’s boys; well played, indeed.

Crawcour’s boys held their breath, tremulous with expectation.

Merriman was too wary a player to take a cool kick. He never let the ball get away from him.

All depended upon Harvey.

Suddenly they met about a dozen yards from the goal.

The shock was tremendous.

Presently Harvey lay on his back, with a tremendous “shin,”, which tingled up to his knee, but he had sent the ball flying back into the middle of the field over the players’ heads.

“Bravo! Hurrah! Well played, Harvey. Good again, sir!” arose on all sides.

The goal was saved, and Harvey picked himself up, limping back to the goal, but not caring much for his hurt, in the consciousness that he had done his duty well.

Jack so managed to gat the ball, and, closely followed by Hunston, senior, and others, played it swiftly to the other side.

Hunston overtook him and tried to twist the ball round, just as Jack kicked it hard, but he only succeeded in diverting its course from the goal-sticks, and it went spinning behind, missing the goal by about a foot.

“Touch it, touch it!” cried Jack’s side.

Both boys started after the ball, straining every nerve to arrive at it first, as touching the ball was a very important operation, a touch being the next thing to a goal.

If Jack touched it first, he gained what is called a “rouge,” which we shall describe directly.

If Hunston, on the other hand, touched it, the result was simply a kick off from goals without any sensible advantage to either side.

They were neck and neck, and the excitement was intense.

“Touched?” cried Jack, leaning forward and throwing himself upon the ball.

“A rouge! a rouge!” exclaimed Crawcour’s boys.

“By Jove! we’re beating them in a canter,” remarked Mr. Mole, with a pardonable pride.

“How well Harkaway Bedington plays!” said Mr. Crawcour, “and how handsome he looks in his red shirt and white cap!”

Both elevens walked to the goal.

Hunston, senior, took a yard from the center of the goal, and stood still.

His eleven formed in a semi-circle, on each side of him.

Their object was to keep the other side from getting the ball between the sticks.

Crawcour now completed the circle, leaving a gap for Jack to run in at, and the ball was placed between Hunston’s feet.

As soon as Jack had touched the ball, the struggle commenced, and a fierce one it was.

He ran in at the gap with great impetuosity, and was all confusion.

Hunston, senior, held the ball tightly, in spite of kicks, and putting his elbows on Jack’s shoulders, tried to force him down.

His great bulk enabled him to succeed in this endeavor, and Jack fell face downward over the ball.

A dozen fellows fell upon him, and in the scrimmage which ensued he received more kicks on all parts of the body than he could count on his fingers twice over.

Begbie succeeded in getting the ball from under him, and kicked it away.

Away went the eleven after it into the middle of the field.

One boy, however, lay upon his side, and did not move. It was Jack.

No one noticed him but the goal-keeper, a fellow named Simmons, and bending over him, he said:

“Are you hurt, young man?”

“Yes,” replied Jack, feebly.

“Where? About your legs?”

“No; about my neck. I can’t move it. Oh!”

This was followed by a prolonged groan.

“Hi, hi!” shouted Simmons. “Merriman! Hunston! Here’s a man come to grief.”

Hearing the cry, the boys halted in their career, and Merriman exclaimed:

“Hold the ball, some one. Stop the game.”

“What are they stopping for?” inquired Mrs. Crawcour.

“Some one hurt, my dear,” answered the principal, hastening to the spot.

“I hope it is nothing serious,” said Dr. Begbie, following him.

“Who is it? Oh, dear, what a sad thing! I did not think this horrid football was so dangerous,” continued Mrs. Crawcour, adding, “Do, Mr. Mole, go and see what has happened, and bring me the news.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” replied the senior master, hurrying off.

Jack was now surrounded by a dense ring of spectators, all anxious to know what was the matter with him.

Mr. Crawcour was the first to kneel by his side.

“No bones broken, I hope?”

“I fear there are, sir,” replied Jack. “I’m in great pain. It’s my neck. I felt something crack when the fellows tumbled over me.”

Passing his hand gently over the boy’s neck, the principal turned to Dr. Begbie and said:

“I don’t know anything of surgery, but I should say the collar-bone was broken, and in more than one place.”

“Dear me, how sad!” replied the doctor, pityingly. “We must get him home.”

“I’ll go and get a hurdle from the sheep-pen at the bottom of the field,” said Collinson, starting for that purpose.

Jack grew deadly pale, his eyes closed, his head fell heavily back, and he scarcely seemed to breathe.

“Stand back! Stand back, all of you!” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour. “The lad’s fainted. Give him air.”

Merryman took up a goal stick, and by dint of hitting the boys on the shins drove them back, and the current of air was not impeded.

In a few minutes Collinson returned with the hurdle, on which Jack was placed.

Merryman, Collinson, Harvey and Simmons each took a corner.

Hunston, senior, refused to help, saying, as he turned away:

“I’m not going to carry him.”

“Brute!” said Harvey, loud enough for him to hear.

“Am I?” replied Hunston, savagely. “Wait till I meet you alone, old cock, and I’ll give you brute.”

The melancholy procession now started for home, and the boys stood about in groups, discussing the accident.

Play was over for that day, as the match was effectually interrupted by the disastrous occurrence to one of Crawcour’s best players.

Mr. Mole was sent on in advance to bring a doctor from Lillie Bridge.

Mrs. Crawcour hastened back to get a bed ready for the sufferer’s reception in a quiet and private part of the house, where he would be far from noise and interruption.

CHAPTER IX

A KIND NURSE

THE doctor made an examination of Jack, and soon discovered the extent of his injuries.

His collar-bone was broken in two places, as Mr. Crawcour had imagined.

“He must remain in bed,” said he, “for a few weeks. I will set the bone. An accident of this sort at his age is never serious. He is young, has a good constitution, and will soon be on his legs again.”

The bone was set, and the anxiety of his friends respecting him allayed.

His mother and father drove over to see him, and he was well supplied with various little dainties and books to while away the tedious confinement in the sickroom.

Mrs. Crawcour was kindness itself to him, and it seemed as if she could not lavish too much tenderness upon him.

Jack liked to see her come into his room, and sit down by the bedside, smooth his hair, hold his hand in hers, and talk to him with her sweet, musical voice.

Hers were like an angel’s visits, and she did more good by her attendance than the doctor with all his medicines and splints.

When he was well enough to be moved she had him brought into the drawingroom, and he dined at her own table, Mr. Crawcourt making no objections, as his wife’s will was always law to him.

The cold, cheerless winter had gone, and the pleasant springtime made the fields and hedgerows green and resonant with the songs of birds and the perfume of innumerable wild flowers.

Jack’s delight was to get out in the garden and sit in a rustic chair, reading some book in the glorious sunshine.

After a while he got quite well and strong again, and felt that he ought to join his schoolfellows once more, but Mrs. Crawcour insisted upon it that he was not quite cured.

“You would get romping with some rough boys, and break the bone again,” she exclaimed one day, sitting down by his side in the drawingroom on the sofa.

“I hope not, ma’am,” replied Jack.

“You shall not run the risk, however,” she continued. “I promised your mamma that I would care for you. Have I been kind? Are you satisfied with me?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. I should like to be ill forever, if I might always have so kind a nurse as yourself.”

She put her arm round his neck, and kissed his forehead, while she smoothed back his curly chestnut hair from his temples.

“How would you like to have me for a mamma?” she asked.

“I would rather have you for—for——”

He hesitated.

“Well, dear, for what? Speak out,” said Mrs. Crawcour, in an encouraging tone.

“I was going to say for a sweetheart, ma’am.”

“But you have one. The little girl who sent you the money is your sweetheart, is she not?”

“I like her very much, but not nearly so much as I do you, ma’am. You are so lovely,” replied Jack.

“Am I lovely?” Mrs. Crawcour repeated, looking at her handsome and majestic figure in the glass with some satisfaction.

The hot blood mounted to Jack’s face and made it burn.

“How you blush! Why do you blush so?” She said.

“I don’t know, ma’am? It’s because I’m taking to you, I think.”

“But you can’t have me for a sweetheart. I am your schoolmistress and your master’s wife.”

“Still I may love you quietly and and a distance, ma’am. You cannot help people loving you.”

“You are a funny boy,” she exclaimed, kissing him again.

“I was cruel to you once,” she continued. “I should have thought you had not forgotten it.”

“Long ago, ma‘am. I do not care for anything you might do to me,” replied Jack.

“Silly boy,” she said. “Now go into the garden and play; I will call you when dinner is ready.”

Jack took a fond, lingering look at her, and reluctantly left the drawingroom, the window of which opened in the ground and admitted him to the lawn.

He strolled along, intent upon his own thoughts, until came to a high wall which separated the garden from the yard, in which he could hear the boys playing.

Their voices made him long to be among them again, and for the time the pretty Mrs. Crawcour was forgotten.

All at once a piece of wood struck him on the arm.

He looked round to see where it came from and found Harvey in the branches of a tall chestnut tree, which grew in the playground, from which he had often obtained a view of the principal’s private pleasure garden.

“Hallo, Dick,” he cried, “mind Mole don’t nail you.”

“He’s gone,” replied Harvey.

“Gone where?”

“To see his pigeons in the loft, and there is no master in the playground; so I thought I’d swarm up this tree and take a squint round to see if I could get a glimpse of you; and now, how are you, old man?”

“First rate, thank you.”

“You don’t know how we miss you. When are you coming back?” continued Harvey.

“Shan’t be long first, I expect. Get on the wall and come over.”

“Won’t there be a row?”

“No,” answered Jack; “I can do as I like with Mrs. Crawcour. She won’t say anything to me.”

“You’re a wonderful fellow. You generally do contrive to do pretty much as you like.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” replied Jack, with a laugh.

Harvey climbed like a cat along the wall, and descended by the aid of a fruit tree, it being lucky the gardener did not see him, as he knocked the buds off in a ruinous manner.

The friends shook hands.

“Glad to see you about again,” said Harvey.

“Thank you,” replied Jack. “Don’t Mole keep his pigeons over the stables?”

“Yes, in the loft.”

“Let’s have a lark with him. I’ve been shut off so long that a spree would do me good.”

“There is a door at the bottom of the garden,” added Jack. “I have noticed the key is always in the lock on this side. We can get through.”

“And then?”

“Wait, and you’ll see. I’ve got an idea. Come on,” replied Jack.

Harvey followed him in high glee.

They passed through the door and were in the stable yard.

The pigeons were flying about and whirling over the roof in eccentric circles, as if they did not like an intruder in their cot.

Mr. Mole was a great pigeon fancier.

He took a great deal of care with his birds; with them he won prizes at shows, and sold fancy sorts for high prices, so that he made money out of them.

He had fantails, and pouters, and carriers, and tumblers, and all the select varieties.

A common blue-rock he disdained.

His were all prize birds.

A ladder stood in the yard, its top reaching to the entrance of the loft.

“Give us a hand Harvey, and we’ll move the ladder,” exclaimed Jack.

They did so, and placed it against the wall, waiting anxiously for the senior master’s appearance.

Presently Mr. Mole popped his head out to the loft.

“Bless me, where is the ladder!” he exclaimed.

But seeing Jack he added:

“Oh, you’re about again, Harkaway, glad to see you. By the way, have you touched the ladder?”

“I think the gardener took it, sir. Shall I go and see?” asked Jack.

“Thank you. It is very awkward to be up here. I have no means of getting down.”

Jack and Harvey hid themselves in the stable, pretending they were looking for the ladder, and amused themselves by watching the senior master’s perplexity for more than half an hour.

The coachman happened to come by, and Mr. Mole addressed him respecting the ladder.

“Here it is on the right, sir,” answered the coachman, fixing it for him against the loft.

“Those boys must be blind,” remarked Mr. Mole. “But perhaps they are looking for it in the garden, and the gardener has brought it back during their absence. I will descend—facilis decensus, as we say in school.”

“Quick, Dick,” cried Jack, emerging from the stable. “shove this at the foot of the ladder.”

He pointed out a liquid manure tank which moved on wheels, and which the gardener had that morning filled with a dark-looking liquid from a cesspool.

Harvey and Jack wheeled it to the foot of the ladder as Mr. Mole had got half-way down.

His face was toward the rungs of the ladder and his back to the boys, so that he could not see what they were about.

Jack followed by Harvey, retreated to the friendly shelter of the stable again.

All at once Mr. Mole caught his foot against the side of the tank, and, thinking he had reached the ground, jumped lightly off, and fell into the midst of the liquid manure.

The shock made him lose his balance, and he tumbled head-first into the tank and was completely covered.

He rose again, dripping and recking with the filthy stuff, and spat and spluttered dreadfully.

The coachman, hearing his cries, came out of the coach-house and assisted him on dry land.

“Is this your doing, my man?” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

“No, sir,” answered the coachman; “not me.”

“It must be those boys, then. Where are they?”

“I saw them go into the stable, sir.”

Mr. Mole strode toward the stable and pounced upon Jack. Harvey had hidden behind some straw.

“You little vagabond!” cried Mr. Mole, shaking his fist at him.

“What for?” asked Jack, innocently.

“What for! Didn’t you put the liquid manure tank under the ladder for me to fall into?”

“I left it for a moment, sir, but didn’t think you would come down without looking. Please don’t come so near, sir; I can hear you just as well if you stand near the door. The fact is, you don’t smell nice.”

“This impudence is monstrous!” said Mr. Mole, raising his hand as if to strike him.

“Don’t hit me, sir. The doctor says I mustn’t have my ears boxed because of my collar-bone,” said Jack.

“You’re a humbug!” cried Mr. Mole, frantic with rage. “You continue to stay out of school and shirk your work, though you are well enough to play off your confounded tricks upon me.”

Jack held his handkerchief to his nose.

“I’ll tell the principal of you, depend upon that.”

“Let me pass, please. My dinner is ready, and I must not keep Mrs. Crawcour waiting. Let me suggest a little soap and water, sir,” said Jack. “You do smell.”

Mr. Mole was unable to speak, his rage was so great. Jack stepped by and made his escape, going into the private garden and locking the door after him.

A pretty plight the senior master was in.

It was almost as bad as being tarred and feathered.

He had a bath and scented himself with eau de Cologne.

But even then his hair and whiskers were redolent of the muck into which he had fallen, and he had to throw his clothes into the dust-bin.

In the garden Jack saw Mr. Pumpleton taking a constitutional.

Stopping under a beech tree which was covered with young leaves, he began to throw stones up.

“What’s the matter, Harkaway?” asked Mr. Pumpleton, kindly. “Are you getting better?”

“ es, thank you, sir; I’m in my old form again almost.”

“We shall have you back in school soon, I suppose?”

“Hope so, sir.”

“What are you throwing at?”

“Mrs. Crawcour’s pet parrot has got loose, sir. Will you have a shy?” answered Jack.

“Certainly. Where is it?” inquired Mr. Pumpleton.

“Up there, sir, somewhere. I saw it just now. Throw hard, sir, my arm aches.”

“Dear me! I would do anything to oblige Mrs. Crawcour. She’s a fine woman, Harkaway—every inch a lady.”

“So she is, sir; shy away.”

Mr. Pumpleton hurled up a stone.

It went through the leaves, and, as Jack anticipated, went over the walls of the kitchen garden and broke a pane of glass in the greenhouse.

Another and another stone shared the same fate.

“What was that?” asked Mr. Pumpleton; “I thought I heard a smash.”

“Nothing, sir; it’s all right. Shy away,” answered Jack.

Mr. Crawcour was in his greenhouse, seeing to his geraniums, and when he saw the stones flying through the glass he thought it high time to go and see who was the destroyer of his property.

Jack sat down and awaited for the fun he knew would ensue.

Presently Mr. Crawcour made his appearance.

“Mr. Pumpleton,” exclaimed the the principal angrily, “what on earth are you doing? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“On the contrary, sir, your wife’s pet parrot has got loose, and is up this tree. I am trying to dislodge it.”

“But you have broken—”

“There it goes, sir, over the wall,” cried Jack, pointing in the direction of the kitchen garden.

“Ah! I thought I should do it,” answered Mr. Pumpleton, with a complacent smile.

“After it, sir, quick,” continued Jack; “I’ll give you a leg up, sir.”

“Which way, my boy?”

“Here, sir, follow me,” Jack said, running to the wall.

“What is there on the other side?” asked the second master, cautiously.

He did not know the exact position of the conservatory.

“Nothing to hurt, sir, only a heap of leaves. Nice to fall on, sir. Look sharp or the bird will be off again. Mrs. Crawcour wouldn’t lose her parrot for ever so much.”

This was enough for Mr. Pumpleton, who secretly admired Mrs. Crawcour, and was especially desirous of getting into her good graces.

Over he went, without looking before him, and the consequence was that he fell through the glass of the conservatory with a crash that made the principal heart ache.

He had fallen on one of the wooden supports, a leg om each side, and remained perched there, the image of despair.

Being hurt in his fall, he groaned dismally.

Jack was over the wall in a safe place like a shot.

Going into the greenhouse he stood on a pair of steps, and, with a thick piece of rope, tied Mr. Pumpleton’s legs together firmly.

“Harkaway? what are you doing ?” cried the second master. “Misguided boy, unfasten my legs. I am, in American parlance, riding upon a rail, which is extremely painful to a biped or two-legged creature.”

Jack looked up at him through the broken panes of glass and made a face.

Then he plucked a bunch of grapes, one of the last of the season, and began to leisurely eat them.

Mr. Crawcour had by this time arrived on the scene, and stood angrily surveying Mr. Pumpleton from the garden.

“Come down, sir,” he shouted.

“Can’t—nonsense.”

“Should be very glad, sir, if my legs were not tied.”

“You’ve been hoaxed,” continued Mr. Crawcour. “The parrot is in his cage. I saw it through the drawingroom window. What do you mean by smashing my greenhouse roof like that?”

“Oh, my legs,” replied Mr. Pumpleton. “I beseech you, sir, if you have any of the milk of human kindness in your composition, to instantly release me from my painful position.”

“Are you really tied?” asked the Principal.

“Hard and fast, on my honor as a gentleman.”

“Who did it?”

“Harkaway—oh, oh! I shall be cut in half. You would not like to see me in two pieces, Mr. Crawcour.”

“Hang that boy,” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, going to the door of the conservatory.

Here he met Jack eating grapes.

“Have a grape, sir?” he said.

Mr. Crawcour gave him a cuff on the ear.

He could not help it.

There is a limit to human endurance.

“’Mind my collar-bone, please, sir,” said Jack.

“Bother your collar-bone. Get out, or I shall do you an injury,” replied Mr. Crawcour.

Jack thought it advisable to take the hint, and he went.

When he got over the wall, leaving the principal of Pomona House to extricate, as best he could, the unfortunate master of the second division from his uncomfortable position, he ran to the drawingroom, where found Mrs. Crawcour.

“I was just going to call you to dinner, John,” she exclaimed, smiling upon him.

“Will you protect me, ma’am?” he asked.

“Of course I will. From what?”

“I’ve offended Mr. Crawcour, ma’am; but it was only fun,” Jack replied, penitently.

“What have you done?”

“And Mr. Mole and Mr. Pumpleton, too, are full against me. I’ll tell you presently, ma’am. But here comes Mr. Crawcour and Mr. Pumpleton. Take my part, ma’am, will you?”

“I have told you I will. Whatever you have done, they shall not punish you. It might throw you back.”

“So it might, ma’m. I don’t feel at all strong to-day,” replied Jack, hypocritically.

“Poor boy,” said Mrs. Crawcour, with a glance of sympathy.

The principal, frowning, entered the room at this juncture, with the second master, who made frequent grimaces, as if in considerable pain.

CHAPTER X

JACK SETS THE SCHOOL ON FIRE

MRS. CRAWCOUR looked at her husband and the master in an angry manner.

“Why do you gentlemen intrude upon me, in my drawingroom, in this boisterous manner?” she exclaimed.

“Because, my dear, this young monkey has been at his tricks again,” replied Mr. Crawcour.

“What tricks?”

“Ask Mr. Pumpleton, who is now suffering front the effects of his playfulness, as you would, perhaps, call it— my respected coadjutor, Pumpleton, very nearly broke his neck by tumbling into the greenhouse.”

“With all respect to Mr. Pumpleton, I must say he should have seen where he was going to.”

“If the boy is well enough to indulge in practical jokes, he is well enough to go into school.”

“You will punish him no further,” said Mrs. Crawcour, “he claimed my protection and I wish him to be pardoned.”

“Since it is your desire, I consent,” rejoined Mr. Crawcour, “though I must say, my dear, that your request is singularly ill-timed, and it goes very much against the grain with me to grant it. Harkaway, go to school at once, and beware lest you provoke me too far.”

Jack thanked his mistress with a look, and, thinking himself very lucky, went away at once, lest the principal might change his mind and introduce to his acquaintance those little persuaders, as he called them, which he kept in a cabinet ready for instant use.

The boys welcomed him back again gladly; and he was not sorry to be among them once more; the confinement he had undergone had proved very tedious.

It was the play hour.

In half-an-hour dinner would be ready, and Jack regretted that his expulsion had not been deferred till after dinner, as he generally got some dainty in the dining-room from Mrs. Crawcour.

A savory smell came from the region of the kitchen, and Jack putting his head in at the window, said:

“Cook, what’s that?”

“What’s what, sir?” replied the cook, who knew Jack well, as he had often been in the kitchen while recovering from his accident.

“That stuff that smells so nice?”

“Boiled rabbit and onion sauce for the upstairs dinner, Master Harkaway,” replied the cook.

“Oh, all right; I’ll come round.”

“What for? You’ve got mutton, and a nice batter pudding.”

“That’s for the boys,” said Jack; “I know—mutton and stodge; but Mrs. Crawcour said I was to come to you and have rabbit, because I’m delicate, you know, cookey. Oh, my, shouldn’t I like to give you a kiss!”

“Go along with your impudence, Master Jack,” said the cook, laughing.

“I’ll come to you with it, and, I say, just cut me one of those bunnies in half. I like the hind part; there’s more to eat on it; and give me lots of onion sauce and don’t forget the boiled pork, cookey.”

“Lor’ bless me, what a boy it is!” said the cook, who never doubted that Mrs. Crawcour had given him leave to take part of the principal’s dinner.

Jack made his way round to the kitchen and passed Harvey.

“Where are you off to?” said Harvey. “The fellows told me you had come back.”

“Look through the kitchen window, Dick,” replied Jack; “and you’ll be able to see the whole performance free of charge, gratis, nothing.”

Harvey started after him, but did as he had been told, and the next minute saw Jack comfortably seated at the kitchen table, where a cloth had been laid for him, pegging away at the principal’s dinner.

“Isn’t it nice to be ill?” said Jack, cutting off a fine, tender-looking leg.

“How do you do it?” asked Harvey.

“It’s wonderful how we do it, but we do. Don’t we, cookey darling?” answered Jack, with his mouth halffull; adding, “I say, Dick, this rabbit’s stunning, and the pork’s first-rate, and cookey can make onion sauce and no mistake. Do it again, my dear.”

“Do what, Master Jack?” asked the cook.

“Give me another help of pork and a nice crummy potato; and I think as you’re so pressing, I’ll finish the bunny. There’s nice picking about a rabbit’s head, and don’t forget the pork. Cut it fat.”

“You’re cutting it fat, I think,” said the cook. “There won’t be enough for master’s dinner if you’d eat a whole rabbit.”

“They must go short for once. It won’t hurt them,” replied Jack, coolly.

“Pile it on, cookey; don’t be afraid of it. The principal is fat enough. Let him put in a streak of lean for once in the way.”

The cook laughed, and Jack finished his dinner, much to his satisfaction, and rejoined Harvey outside.

“You’re going it, my tulip,” said Harvey.

“I believe you, my pigeon,” replied Jack. “I’m bound to go it. And now what do you say to a glass of rhubarb wine to wind up with?”

“Where is it?”

“I know where it lives. You don’t suppose I have had the run of the house for a fortnight or more and not know where the cask of rhubarb wine lives? Oh, Dick!” exclaimed Jack, with a ruefully injured expression of countenance which was quite comical.

“I haven’t grubbed yet. I’m not like you.”

“Full to the bung,” said Jack. “But come along. It will give you an appetite for dinner. I’ve got a gimlet, and a quill to suck it through. I had a taste the other day and it’s A 1.”

He led Harvey along a passage where the domestic offices were situated, no one taking any notice of them, and stopped before the door of a cellar, which he opened.

Before them were several small casks on pedestals of brick, for Mr. Crawcour was fond of making British wine for home consumption.

“There’s cowslip and gooseberry,” exclaimed Jack. “I don’t know what’s in the fourth and fifth; but if you take my tip you’ll stand the rhubarb.”

Harvey expressed his willingness to do so, and Jack made a hole with his gimlet in the cask, into which he stuck the quill.

Each of the boys applied their lips in turn, and drank and talked in whispers, and drank again, until the wine, which had a considerable portion of brandy in its composition, began to take effect upon their unseasoned heads, which were not accustomed to such strong potations.

The dinner bell rang.

“Dick, dinner’s ready. Cut along to your dally mutton, your swipes, and your stickjaw pudding. I don’t envy you; but you’d better go!” exclaimed Jack.

“Bother the dinner! I’m going to have some more wine,” replied Harvey, who scarcely knew what he was saying.

Jack endeavored to stand up and look severely at Harvey, who was sucking away vigorously at the quill, but he was unable to do so.

The wine had taken effect upon him also, and, with a ludicrously funny lurch, he rolled against the wall and sat down.

“Dick,” he said, laughing, “you’re screwed.”

“If any one but you had said that, Jack, I’d have punched his head,” replied Harvey.

“I say you’re as tight as a besom. A nice life of it. I shall have to get you into bed.”

“You’re as bad,” Harvey said, letting his head fall on one side. Presently he rolled over, and lay on his back just under the quill, so that the wine ran slowly down his neck, and insinuated itself under his clothes until he was saturated.

Jack tried to laugh, but he, too, felt sleepy, and fell across his friend’s body.

There they lay like the two babes in the wood, until a hue and cry was raised after them.

One of the servants said she recollected seeing two boys go along the passage.

A search was made and the culprits were found fast asleep, soaked in the wine which had all run out of the barrel.

The news was at once taken to the principal of Pomona House, who with Mr. Mole proceeded to the cellar.

“Disgraceful!” he exclaimed. “Let them be put to bed. I will make an example of them.”

The boys were accordingly carried upstairs, undressed, and put to bed.

Whatever the principal’s intentions were on first discovering the delinquents, they were considerably modified the next day.

Probably Mrs. Crawcour interested herself on Jack’s behalf when she heard from the servant what had happened.

Some tea and toast were brought them when they woke up, and for this they were undoubtedly indebted to her kindness.

Mr. Crawcour merely told them that they would have nothing but water for dinner for a fortnight, and dismissed them with an admonition.

Toward the end of March a German named Herr Schmellfungus came to Lillie Bridge to give a lecture on chemistry.

Mr. Crawcour, wishing to encourage the scientific taste of his boys, gave them all permission to go to the lecture hall and hear it.

Accordingly they were marshaled under the care of Mr. Mole, and went to the town, being much pleased with the experiments.

Jack, like most lads of his age, after having witnessed a novelty, was full of it.

He thought of chemistry, and talked about nothing else.

Procuring some materials, he announced to a circle of privileged and delighted friends that he would give them a private lecture, illustrated with startling experiments.

Jack’s study was the last one in the row and close to the schoolroom. He had fitted it up neatly with chairs, table, carpet and bookcases.

The upper boys were allowed to prepare their lessons in their studies, and frequently sat in one another’s room in the evening, so that Jack easily got up an audience to hear his lecture.

Collinson, Harvey and half-a-dozen more were ranged in chairs near the door.

Jack stood behind a table near the window.

On the table were ranged sundry phials and saucers, containing variously colored liquids and powders.

“Gentlemen,” began Jack, “I will presume that you are aware that chemistry is the science which teaches the nature and constitution of bodies, and the manner of their action on each other.”

“Observe the solution. It is colorless, yet iron is present in it. See, I add a little mixture of galls and it turns black.”

“Bravo Jack!” from Harvey.

“You shut up, and don’t interrupt the lecture,” exclaimed Jack, with dignity.

“Chemical affinity,” he resumed, “is more strongly shown between some substances than others. Take sulphuric acid. You observe that it combines with barytes in preference to potash, but again it prefers potash to soda.”

“I don’t, when there’s a little brandy in it,” remarked Collinson.

“Order, gentlemen!” said Jack. “Now, by latent heat I am about to produce gases or vapors. Observe this quicklime. I pour water on it, and it becomes hot enough to light this bit of phosphorus.”

“Capital!” cried Harvey. “You can do it, Jack.”

By some chance or other the phosporous burnt to Jack’s finger, and with a howl he let it fall into some ycopodium, which caught fire; this ignited some saltpeter, charcoal and sulphur, which blew up, blackening his face, and upset a jar of gas.

The gas exploded with a loud bang, knocking Jack backward and shattering some panes of glass.

The spectators rushed to the door and got into the yard without being hurt, and Jack, throwing up the window, made his escape that way, feeling rather dizzy and confused, as well as half-choked with a compound of villainous smells.

Meantime the table-cloth caught fire, which extended to the curtains, the mantelpiece, and the woodwork of the window; so that in an incredibly short space the study was on fire.

The wind was blowing strongly at the time, and dense clouds of smoke arose, mingled with tongues of fire.

At the sound of the explosion Mr. Mole rushed out of the schoolroom and met Harvey, breathless with excitement and frightened out of his wits.

“What’s the matter?” asked the senior master.

“Oh, oh, sir!” replied Harvey.

“Oh, oh!” replied Mr. Mole, seizing hie ear. “What has happened?”

“Harkaway’s blown us up, sir.”

“Blown you up? I shall blow you up,” said the senior master, angrily.

“Look, sir, look!” replied Harvey, pointing to the smoke and flames issuing from the study.

Then Mr. Mole began to comprehend dimly what had really occurred.

Rushing to the bellrope, he pulled it violently, shouting:

“Fire! fire! fire!” as if he were mad.

CHAPTER XI

SIND HIM TO SEA

THE school-yard was soon full of people—men, women, and boys—the women screaming, and the boys shouting, as if they rather liked it, and hoped the whole place would be burnt down, so that they might have a holiday till it was built up again.

Mr. Crawcour and his assistant masters lost their heads, and did not know what to do.

“Run for the engines,” said Mr. Crawcour.

Nobody stirred.

“Pump on it,” suggested Mr. Mole.

The pump being some distance off, and only sending a volume of water a few inches, this idea was not thought worthy of consideration.

“Slip into Harkaway; I would. He did it!” exclaimed Maple.

The principal of Pomona House heard this and would have acted on this advice, only there was one difficulty in the way, and that was Jack could not be found.

The fact was he had come to the conclusion that nothing could save the whole of the school buildings from being burnt to the ground, and he had climbed up into a tree to enjoy the sight without interruption.

Safely perched upon a forked branch, he awaited the gradual spread of the flames with philosophical calmness.

Jack had always been fond of fires.

When quite a youngster, he had run all the way from Highgate to Pentonville to see a fire, and was found the next day at the Clerkenwell police-station, quietly eating bread and butter, which had been generously supplied him by the policeman who had found him sitting disconsolately on a doorstep, and crying he cause he did not know his way home.

Suddenly Mrs. Crawcour made her appearance in the crowd, and walked to where the masters were standing in a group, looking, as they were, panic-stricken.

“Why do you not do something?” she exclaimed. “Get buckets and form a chain, so that you can throw the water on the burning building. Do you not see that if the conflagration is not checked, it will soon extend to the school, and the whole building will be enveloped in flames?”

“Excellent, my dear. Mole, Pumpleton, Stoner, my dear, good fellows, run to the stable for buckets,” said Mr. Crawcour, with tears in his eyes. “I will place the boys in two chains to pass the buckets backward and forward, and do the pumping myself. For Heaven’s sake bestir yourself! Save me! Save my school!”

Having got the idea, there was little difficulty in carrying it out.

Buckets were procured, a double chain formed, and the principal pumped away with a will, while Mr. Mole was made chief fireman, and standing on a pair of steps soon began to make an impression on the fire.

Jack got down from the tree in disgust.

He walked into the crowd and found out Harvey, who was as black as a sweep through helping Mr. Mole, and had fallen out of the service for a time, owing to fatigue.

“I say, Dick,” exclaimed Jack, “here’s a beastly sell. I thought we should have a good flare-up.”

“I’m glad the fire is going out,” replied Harvey.

“Are you? I’m not.”

“Look at the damage,” said Harvey.

“What does that matter? Crawcour’s insured, and any damage above the insurance my guy would have made up. I took the trouble to be nearly blown out of the window and have my curly locks singed, and then they go and put it out. I never was so sold.”

In less than an hour the fire was got under, and nothing of it remained but the smoking ruins of Jack’s study and the one adjoining.

A strict investigation was made into the cause of the fire.

“But it was purely an accident, Mr. Crawcour,” reprimanded Jack, and put a stop to any further fireworks.

Still he was very much annoyed, and drove over to Willow Copse Hall the next day to see Mr. Bedington, whom he intended to ask for a check for the damage, as the insurance did not cover the studies, which had been built since he effected it.

Mr. Bedington and his wife were in the drawingroom, and received the visitor with some anxiety, as it they feared that their boy had again been doing something outrageous.

Mr. Crawcour soon told them what had happened, and they felt equally as much annoyed as he did.

“Certainly, you shall be paid for any loss my son had put you to,” said Mr. Bedington. “I will send a competent surveyor to act with one appointed by yourself to estimate the extent of the damage.”

“I fear,” remarked Mrs. Bedington, “that John is irrepressible. He is always doing something.”

“Always, ma’am,” replied Mr. Crawcour, “and yet I can’t help liking the lad.”

The mother thanked him with a glance for this speech.

“I’ll tell you what it is, Crawcour,”said Mr. Bedington. “I shall have to send him to sea.”

“As a profession?” asked Mrs. Bedington.

“No, my dear, but just to knock some of the nonsense out of him. I know what the sea is. The life is hard, and a boy gets more kicks than halfpence.”

“Jack will grow out of his bad habits,” said Mrs. Bedington.

“It don’t look like it.”

“The sea,” observed Mr. Crawcour, “is all very well in its way. I should be sorry to part with Jack; but when it comes to setting the school on fire, why, you know, one must draw a line somewhere, and much as I like the lad, and esteem you, sir, I think I should be better off if he did go to sea.”

“Thank you for being candid,” replied Mr. Bedington, with a laugh.

“No offense, I hope.”

“None at all, though if you say you want to get rid of the boy, I begin to think he must be what we call in the city a bad lot.”

After a little further conversation, which resulted in nothing being settled, Mr. Crawcour took his departure, saying he hoped he should be able to give a better account of his unruly pupil at the end of the half.

Getting into his trap, he drove off.

He had not started from Pomona House until past four, and it was quite dark when he left for home.

About a mile from the school he had to descend a steep hill, and being a cautious driver he went very slowly.

Having nearly reached the bottom, his horse stumbled, the trap turned over on its side, and the principal was gracefully pitched out on the top of a quick-set hedge.

His temper was not improved by the numerous pricks and scratches he received in getting down from his uncomfortable position.

“Bother the horse!” he exclaimed, as he rubbed first an arm and then a leg. “Deuce take the clumsy beast! How those thorns do prick to be sure!”

All at once, in the imperfect light, he saw standing before him two masked figures.

Could they be highwaymen?

He thought the knights of the road had gone out with the introduction of railways and electric telegraph.

“Money or your life!” cried a sepulchral voice, and at the same moment what appeared to be a pistol was presented at his head.

Money was dear to him, but life was dearer.

Sinking on his knees in the muddy road, Mr. Crawcour, before whose awful nod his boys were wont to tremble, said in quivering tones: “Spare me, good gentlemen, spare me. I am only a poor schoolmaster, whose profits in the education of youth are small—I may say they are entirely swallowed up in pampering with my pupils, and—”

“Speak the truth!” said another voice, equally sepulchral with the first.

“Silver or gold I have but little,” continued Mr. Crawcour; “but that little I will freely give you, good, kind gentlemen, if you will let me depart in peace and continue my way.”

“The money?” demanded the foremost highwayman.

“Take it, kind sir,” answered Mr. Crawcour, emptying his pockets.

“That watch and chain!”

“Was a gift from my grandmother,” pleaded the principal.

“Bother your grandmother; hand it out, or—”

The pistol gleamed again with its polished barrel in the uncertain light, and Mr. Crawcour delivered up his watch.

“That ring,” continued the masked robber.

“Is my signet.”

“Fork it out!”

The ring was handed to the highwayman and placed with the watch and the money.

“Now one word more,” said the highwayman. “You say you are a schoolmaster. Have you a boy named Harkaway under your care?”

“I have, sir.”

“Beware how you answer. Have you not been to his parents to complain of him, meanly telling tales behind his back? No falsehood. He is my first cousin.”

“Indeed, Mr. Highwayman, sir,” answered the principal, astonished. “I was not aware of that important fact.”

“Treat him with the utmost kindness,” continued the robber, “and in three weeks’ time your watch, ring and money shall be returned to you; but utter a cross word, frown upon him even, and dread the vengeance of Turpin the second. Dick, are you ready?”

“Yes,” replied the other masked villain.

“To horse, then, and let this miserable worm crawl some as best he may.”

Suddenly the sound of horses’ hoofs were heard, and the lights of a carriage appeared rapidly approaching.

The principal of Pomona House gained courage.

In the darkness his terror had magnified his assailants into giants, but when he came to look at them again he thought they were very undersized scoundrels.

“Help—help!” he cried.

“Knock him on the head,” said Dick.

“Hold your row. Silence!” said Turpin the second. But the trap stopped and two men got out.

“What is it?” asked one.

“Thieves!—murder!—help! Help!—thieves!” roared the principal.

He was engaged in a deadly struggle with the foremost robber, whom he had desperately clutched.

His accomplice had made off through a gap in the hedge.

Mr. Crawcour’s strength was double that of his antagonist, and he presently dragged him down and laid him his back in the road.

“Lights here!” he exclaimed.

The travelers detached one of the lamps from the gig and carried it to the scene of action.

CHAPTER XII

JACK MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A SEA CAPTAIN

THE mask had fallen from the ruffian’s face, and the principal of Pomona House expected to see truculent features disclosed to his view.

But no.

He started back in astonishment.

“Whom have we here?” he cried in blank amazement.

Jack’s face, smiling in spite of adversity, looked beamingly up at him.

“It’s only I, sir,” he exclaimed.

“Harkaway Bedington,” said the schoolmaster. “Harkaway, under the guise of a highwayman, has dared to stop and rob his respected preceptor. Wonders will never cease.”

“Do you know the thief?” asked one of the strangers in the gig.

They were commercial travelers on their way to Hertford.

“Don’t you call me a thief, or I’ll—” bagan Jack, rising to his feet and shaking some of the dirt off his clothes.

“What will you do, my young whipper-snapper?” interrupted the commercial traveler.

“Why, I’d eat you if you wasn’t so big and unwholesome-looking,” answered Jack; “as it is, consider yourself kicked.”

“You’re a nice fellow, I don’t think, and it’s my opinion you’ll come to a bad end,” said the commercial gentleman.

Jack let his head fall on one side, and put out his tongue derisively, trying to look as if he was being hanged.

“This, sir,” said Mr. Crawcour, waving his hand impressively, “is my pupil.”

“He doesn’t do you much credit, then.”

“Right, sir; your answer does credit to your sagacity and perspicacity. If those words are beyond your capacity, their meaning will be found in Johnson’s Dictionary. The boy has been playing a trick upon me, but I require not your interference any further. You can go your ways.”

“You might be civil, anyhow. Come, Jim, jump in and drive on. Any one would think it was the first of April, and all the fools had got let out for a holiday.”

So saying, the commercial got into his gig, followed by his companion, and drove on.

“Come along,” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, grasping Jack tightly by the collar of his jacket.

“Hold hard a minute, sir,” replied Jack.

“Why should I forbear?”

“Because you’ll see those cheeky fellows go such a cropper directly.

As he spoke, the commercial’s horse pitched over some concealed obstacle in the road, and the inside passengers, as Jack called them, alighted on the hedge-top, very much as Mr. Crawcour had dene a very little while before.

“What is the cause of that?” asked the principal.

“I’ll tell you presently, sir. Get into your trap and off. They’ll be on to us for damages, if they know who we are. Make haste, sir.”

Jack drew Mr. Crawcour along, and taking his knife out of his pocket, cut a rope he had stretched across the road.

This it was that caused both horses to stumble.

Mr. Crawcour was cunning enough to see what Jack meant, and seizing the reins of his own trap, they put it in the middle of the road, jumped in and drove off, while the naughty exclamations of the commercial were mingled with the derisive jeers of Jack.

“Jack,” said Mr. Crawcour, when he deemed it prudent to slacken speed, “truly you show an ungovernable and unruly spirit.”

“I’d have told those fellows to look out if they had not been so cocky, sir,” answered Jack.

“It is not of them I speak.”

“What then, sir?”

“This last outrage upon my person,” replied Mr. Crawcour, in a saddened tone. “How I could have been so imposed upon I cannot tell. I fear me that you cannot remain at Pomona House. I have scolded you, I have caned you, I have kept you at Coventry, I have birched you, I have reasoned with you, but without any tangible result, and you must leave my classical and commercial academy, unless you alter.”

“I’ll try to reform, sir,” replied Jack, penitently.

“Who was your companion in this evil scheme of highway robbery?”

“I would rather not say, sir.”

“Let it not be bruited about in the school to my disadvantage, and I will pass over your fault.”

“Not a word shall be said, sir.”

“You promise me that?”

“Yes.”

“And your companion?”

“He won’t speak unless I tell him to,” Jack said.

“By the way, restore to me my valuables,” Mr. Crawcour exclaimed, thinking suddenly of his stolen property.

“Certainly, sir. Theres your grandmother’s watch, and the signet ring and the coin.”

“The what?”

“The money, sir,” answered Jack.

“I wish you boys would cultivate elegant English,” said Mr. Crawcour, in a tone of remonstrance. “Your epithets are objectionable, your nouns corrupt, and your adjectives in the worst possible taste. But verily the rising generation is perverse. I cane it, and it alters not. I birch it, and lo! there is no change for the better.”

Presently they reached Pomona House, and Jack went around the back way to the schoolroom.

Harvey, who had been his companion in the joke played upon the principal, had already arrived.

The two boys, upon hearing that Mr. Crawcour had driven over to Willow Copse Hall, determined to waylay him.

“He shan’t go and sneak about me for nothing,” Jack said.

Selecting the bottom of the hill as the best place to overthrow the old horse he drove, they tied a rope across the road when they heard him coming.

Harvey ran up the hill to make sure that it was Mr. Crawcour’s gig they beard in the distance, and on his giving the signal to Jack, the latter passed the rope around a tree and made it tight.

What the ludicrous result was, we already know.

Jack received a letter from Mr. Bedington, warning him that if his misconduct continued he would be taken away from the school and sent to sea.

As a matter of course, Jack showed this letter to Harvey.

“Here’s a lark, Dick,” he said. “Old Crawcour has so worked on the governor that I’m to go to sea if I don’t mend.”

“I thought you’d squared the chief,” replied Harvey, “and he was not going to say anything about the highwaymen?”

“No more he is. He was afraid he’d get laughed at for being stopped by his own boys, and getting in such a funk, so he said if I would not say anything he’d let it drop; but it was what he said to my father before that, about the wine and setting the place on fire.”

“Well, if you go to sea, I’ll go, too, and in the same ship, if they’ll have me.”

“How can you work it?”

“Easy enough. My mother and father have half-a-dozen children younger than I, and they can ill afford the expense of them, so they will be glad enough to get rid of me.”

“Then I’ll decide upon going,” said Jack. “Is there anything desperate one can do just by the way of a windup?—something that will make old Crawcour go clown on his knees and say his prayers when he sees the back of me? I should like to give him a settler as the last.”

“I think you have done pretty nearly everything,” replied Harvey, with a laugh.

“Let’s take a week and think,” Jack said.

They strolled through the fields and came to the river. An elderly gentleman was very contentedly fishing, but did not seem to have had much sport.

“Killed anything, sir?” asked Jack, who could not help talking and mixing himself up in everybody’s business.

“Not much. Half a dozen roach or so,” replied the stranger.

“You ought,” continued Jack. “There was a whole infant’s school upset in a barge here and drowned a fortnight ago, and none of them have been found. They say the eels have been extra fine ever since.”

The gentleman pointed to his eye.

“Got a fly in it?” asked Jack.

“No. Do you see anything green there?” asked the angler in reply. “But come, I see you are fond of fun. I shall not fish any more to-day, the sport is not good enough. I’ll stroll with you and spin you a yarn or two, that is if you say you don’t object to the company of an old sailor.”

“Not at all, sir. Are you a sailor?” Jack said.

“Yes, and have been, man and boy, this forty years, and much as the sea has tossed me about, I haven’t done with it yet, for I’m the captain of as fine a ship as ever floated.”

After this declaration, the boys and the angler became good friends. They learnt that their new friend was Captain Cuttle, staying at Lillie Bridge with some friends, during a brief spell ashore, and they told him who they were.

“It’s odd that I should have met you, sir?” Jack exclaimed; “because my friends were thinking of sending me to sea, and I should like to go with just such a captain as yourself.”

“Well said, my lad,” replied Captain Cuttle. “I’m beating up for a few midshipmen, and I have agreed to take one of Dr. Begbie’s boys. I have no objection to you, if your father will apprentice you and let you sign articles.”

“And me, sir?” Harvey said, eagerly.

“Oh, yes; there’s plenty of room for a little shrimp in a big pot,” replied the captain, with a smile.

“Where can we see you, sir?” asked Jack.

Captain Cuttle gave him his address in Lillie Bridge.

“When do you sail?” Jack continued.

“In ten days from this date. If you speak to your parents upon the matter, I will take you with their consent, but only on those terms. I would never be a part to a boy’s running away from his school or his home.”

“They say the sea is a hard life,” remarked Harvey.

“Not harder than most others in which you have to work for a living. Suppose you are a clerk, and have to sit at your desk from nine till six. That’s hard, isn’t it?” replied the captain.

Harvey admitted that he thought it was.

“Your life is hard at school now, though you don say it, because you’re used to it, and think it necessary to put up with it; as for the sea, it is a glorious profession. Where do you find the freedom that you enjoy at sea? Tell me that. But you do as I say, and if all is right, you shall sail with me in the Fairy.”

“Where to, sir?” asked Jack.

“I’m bound to China, this voyage; and now, if I mistake not, that is your school; so we will say good-day?”

The boys shook hands with Captain Cuttle, and they separated.

“Ten days only, Dick!” observed Jack. “It will be sharp work.”

“What will?” queried Harvey.

“To so disgust every one as to get kicked out. You must write home at once, and I’ll set to thinking of something that will make old Crawcour’s hair curl and Mole stand on his head in the dust-bin.”

Harvey laughed, and did not doubt that Jack would a short time accomplish his purpose.

Everybody remarked Jack was very thoughtful that evening.

But he had just got into decimals, and it was imagined his mind was engaged upon mathematical problems.

CHAPTER XIII

JACK’S WIND-UP

THE next morning after school Jack did not make his appearance in the playground for some time.

He had the county paper before him, and was writing letters, not in his own hand, but in one which he took some pains to disguise.

The first letter was apparently written by a lady, in an elegant, running Italian hand, and contained the following:

“To Mr. Burroughs, Undertaker, Lillie Bridge:

“Sir—Will you oblige me by coming up tomorrow about three o’clock to Pomona House to measure my unfortunate husband for a coffin, as I regret to say he has died suddenly?

Yours,

“MARY AMELIA CRAWCOUR.”

The second letter was in a man’s handwriting, and ran thus:

“To the Editor of the Hertfordshire Mercury:

“SIR—If this comes in time, please insert the following advertisement, for which I inclose stamps, in your next edition:

“A gentleman residing at Pomona House, Lillie Bridge, feels that he has hitherto been wanting in that divine attribute of charity which should distinguish all mankind, and wishes to make amends for his deficiency. Therefore this is to say that he will present every old woman who calls on Friday, at the above address, between the hours of ten and twelve, with the sum of half-a-crown.”

The third letter was to this effect:

“Mr. Lewis Crawcour, the principal of Pomona House Academy, presents his compliments to the conductor of the musical troupe now performing at Chelmsford, and will be glad if they make it convenient to come over to the above address at half-past nine on Friday night, and serenade him on the lawn outside his house, without making their presence known until the music begins, to celebrate the occasion of his marriage. Should any one order them away, they are to take no notice, as an imbecile father-in-law, who objects to music, is residing in the house.”

Having finished these compositions, Jack went out and posted them.

“I’ve done the trick,” he whispered to Harvey at dinner-time.

“Have you? How?” asked Harvey.

“Wait and see,” replied Jack, with a quiet laugh.

Mr. Burroughs, the undertaker at Lillie Bridge, received the letter ordering him to come and measure Mr. Crawcour for a coffin with a sigh of pleasure.

Business had been dull lately in the town, and the death-rate was below the average.

He never doubted for an instant that the letter was not genuine, and Jack had calculated the time to a nicety, for he knew that Mr. Crawcour always had his dinner at two and went to sleep on the sofa for half an hour afterward.

At three o’clock, Jack, who knew the undertaker by sight, met him outside the gate.

“Sad Job this, sir,” said Burroughs.

“Yery,” replied Jack, looking melancholy.

“Sudden, sir?”

“Rather; been ailing a long time, though. Mrs. Crawcour has asked me to take you quietly into the house, so that the boys and servants may not make any fuss. Will you follow me?”

“With pleasure—ahem! I mean certainly, sir,” replied the indiscreet undertaker.

Jack led him into the house as privately as possible, and reached the drawingroom without being observed.

The door was half open, and Mr. Crawcour was discovered, as was his custom, stretched in a deep sleep on the sofa.

“There he is,” Jack exclaimed. “We have left him on the sofa, where he expired of disease of the heart, until the woman comes to lay him out.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I daresay you will find your way out,” Jack continued, with difficulty repressing a grin.

The undertaker said he thought he could, and Jack retired, and getting into the garden watched the scene through the open window.

Burroughs approached Mr. Crawcour, and laid hold of his leg, placing a piece of tape on his boot, then he seized his nose and pinched it, while he gave him a poke in the stomach to straighten him.

This woke the principal up.

Jumping to his feet, he regarded the undertaker with an angry glance.

“How dare you, sir, intrude yourself upon my privacy, and attempt to measure me with that tape, and pull me about in that disrespectful manner, while I was dozing or taking my post-prandial nap?” he exclaimed.

“I came to measure you,” replied the undertaker.

“Measure me!”

“Well, I suppose I’m wrong. Where’s the corpse?”

“Corpse!” repeated Mr. Crawcour. “Is the man mad? What do you mean?” he added, shaking his arm.

“Leave off,” exclaimed the undertaker. “Read this letter. I was sent for to measure Mr. Lewis Crawcour, the principal of Pomona House, who had popped off sudden.”

The principal regarded the letter with a bitter smile.

“My friend,” said he, “that is not my wife’s writing. I am Mr. Lewis Crawcour, and, as you will kindly observe, l am not dead. You are the victim of a cruel hoax, but I think I know the author of it.”

“You’ll pay me for my time, sir?” said the undertaker.

“Pay you. Confound your impudence. Out of my house, sir. You ask me to pay you when I am the victim of a dismal joke. Begone!”

The undertaker slowly left the room, but his departure was expedited by a kick in the rear from Mr. Crawcour, thereupon he, being an independent man, whose feelings were much hurt, hit his assailant in the eye, and blackened it badly.

The principal danced about the room, saying:

“Oh! my eye—my eye!”

The application of raw meat allayed the inflammation, but the blackness would not go away, and Mr. Crawcour was confined to his own apartment with an eye not fit to be seen.

He sent for Harkaway, however, and interrogated him as to his share in the transaction, and Jack fairly admitted that he wrote the letter.

“What was your motive?” asked the principal.

“You said if I didn’t behave myself I should go to sea,” said Jack.

“Well!”

“I want to go; and the sooner I go the better I shall be pleased, sir.”

“Very well; do not exert your talents any further,” replied Mr. Crawcour, who was not without his sense of humor. “I will promise you that I will make such a report to your father that you shall go at once.”

“I thank you, sir.”

This conversation took place about ten o’clock on the Friday morning which Jack had mentioned in his advertisement, and a furious ringing at the bell outside the gate took place.

“Dear me, what is that? Go to the servant and say I am not at home, Harkaway, I cannot see anybody. Don’t send them in now, I beg of you. We are friends, are we not?” exclaimed the principal, in a gentle voice. Jack had conquered him.

“All right, sir; leave it to me,” answered Jack.

He went to the front door and found about seventy old women before the house, and dozens more coming up the road.

The advertisement about the half-crowns had been read in the county paper, and repeated in all the public houses round about.

There was quite a clowd of dust as far as the eye could reach.

Mary, the housemaid, who was at the door as Jack came up, was perfectly bewildered.

“Oh, Mary,” Jack exclaimed; “Mr. Crawcour has advertised for a matron, and you are to show them in twenty at a time.”

“Very well, sir,” replied Mary.

She counted out twenty and ushered them in a troop into her master’s presence.

Mr. Crawcour, with his black eye and tearful visage, may be imagined, and his dismay can be guessed at; but neither the imagination or the mind will do justice to his appearance or his feelings.

“My good women,” he exclaimed,“what’s this ? Why are you here? Explain this black and maddening mystery.”

One old woman, bolder than the rest, told him of the advertisement in the paper.

Again a ghastly grin overspread his countenance.

“Ah!” he said. “Yes, I understand it now. But I did not expect you so early. Retire; you must all take your turn.”

“Shall we wait outside, sir?” asked the spokeswoman.

“Do so if you please.”

The deputation retired as it had come.

Mr. Crawcour, regardless of his eye, rushed into the passage, bolted the front door and put the chain up; then he sought Mr. Mole and showed him the paper.

“Another diabolical joke, sir!” exclaimed the senior master.

“No doubt. Where will it end?”

“Goodness only knows, sir.”

“I feel already in the first stage of insanity. What is to be done? I have bolted the front door. Go to them, Mole; harangue the mob. Do something, or I shall die of old women on the brain.”

Mr. Mole was moved by the pathetic tone of his employer.

He went to the front of the house, and spoke to the foremost of the crowd, which increased momentarily.

He told them that the advertisement was inserted without Mr. Crawcour’s knowledge, and that they were the victims of a hoax.

They wanted the half-crown they had come so far for, and when a virago advised them to break the window’s, they took up stones and did so.

Not until all the windows were broken, and not a pane of glass remained, did they go away.

Mr. Mole himself did not escape scot free.

They seized him and tore his coat in half.

One woman tore out a handful of hair and brandished it on high.

Another seized half a whisker, while a third hit him on the nose.

He managed to beat a retreat just in time to save his life, and was furious at the treatment he had received.

“Harkaway again,” said Mr. Crawcour, as Mr. Mole dolefully recounted his troubles; and he looked ruefully at his broken glass.

“Yes, sir,” replied the senior master.

“He must go. Mr. Mole.”

“I hope so, sir,” answered Mr. Mole.

The day wore on, and neither Mr. Mole nor Mr. Crawcour went into school.

They solaced themselves with one or two bottles of old port, which the principal kept in his cellar for particular occasions.

At eight they had a cozy supper, and in the course of conversation agreed that all would go well if Harkaway was only removed from the school.

“Now,” said Mr. Crawcour, bringing out a box of choice cigars; “let us enjoy our wine and our tobacco. My nerves are so horribly shaken that I feel I cannot bear the slightest noise. That detestable undertaker not only shocked, but struck me, and those dreadful women, after their imaginary half-crowns, struck a chill to my very heart.”

“I too, sir,” replied Mr. Mole, “I feel all mops and brooms, as the saying is, so I will gladly join you in a friendly glass and a social cigar, if I may employ the phrase.”

They poured out their wine and they lighted their cigars. Mrs. Crawcour did not disturb them; she was engaged with her own domestic affairs.

“This is delightful,” said Mr. Crawcour.

“Yes, sir. This is peace,” replied Mr. Mole.

“I have been measured for a coffin, and mobbed by a pack of old women,” continued the principal.

“I, sir, have been ducked in liquid manure, and I too have been mobbed by old women, and had my hair torn out by the roots, while my esteemed friend, Pumpleton has been ridden on the rail of a greenhouse, and deluded with the false cry of an escaped parrot. I repeat this is peace.”

“Pax vobiscum is a blessing. I feel as if some one had said that to me,” replied Mr. Crawcour.

“So do I, sir. Your health.”

“Yours, Mr. Mole, and long life to you.”

“Same to you, sir,” replied the senior master.

They filled and emptied their glasses.

All at once they started. There was a sound of castanets and banjos outside the window.

Horrible to relate, after this prefatory warning, a dozen voices struck up a musical air and made the night echo again.

“Mr. Mole,” exclaimed the principal. “Do you hear?”

“I do, sir,” replied the senior master.

“What is it?”

“Niggers, I should say, sir.”

“Niggers? Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!” replied Mr. Crawcour. “I have had undertakers and I have had old women. I cannot stand niggers.”

Pressing his hand to his forehead, he rushed out of the room and made his way into the yard, where he tried to drown himself in the water-butt.

Mrs. Mole and Mrs. Crawcour providentially saved him, and sent him to bed.

His wife declared he had been drinking and smoking until he was fuddled, and that Jack Harkaway was unjustly blamed.

But when Mr. Mole brought Jack in and questioned him, and Jack admitted that it was all his doing, Mrs. Crawcour changed her mind.

It was some days before the principal showed himself in school again.

When he did he spoke to Jack and told him he wanted him to accompany him to his father’s.

They drove over, and the result of the conversation was that Jack should go to sea.

Mr. Bedington called upon Captain Cuttle, and was so well satisfied with that gentleman that he paid a premium on the spot for Jack to sail under him in the Fairy’s voyage to the China seas.

Harvey’s friends granted his wish.

Mrs. Crawcour was sorry to part with Jack, who was her favorite boy, and she, as well as his mother, shed tears over him.

There was another, too, who felt sorry at his going away, and that was little Emily.

Three days before it was the one for the boys to leave Pomona House, an event took place which was just what Jack could have wished for.

If he had ordered it the thing could not have happened better.

Harvey came to him and said, “Jack, old boy.”

“What is it!” replied Harkaway, listlessly.

He was lounging in the playground, with his hands in his pockets.

His thoughts were of the sea.

He wondered what a big ship was like, and whether he should be sick or not on the waves.

“There is a show in the town,” replied Harvey.

“Nonsense!”

“There is, though.”

“What sort of a show?”

“Wild beasts and snakes—a ‘nagerie,’ don’t you, call it?”

“Menagerie,” said Maple, who was standing by.

Jack gave him a box on the ears.

“There’s one for you,” he exclaimed.

“What for?” asked Maple, crying.

“Sneaking.”

“I wasn’t sneaking.”

“Yes, you were; you are always sneaking about; take your hook.”

Maple slung away, rubbing his ear.

“Shall we go?” asked Harvey.

“Of course. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, we’ll have ’em up in the playground and let the beasts loose,” answered Jack.

“But they might eat us,” said Harvey, in dismay.

“If they did eat a few it wouldn’t matter. Mole wouldn’t be any loss, and as to Crawcour, I shouldn’t weep over his lonely tomb.”

Harvey laughed.

“I thought you had done enough,” he remarked.

“So I have. We are going away, but I don’t like to be idle.”

“How will you get the caravan up here?”

“Easy enough. Give the cove who has charge some money, and he’ll come,” replied Jack.

After school they strolled down to Lillie Bridge, and found the show on the green.

It was about half-past four and a few yokels were investing their twopence to see the beasts.

“Walk up, gentlemen,” cried the showman, whose name was Puffles; “ ’ere’s the greatest vonders of Heurope, Hasia, Hafrica, and ’Meriky. See the lionses and tho tigerses, snakeses and helephants; the great big monkey, and the hostrich, and the wolf that lays down with the lamb who lives on mint sauce.”

Jack approached.

“Good-day, governor,” he said.

“Same to you, sir,” replied Puffles, who was fat and wheezy.

“How’s business?”

“None so lively, but I musn’t complain. If the beasts did not eat so much, I could hafford myself more beer, and that’s the truth.”

“What do you say to half a sovereign?” asked Jack.

“What for?”

“To come up to our school at Pomona House, and give the boys a treat.”

“How long do you want me to stop?”

“Only about an hour.”

“That’ll suit my book exactly. You see I want to be on the green in the hevening to be ready for the yokels when they knock off work,” said Puffles.

“Right you are. Put the horses to, and I’ll show you the way. It isn’t above half a mile.”

Puffles and his attendant quickly harnessed the horses, and the huge, unwieldy caravan rolled along the road to Pomona House.

Jack opened the gate of the playground, and allowed it to enter.

The horses were unharnessed again, and Jack slyly drove them out into some fields, where it was not easy to find them.

When he returned he found the boys all crowding around the show.

Mr. Crawcour and Mr. Mole were talking in an animated manner.

“I tell you,” said the showman, doggedly, “that I’m hordered here. Part the half quid and I’ll step it, but I don’t move hunder the sum hagreed upon.”

“Who ordered you?” inquired Mr. Crawcour.

“A young gentleman.”

“Where is he?”

Puffles looked around for Jack.

“Point him out!” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour.

Jack had opened the door of the caravan and crept in.

Consequently Puffles could not see him.

“He cannot do it, sir,” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “It’s my opinion the fellow is a lying impostor.”

“You say that again and I’ll paint your heye,” cried Puffles, angrily.

“Stay,” said Crawcour; “where is Harkaway? He may explain this.”

No one could find Jack.

“Please, sir, may I speak?” asked Maple.

“Yes.”

“Harkaway is in the caravan.”

“Indeed!”

“I saw him sneak in,” answered Maple.

Maple, having told his tale, retired delighted to think that he had got Jack into trouble again.

“You little disguster! at it again, are you?” exclaimed Harvey, pulling his ear.

“Oh, don’t, Harvey, please don’t; I did’nt mean anything,” roared Maple.

Harvey gave him a kick which sent him spinning, and then he ran up to the van, which Mr. Crawcour had approached.

Suddenly the door was thrown violently open, and Jack made a spring over the ladder which led up to it, jumping on to the ground.

He appeared to have had a bad scare.

His eyes were distended and his hair rough, while he trembled a good deal.

The cause of his agitation was soon apparent.

He had unbarred the cage of wild beasts.

But not being quick enough in his movements, he had very nearly fallen a victim to the lion, who had made a dash at him.

When it was too late, he began to feel alarmed at what he had done.

With the usual boyish thoughtlessness, which characterized him, he had forgotten the savage nature of the wild beasts.

Puffles was also terribly frightened.

“Blarm me,” he cried, “if the beasts ain’t all loose. Run, gents, for your lives!”

The boys scattered helter-skelter in all directions.

“To the trees, to the trees at he bottom of the playground, and climb up!” shouted Jack.

This hint was acted upon.

In a few seconds all the boys were perched on the branches of the trees, with the exception of Jack.

He remained in the center of the playground.

Mr. Crawcour was rooted to the spot with terror.

Mole tried to run, but caught his foot in a hole and fell flat on his face.

Here he lay, not daring to move.

Puffles brandished a long, heavy whip, and swore fearfully at the animals.

They were not, however, to be bullied back.

The lion made a jump into the playground and the tiger followed him.

Then the elephant slowly descended the steps, and the boa-constrictor glided down as naturally as if he was in his native land.

Next came the grizzly bear, and after him the pelican of the wilderness, who uttered a dismal cry.

The showman rushed upon the tiger, and belabored him with blows.

Knowing the power of the whip, which he had often felt before, the lordly beast turned to fly.

A window of the house stood open, and with a bound he jumped inside and was lost to sight.

The lion gave an awful roar.

Mr. Mole shivered.

He thought his last hour had come.

Perhaps there was an old grudge between the elephant and the lion.

At all events, they confronted one another savagely.

The lion lashed his flanks with his tufted tail.

“They’re agoing to fight,” said the showman. “Oh, Lord, they’ll both be killed and my show ruined!”

“Stop them not!” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, laying his hand on the showman’s arm.

“Who’s to pay me for this?”

“You came here at your own risk.”

“But I didn’t let’em out. There’s the Bengal tiger bolted, and the boa a climbing up a tree, and the elephant and lion going in a buster. Oh, Lord—oh, Lord, I’m a ruined man!” cried the distracted showman.

“I’ll lay a pound to a shilling on the lion,” said Jack, with his usual coolness.

“Wretched boy,” cried Mr. Crawcour, “this is your doing.”

“Mine, sir?”

“Yes; do not joke at your wickedness. Life may yet be lost.”

“Gently, sir; lookout!” said Jack. “They’re at it. Here’s a lark! Who’ll bet against the lion?”

Everyone was silent.

The lion crouched and then sprang upon the elephant, who uttered a peculiar bellowing noise.

With difficulty he shook of his assailant, who had hurt him badly in the trunk.

Now ensued a fearful combat.

The elephant fought with his tusks and feet, and for some time the battle was equal.

Puffles ran about, half mad, trying to get the other animals into the caravan.

At length the lion fixed himself well on the elephant’s head.

But the sagacious creature with more agility than Jack gave him credit for, rolled quickly over and fell on his assailant.

The bones of the lion were heard to crack.

Lordly as the beast was he was conquered, and the elephant calmly proceeded to trample him to death with his heavy feet.

“I should have lost my bet,” remarked Jack. “Moral—never back lions.”

Puffles now drove the elephant into the caravan, almost crying over the loss of the lion.

“There’s a hundred golden guineas gone!” he exclaimed. “Ne’er a show in England had such a lion as that.”

Jack went up to him.

“My father is rich; he shall pay you for your loss,” he whispered.

The showman shook his head, as if he didn’t believe him.

While this was going on, the bear had been smelling about Mole.

He poked him with his snout, and scratched him with his long claws.

Dreadfully alarmed, Mr. Mole got up.

The bear stood on his hind legs.

Mole shook with fear.

“Harkaway,” he cried; “come here! Call the showman! Quick!”

“He’s on to you sir,” answered Jack, “because he knows you use bear’s grease, and he resents it as an insult to his family.”

Hitherto Jack had been very pale, but he began to brighten up a little as the danger of some one being killed seemed to lessen.

The boys were immensely delighted, for they could see all in safety, as they say like so many birds on the branches of trees.

Singularly, every one appeared for the moment to have forgotten the tiger which had escaped and hidden itself somewhere in the house.

The bear tried to hug Mole, but the latter rushed away and climbed up a tree with the agility of a monkey.

Scarcely had he got half way up when his hand touched something soft.

It was the boa.

Two bright eyes glared into his.

Uttering a yell of horror, Mole let go his hold and fell heavilly to the ground.

The jerk given to the bough shook off the snake, and he fell on the top of Mole. Puffles had succeeded in driving the bear back to the van.

Seizing a blanket he ran up to the boa, and covered him over with it.

The snake, from long usage, coiled himself up in it, and Puffles fearlessly carried him back to the box.

“All’s well that ends well,” said Jack.

Suddenly they heard a fearful shriek.

This proceeded from the house.

“The tiger, the tiger!” exclaimed Mr. Crawcour, “Oh, God! it is my wife’s voice.”

Again the shriek rang out shrill and terrible.

Jack’s mind was made up in an instant.

If the tiger attacked Mrs. Crawcour and killed her, he would be her murderer.

It was through his thoughtlessness that the beast had been let loose.

“I will save her or perish in the attempt,” he muttered.

Mole was in an agony of fear, and of no use whatever.

The principal was equally incapaciated for action by terror.

All he could say was, “Save my wife! for the love of heaven save her! Save her!”

Jack rushed past him like the wind.

He was totally unarmed.

But his brave, undaunted spirit carried him on.

Climbing up some trellis-work, he got in at an open window, and ran along a corridor from whence the shrieks proceeded.

What a sight met his gaze!

The beautiful Mrs. Crawcour was lying on her back on the carpet.

Her eyes had closed now, and she was perfectly still and motionless.

She had fainted from excess of terror.

The splendid Bengal tiger was standing over her, his right paw resting upon her shoulder.

At any moment his cruel fangs might be imprinted upon the soft flesh.

Bounding over him, Jack made for the dressing-table, where the principal’s case of razors was.

Taking out one, he opened it.

The tiger turned his head and watched him curiously. With a desperate courage, born of despair, Jack threw himself upon the tiger, whose neck he seized with his left hand, so as to make the savage-looking head turn upward.

He knew that everything depended upon his quickness. The tiger was completely taken by surprise.

Before he had time to recover from his astonishment, the sharp, glittering blade of a razor was drawn across his throat.

The head was almost severed from his body.

A stream of dark, steaming blood issued from the trunk, and completely bathed Mrs. Crawcour.

One more slash and the head was off altogether.

“Hurrah!” cried Jack.

Running to the open window, he held up the gory head in triumph.

A shout arose from the boys who had assembled in the playground again, all the danger being over.

He was like Judith with the head of Holofernes.

The showman had got all his animals back, including the pelican of the wilderness, and even that most “amoosin’ little cuss,” the kangaroo.

Mr. Mole and Mr. Crawcour came to their senses again.

The principal strode into the house, and, seizing Jack’s hand, said:

“Where is she?”

Jack led him to the bedroom.

The position of the tiger’s body and the blood-stained razor sufficiently explained the danger she had escaped.

“My boy,” he exclaimed, “I must forgive you all after this act of bravery.”

Then he sat down and cried like a child.

Jack rang the bell for the servants, who washed the blood off Mrs. Crawcour and put her to bed.

The tiger’s body was removed, and Jack gave the showman his father’s address, telling him to state the case, and he felt sure he would be paid for his two animals.

In fact Mr. Bedington did give him the money he asked, though rather unwillingly.

When Mrs. Crawcour’s nerves were strong enough, she sent for Jack.

“How can I thank you for your brave and noble conduct, Harkaway?” she asked.

“By giving me one kiss, ma’am,” answered Jack.

“A kiss, you funny boy,” she repeated, blushing.

“Yes, ma’am. I am going away the day after tomorrow, and it will cheer me to think of it.”

“Stoop down,” she said.

He bent over her, and she kissed him twice affectionately.

“God bless you,” she exclaimed, and protect you from perils, though your brave spirit will carry you through anything.”

Jack felt highly complimented at this, and thought that he should like to kill another tiger.

That evening in the schoolroom nothing was talked about but the wild beast show.

Mr. Mole declared that he was not in the least afraid at any time.

“Why did you lie down then, sir?” asked Jack.

“A sudden giddiness, Harkaway, attacked me in the head, and there was a weakness in the legs for which I can’t account, but it wasn’t fear,” said Mole.

There was a roar of laughter at this.

“Silence, boys,” thundered Mr. Mole. “No more talking; get up your lessons for tomorrow.”

The boys instantly busied themselves with their books, and the loud talking and laughing gave place to that peculiar buzzing noise which is only heard in a schoolroom.

Mr. Mole came to Jack and sat down beside him.

“What are you doing, Harkaway?” he asked.

“Taking my last look at Caesar, sir,” replied Jack.

“Ah! we have read that together. You ought to be well up in it. How do you like the idea of leaving?”

“Very much, sir.”

“That sounds ungrateful,” said Mole. “Do you feel [any] regret at leaving your masters and companions?”

“A little. I shall miss you, sir.”

“Ah! that is gratifying. Have I then been so kind to you?” asked Mole, with a smile.

“It isn’t that,” answered Jack. “I’m used to you.”

Mr. Mole thought this a curious sort of reply, but he did not push the subject any further.

“You must promise to write to me,” he said, “when you reach foreign parts.”

“Yes, sir; but postage is expensive. You’d better give me some stamped directed envelopes,” said Jack.

“I will consider it. Did I ever tell you that I had a rich relation in China?”

“Never.”

“It is a fact, though,” continued Mole. “He has a tea garden, and I have always been given to understand that he means to leave it to me-when he dies.”

“What’s the good of a tea garden to you, sir?”

“A good deal. It means independence and a relief from drudgery; boys like you, Harkaway, do not make a schoolmaster’s life a bed of roses.”

“I am sure ushers don’t make our lives all violets,” answered Jack.

“If,” pursued Mole, “my relation dies and leaves me the tea garden, I shall most certainly go out and have a look at my property.”

“In that case we may meet, sir.”

“I trust not for any length of time,” replied Mole, with a dismal smile. “My acquaintance with you, Harkaway, has not been of a nature to induce me to wish to renew it in a foreign land.”

“Don’t be too sure, sir; none of us can tell what will turn up.”

“At all events you will write, will you not? and so knowing what part of the world you are in, I will take care to avoid it.”

“You’ll die of boy on the brain, sir,” laughed Jack.

“Well,” replied Mr. Mole, good-naturedly, “I wish you success. May prosperity attend you, and, Harkaway—”

Mr. Mole hesitated.

“What, sir?”

“You will not be offended if I offer you a little token of regard—a simple housekeeper. I am not rich, but I bought this for you.”

He handed him a handsome Bible, with an ivory cross on the cover.

“See, I have written your name in it,” he continued.

Jack read:

“To John Harkaway, from his sincere friend and tutor, Isaac Mole.”

Underneath was added:

“Serve thy Creator in the days of thy youth.”

“It’s only a trifle, but you may do worse than read your Bible. I don’t want to preach. You know what I mean, and in the hour of danger put your faith in Him who rules the storm and rides upon the whirlwind. That’s all, my boy.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” replied Jack, touched at this kindness of Mr. Mole’s.

Mole walked away, and left Jack to his own thoughts.

He did not remain long undisturbed.

Harvey came up to him.

“What do you think I’ve heard?” he asked.

“Not knowing, can’t say,” replied Jack.

“A fellow told me that Hunston is going on board our ship.”

“By Jove, that’s bad. Think it’s true?” replied Jack, gravely.

“I believe one, if not two, of Dr. Begbie’s boys have shipped with the old captain. If so, why not Hunston?”

“I hope it ain’t so. I’d rather sail with anybody but that beastly cad, Hunston.”

“Never mind, you can lick him.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” answered Jack. “It’s his underhand ways I hate.”

“It seems as though the brute was destined to be mixed up with your fate.”

“Doesn’t it?”said Jack, thoughtfully.

“I say. Here’s Collinson coming this way,” exclaimed Harvey. “Wonder what he wants ?”

The captain of the school approached the two friends.

“Oh, here you are together,” he exclaimed. “I wanted to ask you to come to my study tonight. Can you?”

“With pleasure,” answered Jack. “What’s on?”

“Only a little bit of feed. Just a sort of parting spread. Three or four of the sixth will be there, and we can have a quiet hour or two and a song.”

“A song?”

“Yes. I’ve got the governor’s permission. It is to celebrate the event of your leaving, and to show you that we upper boys think something of you.”

“Thank you,” replied Jack, much gratified at this proof of the estimation in which his schoolfellows held him.

“So you’ll come?”

“Like a shot.”

“And you, Harvey?”

“I shall be delighted,” said Harvey.

“Come around after prayers,” answered Collinson, “when the boys go to bed.”

The supper was nothing very grand, but it went off remarkably well.

There were speeches.

Jack’s health was proposed with musical honors and times three.

Then Jack returned thanks.

He said it was the proudest moment of his life. He hoped he should always act in a way to deserve the esteem of his friends. He thanked them all from the bottom of his heart and soul.

It was two o’clock when the last song was sung, the last of the beer consumed, and the boys went to bed.

*

At length the time came for Jack to depart.

Mr. Mole and the other masters wished him success, and when Captain Cuttle drove up in a fly, and the boxes were put in, and Jack and Harvey took their places, all the boys sent up a cheer which could be heard a mile off.

Mr. Crawcour stood at a window, and Jack fancied that he saw him wipe away a tear as the fly drove off.

And so we will follow Jack to the good ship Fairy, which is to take him to the other side of the world.

JACK HARKAWAY AFTER SCHOOLDAYS.

BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG (1841-1901)

Book 2 in M.A. Donohue & Co Reprint Series.

CHAPTER I

GETTING ON BOARD

“COME on, Dick. Here’s the ship,” exclaimed Jack.

“All right! I’m close behind,” answered Harvey.

It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and the tide served in about an hour, so that the ship “Fairy” would have to start on her outward voyage in a short time.

The two friends had come down by rail from Fenchurch Street to Blackwall, where the ship was lying.

Most of their kit had been sent on board the day before, by an outfitter in one of the tortuous streets in the neighbourhood.

But they had brought a lot of things down with them from London, with which the thoughtful care of their parents had provided them.

Jack’s father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Bedington, and Harvey’s mother, accompanied them to Blackwall, but having been on board twice before, the ladies did not care to go again, in the bustle and confusion of sailing, for they knew they would only be in the way.

Mr. Bedington had escorted the ladies to a private room in the famous Brunswick Hotel, promising to go and see the boys on board, and return to them when the ship went out of the dock, and stand with them on the pier to wave a handkerchief and wish them a last good-bye.

Both Dick and his friend were groaning beneath a weight of parcels, and they with difficulty ascended the ladder at the ship’s side.

The “Fairy” was a vessel of 1,000 tons burden, and as trimly built and neat a craft as any lover of the sea could wish to sail in.

No one took any notice of the boys as they went on board.

Everybody was bustling about, appearing to do something.

All was confusion.

The boys knew their way about pretty well, for they had been on board three times before, and they proceeded below.

Going aft, Jack descended the companion, and Harvey said—

“Where shall I put the things?”

“Chuck ’em down here. Stow ’em anywhere for the present,” replied Jack, pointing to a corner near his bunk.

There was a tall, surly-looking young fellow standing by, smoking a short pipe.

He was in his shirt, and his sleeves were turned up, as if he had been at work.

Looking at Jack, he said—

“Are you one of the new hands?”

“Yes,” replied Jack, returning his stare.

“Oh! I’ve heard about you, and as I’m an old sailor and have made two voyages, you’ll have to knock under to me. Don’t you think you’re going to chuck things about here just as you please. Ask my permission next time.”

“Next week,” said Jack.

“What do you mean?” said the other.

“What I say. I’m a remarkably plain-spoken sort of a chap, but very simple. I’m so easily imposed upon; I was such a fool when I was at school that they sent me to sea to sharpen me up a bit”

“You look it.”

“May I ask who you are when you’re at home?” continued Jack, with a stupid air, but giving Harvey a sly wink at the same time.

“That’s no business of yours. I’m senior midshipman on board this ship, and my name’s Wren.”

“Thank you. Do you live far from here?”

“What’s that to you?”

“I was thinking what a pleasure your poor father and mother must have lost in not coming to see you off. Do tell me where you live. I feel quite interested in you— I do indeed.”

“I live at St. Mary’s,” replied Wren.

“Where’s that?”

“Axe,” said the senior midshipman, turning away with a grin, and adding—“That’s Whitechapel for ask and find out. You’re not such a fool as you want to make yourself out; and perhaps you’re clever enough to understand that we know a thing or two more than you landlubbers.”

“I have heard of St. Mary Axe. It is somewhere in the City, I believe,” answered Jack. “Thank you very kindly for the information. It has taken a great weight off my mind. I feel better.”

Wren stared at him as if he could not quite make him out.

Presently Jack said—

“In the boot and shoe trade?”

“What do you mean?” cried Wren, angrily.

“Ah, I see; fried fish and ‘taters line, perhaps,” continued Jack, with an innocent look.

“Come, you shut up, youngster,” exclaimed Wren. “If I have any more of your cheek, I’ll give you something which will knock you off your sea legs for a fortnight or more. My father’s a merchant, and had ships of his own once.”

“You don’t say so,” exclaimed Jack, in apparent astonishment. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known you’d been a merchant’s son. Did your father really have ships once?”

“Yes.”

“All his own?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, my! fancy being the son of a swell who had his own ships! Were they ships like this?”

“Merchant ships,” answered Wren.

“Great big ships! Well, I never! I’ll always ask your permission before I do anything in future. Dick.”

“Well?” said Harvey.

“Take your cap off. He’s had his own ships—at least his father had, and he lives in the parish of St Mary Axe.”

“No, we don’t. We live at Dalston.”

“I thought you said——”

“That was only chaff. I see I shall have to teach you a thing or two. You don’t seem to be over sharp, after all,” said Wren, with a patronizing smile.

“I was pretty well when I came on board, thank you,” answered Jack. “It was the ships that did it.”

Harvey was laughing so hard that he had to turn round, and pretend to arrange the parcels to prevent Wren seeing him.

“Don’t,” he whispered in a plaintive tone to Jack. “I shall be ill. I’m bursting now.”

“Burst then,” replied Jack. “I haven’t done with him yet.”

“What have you got there?” asked Wren, pointing to the parcels.

“Literature,” replied Jack.

“What?”

“Something to improve the mind in one bundle, and the rest’s prayer-books.”

“Go on,” said Wren, dubiously; “you wouldn’t bring half-a-ton of prayer-books on board.”

“Yes, we did. They’re all for the heathen when we get to China. I promised my mother I’d give them to the poor creatures.”

“I thought it was something good to eat, and as you’re sure to be sea-sick, I and Sinclair would have eaten it for you, and saved you the trouble.”

“You’re very kind. I wish it wasn’t prayer-books now. But, if I may venture to inquire, who’s Sinclair?” answered Jack.

“He’s the other midshipman.”

“Is his father a merchant, too?”

“Something of that sort.”

“And has he got ships?”

“Shut up about ships, you fool. I hate a fellow who’s an ass,” cried Wren, angrily. “I shall have to lick you into shape with a rope’s end, as the showman said to the young bear.”

“What did the young bear say?” inquired Jack, pretending not to hear.

“It wasn’t the bear; it was the showman.”

“What did he say?”

Wren looked round for a bit of rope to give him a practical exemplification of what he meant, but not finding any, he simply said—“Shut up,” and puffed away at his pipe.

“We’ll drop the showman and the bear, and the ships,” continued Jack, “and we’ll talk about Sinclair. Is he a nice sort of messmate?”

“Very.”

“Like you?”

“There’s much of a muchness about us. We’re rough and ready, and have made more than one voyage together.”

“He must be nice if he’s at all like you,” said Jack, adding thoughtfully—“But I don’t think I shall like him so well as I do you, because his father never had ships. Is there anyone else in our cabin?”

“We had six midshipmen last voyage, but only Sinclair and myself are left.”

“How’s that?”

“Between you and me and the foretop mainsail,” answered Wren, “the captain is not all he looks, and he generally can’t get fellows to make more than the single run out and home with him.”

“Whew?” whistled Jack.

“I thought Captain Cuttle such a nice man,” remarked Harvey.

“So did I; and so did lots of fellows. You don’t find him out before you’ve sailed under him.”

“How does he get men?” asked Jack.

“Oh, he hangs about schools and picks up boys, and spins them yarns, and all that,” replied Wren.

“Why do you stop?” said Harvey.

“Oh, I’m all right. I’m well in with the owners, and Cuttle knows he must not say much to me, or——”

“What?”

“Well, I won’t blab, but I could say more about Silas Cuttle than he’d like you or anyone else to hear. I’m cock of this walk, and if there’s any dispute which is referred to the captain, you may lay your life he’ll back me up through thick and thin. Is that good enough for you?”

“It’s gratifying,” replied Jack, “when you come to consider that you’ve shipped for a good five or six months’ voyage.”

Wren grinned rather savagely.

“I generally let all the youngsters know I’m master because it saves a deal of trouble. Sinclair and I are pals, but he daren’t say much to me. We shall, I expect, have five midshipmen as they call them, though you’re only apprentices perhaps. There’s myself, Sinclair, you two and another land crab.”

“What are you?” asked Jack.

“Well, of course I’m only an apprentice if you come to that. I had a premium paid with me, but I expect to be third mate soon. There are real midshipmen in the royal navy, and it sounds well to call us so; that’s how it is.”

“I’m astonished at what you say about Captain Cuttle,” Jack observed, dropping his jocular air and becoming serious.

“You’ll be more astonished before you’ve sailed far,” replied Wren, with a grin. “You’ll have something to put in your log, my hearty.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed a voice behind him.

“Oh, it’s you, S’clair,” said Wren, abbreviating his friend’s name. “Glad to see you on board. Thought you’d join at Gravesend.”

“So I should have done,” replied Sinclair, a short, ugly, shock-headed boy who didn’t know how to pronounce his ‘h’s, “only I spent all my money last night in Ratcliff ‘ighway, and found it would be no bottle, as they say, to go in for another spree down the river. ’Ard up, my boy.”

“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Jack. “You’ve dropped something.

“What’s that, my sea griffin?” answered Sinclair.

“Only a letter or two.”

“What?”

“One of those things belonging to the alphabet,” continued Jack. “The letter H, I mean. ’Twas whispered in Heaven and muttered somewhere else, while echo caught faintly the sound as it fell. Don’t you know the riddle? But I suppose you don’t. You’d spell horse with an O.”

“I’ll give you something to say O for if you don’t mind. Look out for squalls. You’re a green hand and must pay your footing,” said Sinclair, angrily.

“Plenty of time,” answered Jack. “I am going on deck. Step out, Dick.”

The boys trotted away, and Sinclair, who looked as if he had not had an hour’s sleep all night, and had drank more than his shock head could stand, said to Wren—“That’s a nice pup, anyway.”

“So I begin to think,” answered Wren, “though I’m not quite up to his rig yet.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Yes. He’s either a great fool or else he’s been kidding me.”

“Perhaps a bit of both. Never mind, wait till were fairly in the Channel, and we’ll cob him within an inch of his life.”

“That’s as certain as that we shall spend Christmas in the tropics,” answered Wren. “He says he’s got prayer -books here. I think it’s grub. Let’s overhaul his locker.”

“Steer ahead,” replied Sinclair.

And the two old tars approached the corner in which Jack and Harvey had deposited their little parcels, and began to look at them curiously.

CHAPTER II

DROPPING DOWN THE RIVER

ON deck Jack found his father. Mr. Bedington was looking round for him with a puzzled air, as if he did not quite understand the bustle and confusion which reigned everywhere.

“Oh, here you are, John,” he exclaimed, “I expected you would come and meet me.”

“I’m bound to turn up like a bad penny,” exclaimed Jack.

“I don’t think this is the time for such remarks,” replied his father. “You have bade your mother farewell, and she is now in great grief at losing you. Remember that you are going away for a year at least, and that your friends are very anxious about your conduct and welfare.”

“My dear father,” said Jack, “will you kindly remember that I have heard all that before, and that I have promised to be as good a boy as I can ?”

Mr. Bedington looked grave.

“Do you feel no sorrow at parting from me?” he said.

“I want to see the world.”

“Then you don’t feel anything. You are hardened,” Mr. Bedington replied, with a painful intonation.

“I did not mean that,” Jack answered, quickly, noticing the change in his father’s voice. “I only love four people in the world. They are my mother, yourself, little Emily, and Dick Harvey.”

“Well, well. I only speak for your good, as you ought to know by this time, I say that you are going away from us. I should like to see you show your sense of the separation.”

“I’ll cry, if it would please you,” Jack said.

“There you are again. This perpetual levity gives me great uneasiness. You are like—like—what shall I say?”

“A trough full of dough with some yeast put in it, always rising,” Jack suggested.

Mr. Bedington could not help smiling.

“I hope your jocular temperament will not involve you in serious disturbance with your future comrades,” he said. “In the captain I have the utmost confidence.”

“Have you?” said Jack. “That’s more than I have, since——”

He paused, thinking it scarcely worth while to arouse his father’s suspicion, when he had only heard a hint from Wren, which might or might not be well founded.

“Since when?” repeated his father.

“I did not mean anything. One of the fellows below does not speak well of him; that is all,” he replied.

“Perhaps he has given his captain displeasure, and Mr. Cuttle has rightly reproved or punished him for it. Boys are rarely if ever satisfied with those who are placed over them. I should not listen, if I were you, to such idle tales. Endeavour, my boy, to do your duty, and if you know you are right, you may defy the world.”

“But suppose,” said Jack, “that you are not one of those beautiful boys you read of in story-books, and cannot always do your duty; what then?”

“Then you must take the consequences.”

“I’m ready,” answered Jack, in a good-humoured voice, “and can’t say more than I have said; and that is, I will do the best I can, and that I am very—very sorry to leave you and my mother, who ever since I thought about you have been as kind as it was possible for anybody to be.”

“We have tried to be so, and it is now by your own wish, not ours, that you are going to sea. So, whatever result your venture has, you must not blame us,” replied Mr. Bedington.

“I shall never do that. I’m big enough now to go on my own hook,” replied Jack.

Mr. Bedington looked at him affectionately.

“Recollect one thing, Jack,” he said.

“What’s that, father?”

“You’re my son, and the heir to a fine property.”

“I am as likely to forget the latter as not, but the former, I shall never, never let slip out of my mind,” replied Jack, warmly.

Mr. Bedington pressed his hand, and a voice exclaimed loudly—

“Anymore for the shore? Now then, any more for the shore?”

“You’re off, Jack,” said his father. “Good-bye, and good luck go with you!”

“Never fear for me, father; I’m like a cat; I always tumble on my legs,” answered Jack.

“You won’t worry yourself, if you think of the home you’ve left and the kind friends?”

“Don’t fret; I’ll make new ones.”

“Any more for the shore?” cried the voice a second time.

A sad expression stole over Mr. Bedington’s countenance.

He was sorry at parting with Jack, more sorry than Jack was, if the truth must be told.

Captain Cuttle came up at that moment with his cheery smile, and his frank, open countenance, which certainly belied the character that the senior midshipman had given him.

“Never trust faces,” was a maxim Jack had heard, and he looked doubtingly upon his future captain.

“I’d rather have Crawcour and old Mole to deal with,” he thought.

“Now, sir; going ashore?” cried Captain Cuttle.

“Ah, captain, how do you do?” replied Mr. Bedington.

“Oh, it’s you, sir. Now lad, bustle about. Glad to see you,” answered Captain Cuttle, with a bland look and an oily smile, which he could put on when the occasion required it.

“You’ll see to my boy?”

“He’s right enough with me,” answered Captain Cuttle. “Lord love ’em! I treat all my youngsters as if they were my own children. Sorry I didn’t see you before. We’ve had half-a-dozen of champagne in the cabin, and, I should have been proud of your company. Must wet the anchor, as the saying is.”

Captain Cuttle caught sight of Jack again.

“Step aft, my lad,” he continued; “you’re in the way here.”

Jack thought he detected a dangerous gleam in those sly grey eyes which he had never seen before.

“Good-bye, father,” he said.

“Good-bye, Jack, and God bless you!” answered Mr. Bedington.

Jack went aft, as his captain had ordered him, showing his appreciation of the golden rule of obedience to orders at an early stage of his career.

In a short time all those who were for the shore had gone, except one or two who had made up their minds to accompany their friends as far as Gravesend, where the ship was to lay to for the night, and where they could travel back without any difficulty, as the “Fairy” had to take on board a passenger at the last-named place, and look out for fresh hands to supply such of her crew as might be missing at the last moment.

It is not an unusual thing for a captain, when the roll is called over, to find several seamen absent.

Either they have been too drunk to sail, or they have changed their minds after signing articles, and the deficiency has to be made up by the crimps at Gravesend, as a ship cannot go to sea short-handed.

The gates of the dock were opened, and the “Fairy” sailed out.

Jack and Harvey posted themselves in an advantageous position, to catch a last glimpse of their friends as they went through the cut leading from the dock to the river.

“I wish I were like you, Jack,” said Harvey, with a sigh.

“Why?” asked Jack.

“My father can’t come to see me off, and I think he’s rather glad I’m going. We’ve such a lot at home. He’s only a clerk in the City, you know, and it comes hard upon him to have to keep half a dozen of us. How he paid the premium for me here I don’t know.”

“Keep up your pecker, old boy,” replied Jack. “We’ll make our fortunes in the East, and then we’ll come back and astonish them.”

“Look!” cried Harvey.

“Where?”

“On the pier. I can see your father and mother, and my mother. There they are, standing on the edge almost, to see us off into the river.”

“Let’s give ’em a cheer,” said Jack Harkaway.

“Right you are,” replied Harvey.

The lads took off their caps, and gave a ringing cheer, which Mr. Bedington answered from the shore.

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”

The beautiful vessel glided slowly into the river with sails set.

Soon the stream caught her, and, aided by wind and tide, she dropped down the river.

Mrs. Harvey turned away and hid her face, as her tears fell fast, and Mrs. Bedington, who had made her acquaintance, tried to comfort her.

Harvey saw this, and he, too, began to cry.

“Dick,” said Jack, “this won’t do—blubbering.”

“I can’t help it. Mother’s looking so cut up,” replied Harvey.

“You are a man now and a sailor. It won’t do to cry. Look at me,” said Jack.

Harvey did look at him.

“Why,” said he, “your eyes are as wet as mine; you’re crying too.”

“So I am, old fellow. I was only humbugging you. After all, we’re only boys, and we can’t help feeling it,” answered Jack, in a hoarse voice.

But in spite of their emotion, they kept the old pier in sight, and waved their hats, though the figures standing upon it were indistinct, and the only things they could make out clearly were the mud-begrimed bank of the Thames’ lowlying shore.

“Come!” exclaimed a voice at Jack’s elbow, “we’ve had enough of that. No snuffling; you’ll find something to do.”

It was Captain Cuttle who spoke.

The men were getting into their places and attending to their duty in a stupid sort of way, looking as if they had not revived from the night they had made of it before sailing.

The officers, however, were sober, and they saw that the necessary work was done somehow or other.

“Touch your cap when you are spoken to,” continued the captain.

“I didn’t know we were on board a man-of-war, sir,” replied Jack, with his usual impudence.

“Never mind whether we are or not. I’ll have discipline maintained on board my ship; touch your cap,” said the captain.

Jack did so, and the captain went amidships.

“That’s a taste of what we’ve got to expect,” observed Jack.

“Yes,” said Harvey; “he’s beginning early.”

“Rather. I think all that Wren told us isn’t far from the truth.”

They turned round with a sigh, and unexpectedly met an old foe.

“Hunston!” exclaimed Jack, astonished.

“Yes, my boy, it’s me, as you truly remark, alive and kicking,” replied Hunston, senior.

“I heard that one of Dr. Begbie’s boys was coming, but I didn’t think it was you!” cried Jack.

“Or you would not have shipped, eh?”

“Perhaps not.”

“You see, we’re destined to meet, and we’d best be friends; shake hands.”

“I shan’t. I don’t want to be friends with you, because I know what your friendship means, and how treacherous you are,” replied Jack.

“All right, my hearty, please yourself. It won’t break my heart,” said Hunston.

And he walked away with his hands in his pockets.

“Fancy that beast, Hunston, being on board,” said Harvey, as he looked after him, blankly.

“I wish I’d known it, that I do,” added Jack. “It seems to me we are to have more annoyances on board ship than we ever bargained for.”

“It can’t be helped, unless we cut and run at Gravesend.”

“I shan’t do that; I’ll stand to my guns.”

“What you do, I’ll do,” replied Harvey, looking at his friend with confidence, “though I can’t help saying I almost wish we were back again at Crawcour’s.”

“Don’t turn tail at the start, Dick,” said Jack, with a reproachful glance.

“I’m not turning tail, but I don’t like Hunston being on board, and I don’t like what I’ve seen of the captain, or what Wren said of him.”

“They can’t eat us or skin us. We shall be right enough. Don’t funk,” replied Jack. “Still it is funny Hunston should be here. I thought we had done with him for ever. I’ve licked him and can do so again, and he won’t play any tricks with us, though he may be a better sailor, as he’s been to sea before. If I’m afraid of anyone, it’s——”

“Wren?”said Harvey.

“No, the captain.”

The boys hung over the side, and looked in a melancholy manner at the river, which was running down in a muddy stream to the sea.

CHAPTER III

TAKING IN A PASSENGER

BEING a sailing-ship, and the wind not being very strong, the “Fairy” did not make very quick progress, relying almost entirely upon the tide.

She was heavily laden, and bound for Canton, in China.

There was accommodation for a few passengers, though she was not a passenger ship, but merely a trader.

New hands, like Jack and Harvey, were not molested by anyone, and did very much as they liked for the first day.

When the pier faded away, and the friends they had left behind were but dim specks, and then entirely shut out as they rounded a reach in the river, the boys turned to go below.

“We’ll put things a bit straight,” said Jack, “and indulge ourselves with a glass of currant wine and a slice of cake.”

Not being in the habit of looking down on the deck, he did not see a coil of rope, over which he tripped, pitching into a tub of water, and getting up slightly wet, while the sailors laughed loudly.

“What cheer, my hearty?” exclaimed an old salt.

“I’ve had enough cheering,” answered Jack. “I’ve been cheering till I’m hoarse.”

At this the sailors laughed again, and to avoid their ridicule, Jack was glad to descend the ladder.

But he was in such a hurry to get below that his foot slipped.

He lost his hold, and rolled along the deck till he was brought up by a kick from Wren.

“I say!” he cried. “That’s a nice way of coming below. You are not obliged to do it all of a lump.”

“I couldn’t help it,” replied Jack, rubbing himself with a dismal expression.

To his surprise, Wren and Sinclair were eating various delicacies, which, at the moment, he did not suspect belonged to himself.

“You might ask a fellow to join you,” he said.

“So we will. Help yourself,” answered Wren.

Jack did so, and Harvey joined in when he came up.

Cake, oranges, and currant wine vanished like lightning.

Presently Wren and Sinclair were called for, and stuffing their mouths and pockets full of anything they could lay their hands upon, they went away.

“That was generous of them,” said Harvey.

“Very,” answered Jack. “It’s more than I expected. Wren does not seem such a bad sort after all. Now let’s put our things away.”

“They’ll be safe enough. The fellows won’t bag our grub as they’ve got some of their own.”

“I’d rather have them in my chest, though,” replied Jack.

He turned round to open the packages, and to his disgust, found that they were all empty.

“Hallo!” he exclaimed.

“What’s up, now?” asked Harvey.

“Bless their eyes,” replied Jack; “they’ve been and gone and done it.”

“Done what?”

“Why, we’ve been drinking our own wine and eating our own stuff. That’s a good joke. Wren said we had something to learn, and it looks like it, rather. First of all I go and tumble over a rope and douse myself in a tub of dirty water, then I roll down the ladder, and now I find they’ve stolen a march upon us, and eaten our prog. We certainly have got something to learn, and must keep our weather eye open, Dick.”

“It looks like it,” answered Harvey. “But it’s no use crying over spilt milk; let’s go and look about us a bit.”

Concealing his mortification as well as he could, he led the way on deck again.

Being on board ship was very different to being on shore.

They were continually in the way, and were pushed about from place to place, and once very nearly fell into the hold as the hatch was not down yet.

At last they got into the steward’s cabin, where the first mate, Thompson, was taking a sip of brandy with Smith, the steward.

“Well, youngsters,” said the mate, “how do you like the ship?”

“The ship’s right enough,” answered Jack. “It’s the people on board I don’t quite understand.”

“You’ll drop into your places in a day or two, and find everything go on like a piece of machinery,” answered Thompson.

“When shall we get to sea?”

“We shall be in the Channel tomorrow. Tonight we lay to off Gravesend to take in a passenger.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know his name, but he’s going out to Canton in a hurry. An uncle has died and left him a tea-garden in China, and he’s going to look after his property,” answered Thompson. “I heard he’s been a schoolmaster, or something of that sort.”

“I thought we’d done with schoolmasters,” said Jack. “We’ve had enough of that sort of cattle.”

“He can polish you up in your A B C when you’ve nothing else to do,” answered Thompson, with a laugh.

Jack did not quite agree with this prospect, but consoled himself with the thought, that as the schoolmaster was a passenger, he should not come much in contact with him.

When they reached Gravesend, it was fully expected that the ship would drop anchor.

But the captain, finding his crew answered to their names, and that he had only to take a passenger on board at Gravesend, contented himself with taking in sail and making a signal for the boat to come alongside.

As the passenger was waiting with his luggage in a boat, the rowers soon put off and came alongside the “Fairy.”

The luggage was quickly hoisted on deck, and the passenger, who was reported to have been a schoolmaster, and to have had a tea-garden left him near Canton by the sudden death of a relative, followed his luggage.

The boat dropped behind.

All sail was set, and the “Fairy” continued her way down the Thames.

Suddenly the passenger caught sight of Jack’s face.

“Stop the ship! stop the ship!” he exclaimed. “I’ll get out! Stop the ship!”

Attracted by his frantic gestures, the captain approached.

“What’s the matter, sir?” he inquired.

“Stop the ship, I say! I’ll get out!” continued the passenger with increased vociferation.

Captain Cuttle regarded him curiously.

Was he mad?

CHAPTER IV

THE STOWAWAY

“STOP the ship!” repeated Captain Cuttle. “What does the man mean?”

“I’ll get out, I say. Let me out,” persisted the passenger.

“Do you think you’re in an omnibus? You won’t have any chance of getting out until the pilot leaves, and then you’ll have to pay a good price for being landed at Deal, and forfeit your passage. What’s the matter with the ship? The owners sent me a telegram, saying you’d taken your passage at the last moment, and I was to pick you up at Gravesend. Have you forgotten anything important?”

“It isn’t that,” groaned the passenger. “It’s Jack Harkaway. If I’d known he was on board this ship, I wouldn’t have sailed in her.”

“It’s too late to give her a wide berth now,” said the captain. “But what harm can one of my midshipmen do to you?”

“You don’t know him as well as I do. Something dreadful will befall the ship. I know it will. We shall never get to our destination.”

“What have you had to do with him?”

“I was his tutor. My name is Mole. I was Mr. Crawcour’s senior master, and if anybody knows anything about Harkaway I’m the man. Little did I suspect that I was going to fall into a trap when I took my passage in the ‘Fairy,’ 1,000 tons register, A 1, at Lloyd’s, seven years. Oh, dear me! This was a prospect I did not bargain for, when I hastily determined to leave my native land, on the occasion of my eccentric uncle’s sudden death, and his demise to me by will of an extensive tea-garden in China, near Canton.”

Captain Cuttle looked at Mr. Mole, and then at Jack.

The latter tapped his forehead with his finger significantly.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” said the captain, in a low voice.

“Been so on and off sometime, sir,” replied Jack, raising his hand to his cap respectfully.

“Cranky, eh?”

“Touched in the upper story, sir. Got a tile off as we say. I don’t believe he’s got any tea-garden at all, It’s a delusion. He said he was the Prince of Wales once, and wanted us to call him Albert Edward the First.”

“All right. Leave him to me.”

Jack saluted Captain Cuttle again, and went forward, where Harvey was waiting for him.

“Is that Mole?” asked Harvey.

“Yes.”

“Our Mole?”

“Yes. Crawcour’s Mole. He’s the schoolmaster who’s had a tea-garden left him by his uncle,” answered Jack. “Isn’t it funny that he should come to sail in this ship?”

“Rather,” ejaculated Dick.

It certainly was curious that Mr. Mole should have selected this particular ship to sail in.

An eccentric uncle of his, from whom he had long had expectations, had settled years ago in China, and hearing of his death from his solictor, Mr. Mole determined to go at once to Canton.

He was left sole heir of his wealth, and being tired of drudgery in a school, he resolved that he would travel to China and look after his newly-acquired property.

Seeing by an advertisement in a paper that the “Fairy” was the first ship to sail for China, he took leave of his friends and booked his passage.

When he found that Jack was on board he became alarmed lest he should play him some tricks, and render his passage uncomfortable.

Captain Cuttle however allayed his fears.

“I’m master here, sir,” he exclaimed, “and I make every one do as I please. My midshipmen are supposed to be young gentlemen, and if they don’t behave like gentlemen, I’ll skin them alive.”

It was a fact, in spite of what Wren had said, that all the boys were midshipmen, and not apprentices.

They had paid a premium which was to be repaid them in the shape of wages, and they could leave the ship when their voyage was done, whereas had they been apprentices, the captain could have made them serve until their time was up.

In their cabin, in which they messed together, were bunks, on each side, and in these they slept.

The ship soon got into the Channel, and the pilot left her.

Then she went gaily on her voyage, favoured by winds that promised to make her passage a quick one.

Jack and Harvey were down with sea-sickness as soon as they got past the Norse.

Hunston, Wren, and Sinclair, laughed at them heartily, and told them they would be all right in a day or two.

It was early in the morning when Captain Cuttle was startled by the apparition of a pale and timid-looking lad, who approached him on the after deck.

He could scarcely stand, owing to the motion of the waves, and looked very miserable.

“Who are you, sir?” demanded the captain, sternly.

“A stowaway,” answered the boy.

“Have you dared to come aboard my ship under false pretences?” thundered the captain.

“I thought I might, sir.”

“What’s your name and where do you come from?”

“My name’s Maple, sir, and I come from Mr. Crawcour’s school.”

“Maple?” repeated the captain, adding, “who put you up to this?”

Maple hesitated.

“Out with it.”

“Hunston did, sir. I always liked him, and thought the sea would suit me. I knew my parents would not let me come, and so Hunston brought me down with him and smuggled me on board. He told me just now it was time to speak, but I feel so ill that——”

Here Maple felt sick, and rushed to the side of the ship.

“Pass the word for Mr. Hunston,” exclaimed Captain Cuttle.

Hunston came up looking anxious.

“So you’ve been accessory to getting that useless worm on board, have you?” continued Captain Cuttle.

“It was his wish, and——”

“Take that,” replied the captain, dealing him a blow in his face, which sent him rolling over the deck.

Hunston got up half stunned.

“I’ll have it out of you,” cried the captain, furiously. “You don’t play your games with me for nothing. Out of my sight, and some of you take that boy below.”

Captain Cuttle was showing himself now in his true colours.

Hunston did not reproach Maple.

He was glad to have him on board, because he knew, where Maple was, he should have a sneak and a toady always at hand.

But he vowed vengeance against the captain, and bided his time for an opportunity.

In a few days the fresh hands were well enough to come on deck and do their duty, which Jack soon learnt.

Maple and Harvey were slower.

Jack liked the life of a sailor, but Maple found out that he had made a mistake, for if there was any dirty work to be done, such as swabbing the deck, it was by common consent given to him; even his friend, Hunston, did not stand by him.

“You don’t seem so lively,” remarked Hunston, with a sneer, to Jack one morning, at breakfast, as Jack was munching a ship’s biscuit, and drinking his tea.

Jack made him no answer.

“Captain Cuttle isn’t Crawcour. Old Cuttle is one too many for you,” continued Hunston.

“Wait a bit,” replied Jack. “I’ve hardly had time to look around me.”

The only two passengers were Mr. Mole and a naturalist named Blader, who was sent out by some scientific society to make explorations in the Indian Archipelago.

Mr. Blader had with him a favourite monkey in a cage, which stood in the saloon.

Jack had had his eyes on Jocko for some time, and one day, slipping into the saloon, unfastened the monkey, and put on his head a paper cap, on which he had written, in large letters, “Captain Cuttle.”

Then he turned the monkey up in the captain’s cabin.

Jack had scarcely had time to get on deck before he heard a smash, at which he grinned, for he knew the mischievous creature would jump from place to place, and smash everything breakable he came across.

The captain did not go below for half-an-hour, being a great drinker, which in some respects accounted for his ill-temper and savage disposition. He imbibed little glasses of spirits at short intervals.

Smacking his lips at the prospect of a dram, he opened his cabin door.

The place was in a state of horrible confusion.

A case of bottles was knocked down, brandy, rum, and gin, saturated the carpet, glasses were broken, his swinging looking-glass smashed, and many things that he prized lying in a heap irretrievably damaged.

Looking up for the author of the mischief, he espied the monkey.

“Who has done this?” he gasped.

Jocko nodded his head, and the captain read on his absurd-looking paper cap—“Captain Cuttle.”

Seizing a chair, he darted at the monkey intending to brain him.

The creature was too quick for him.

Jumping on his shoulder, he gave him a claw in the face, and darting past him, made for the deck, followed by the irascible captain.

The monkey jumped and frisked about the deck, delighted at his newly-found freedom.

When the sailors saw him, and read on the cap “Captain Cuttle,” they grinned and watched its antics with glee, which increased when they beheld the skipper following him.

In vain the captain chased the monkey from ship’s end to ship’s end.

He could not catch him.

“I’ll shoot the brute,” he cried.

Going below for a pistol, the sailors awaited the sequel with impatience, though they laughed long and loud when the skipper’s back was turned.

It was a capital joke to them, for none of them really liked the commander of the “Fairy.”

Mr. Blader was walking arm in arm with Mr. Mole as he inquired the cause of the commotion.

“Bless me! it’s my monkey,” he exclaimed.

When he saw the inscription on the cap he could not refrain from smiling.

Jocko gibed, and chattered, and danced about the shrouds in a frolicsome manner.

Captain Cuttle now appeared again, armed with a single-barrelled pistol.

The monkey recognised him as his enemy, and dexterously leaping towards him, seized his cap, and ran up the shrouds with it.

“The fiend take him!” exclaimed the captain.

He levelled his pistol.

“What are you about to do? That is my monkey, Captain Cuttle,” cried Mr. Blader, who really liked his pet.

“Stand on one side, sir. The beast has made a wreck of my cabin, and by Heaven I’ll shoot him,” replied the captain.

“I protest that you will do nothing of the sort,” answered Mr. Blader.

He ran to the shrouds, and called the monkey.

“Jocko—Jocko!”

The creature at once came to him, and nestled in his arms affectionately.

“I will make good any damage he may have done,” continued the naturalist. “Reflect, sir, that the monkey could not have got loose of his own accord, and ornamented this cap with the absurd device it bears.”

“Let him go or I’ll shoot you,” cried the captain, angrily.

“I shall not do so,” replied Mr. Blader, firmly, who was a quiet, middle-aged man. “I shall protect my animal, and if you fire, I take this ship company to bear witness that my blood will be on your head, and you will be guilty of murder in the eye of the law.”

Mad with rage, Captain Cuttle pulled the trigger and fired.

CHAPTER V

LASHED TO THE MASTHEAD RIGGING

AN old seaman, whose name was Slocum, happened to be standing near the captain.

Seeing his murderous intention plainly displayed in his face, he kept his eye upon him.

Directly his finger pressed the trigger, Slocum dashed his arm up.

The ball flew harmlessly through the rigging.

Finding his attempt to shoot either the monkey or its owner frustrated Captain Cuttle diverted his wrath upon Slocum.

“What the blazes do you mean by spoiling my shot?” he cried, still more furious than ever.

“Duty, cap’en,” replied the sailor, touching his hat, respectfully.

“Duty to whom? Not to me.”

Slocum pointed to the sky.

“There’s one up aloft, and He’s a skipper we owe a duty to. We’ve no right to take the life we can’t give back,” he said.

“Get out, you canting cur,” exclaimed Captain Cuttle. “I’ll have no mutinous dogs on board my ship.”

With that he gave him a blow on the forehead, which caused him to fall bleeding on the deck.

The blow was a severe one, as it had been dealt with the butt end of the heavy pistol.

“Shame!” rose to the lips of the men.

But they were afraid to speak openly.

Some of them had sailed under Captain Cuttle before, and his character was well known in the merchant service.

So tyrannical was his conduct, that one ship which he had commanded came to he called the “Hell afloat.”

Mr. Blader had hurried below with his monkey, and replaced him in his cage.

He took off the paper cap.

It was a sort of ordinary fool’s cap, in which something had been wrapped.

In his hurry Jack had omitted to notice one thing.

This was of the utmost importance.

The paper had contained some articles which his mother had bought for him at a shop, and on it was written, in a small, running hand—

“Master John Harkaway Bedington.”

Taking this in his hand, Mr. Blader ran up on deck.

He was just in time to see Slocum stagger forward, bleeding from the forehead, and supported by two of his shipmates.

“Look here, sir!” he exclaimed, handing the captain the paper.

Captain Cuttle took it and saw only his own name.

Thinking Mr. Blader wanted to add insult to injury, he crumpled it up in his hand.

“It’s a fool’s cap, and would fit you,” he said.

“Stay; read the address on it, and you may find out the culprit,” Mr. Blader hastened to exclaim.

The captain did so. His face darkened and he looked more repulsive than before.

“One of my youngsters,” he muttered; “I had his character with him.”

“Have you any one on board of the name of Harkaway Bedington?” continued Mr. Blader: “if so, the presumption is that he must be the culprit, though it does not follow absolutely that he is. Some one else may have used the paper, though it has his name attached to it.”

“It’s Harkaway safe enough. Don’t stand jabbering there; we don’t want any sea-lawyers here,” said the captain.

“Captain Cuttle, as a passenger, I demand to be treated with proper respect and——”

“You’ve got the run of the ship—take it.”

“You attempted my life, but, being of a forgiving disposition, I am inclined to look over that; yet if this course of conduct is persisted in, I shall be compelled to lay the matter before the proper authorities,” replied Mr. Blader.

Captain Cuttle pushed him impatiently on one side, and went to where Jack was standing with Harvey.

Jack saw his fist clenched, and, remembering what he had done to Hunston, which had been a good deal talked about in the midshipmen’s mess, retreated so as to avoid a sudden blow.

“What did you dress that infernal monkey up for, and turn him loose in my cabin, eh?” vociferated Captain Cuttle.

“How do you know it was I?” asked Jack.

“Look at the cap you gave him. It’s got your name inside. You did it. No lies. To the masthead! Away with you, and stay there till you have my permission to come down, which won’t be yet awhile.”

Jack made his way to the mainmast, and put his foot in the shrouds,

“Captain Cuttle,” he said.

“What now?” said the captain, turning round sharply.

“You’ll send my dinner up,” continued Jack.

The captain made a run at Jack, and would have sent him up the rigging by the help of his foot, quicker than he might have liked, had not Jack already taken the precaution to go up the shrouds and remove himself out of harm’s way.

“Monkey meat is all you’ll have,” he said, looking up at Jack.

Jack took out his watch.

“How long am I to stay here?” he said. “It’s a fine airy situation, but it’s possible to have too much of a good thing.”

“You’ll stop there until this time tomorrow, and that will teach you to play tricks upon me again. So no more of your palaver, my lad.”

“By what authority do you act?” asked Jack.

“Say another word, my boy, and I’ll put you in irons, by the living Jingo,” cried the captain, who was beside himself with rage.

Jack slowly ascended the rigging and reached the top.

Jack looked down, and having a bit of wood in his pocket, threw it at Hunston and hit him on the nose.

Hunston looked round wonderingly, but could not discover where the missile came from.

From the top, Jack ascended to the cross-trees, and sat there for a time very contentedly, but the pangs of hunger began to assail him, and his watch told him that the midshipmen’s mess was being served.

“I’ll have a cut at the salt junk anyhow,” he muttered.

With that he began to descend, and to the astonishment of his comrades, entered the cabin as they were just commencing dinner.

“Has he let you off?” exclaimed Wren.

“Not he. I’ve let myself off,” replied Jack. “The air up there has made me so sharp-set that I could eat a shoal of whales.”

“Cut in then,” replied Wren. “It’s your own lookout, and I’m not one to crab you.”

Jack soon fell to and made an excellent dinner.

He chatted gaily, and recounted what he had done to the monkey, making them all laugh.

“You’d better get up again before the captain sees you,” suggested Wren, who was not a bad-hearted fellow at all. “He is not a man to be trifled with, as you have already found out, I daresay; but he has already got his knife into you for what you have done, and you’d better keep his swivel eyes off you if you can.”

“One more chunk,” said Jack, eyeing the beef affectionately.

While he was finishing his dinner, Hunston and Maple went on deck.

“Here is an opportunity not to be lost,” said Maple.

“How?” asked Hunston.

“Let me go and tell the captain where Harkaway is and what he’s doing, and I shall get into his favour, and Jack will get into a row.”

“Go ahead then,” replied Hunston. “I’ve no love for him, and he’s treated me none so well since we’ve been on board together, that I should care for him.”

Maple went into the captain’s cabin, and found him at dinner with Mr. Mole and Mr. Blader. With the latter he had made up the difference by apologizing for his hastiness, and the naturalist being of a forgiving disposition, as he had said, shook hands with him.

“What do you want, youngster?” asked Captain Cuttle.

“One of my former pupils,” interposed Mr. Mole. “A very good boy. It is a pleasure to sail with so many old friends, more especially as Harkaway has let me alone.”

“Please captain,” said Maple, in his sneaking way; “I have come to inform you of a circumstance of which I think you ought not to be ignorant.”

“Very good!” exclaimed Mr. Mole, rubbing his hands, “very good, indeed.”

“Mutiny in the ship, eh?” asked the captain.

“Not so bad as that; but it’s disobedience of orders,” answered Maple.

“I’ll tell you once for all, that I don’t care for talebearers; but I’ll listen to you,” said the captain, in his blunt way.

“Harkaway has come down from aloft, to have his dinner, and he’s at it now.”

“Is he?” said the captain, grinding his teeth.

“I hope you’ll remember it was I who told you, sir,” said Maple, thinking he had made a favourable impression.

“Take that,” cried the captain, jumping up from his chair, and dealing him a box on the ears. “That’s all the thanks you’ll get from me for telling tales.”

Maple ran away, and the captain followed him on deck.

Mr. Blader ran after him, saying—

“Do not be hasty, I beg, Captain Cuttle. Perhaps the poor lad Harkaway has been sufficiently punished for a harmless joke.”

“Harmless! That’s your opinion. Leave him to me, and mind your own business.”

Mr. Blader fell back.

Calling a tall, stalwart seaman to his side, the captain exclaimed—

“Take Mr. Harkaway, the midshipman under punishment, who has disobeyed orders by coming down from the masthead, and who is now in the midshipmen’s berth, and lash him to the topmast-rigging. Be off and look sharp.”

The sailor, whose name was Davage, went on his errand, and met Jack coming up the hatchway.

“You’ve got to come along with me, sir,” he said.

“Where?” asked Jack.

“To be lashed to the rigging.”

“All right,” answered Jack, coolly. “It will save me the trouble of sitting on the cross-trees.”

Davage took a coil of rope, and, preceded by Jack, went up the rigging.

When they came to the topmast, he tied him up tightly so that it was impossible for him to extricate himself.

“Very sorry, sir,” he said. “But it’s the captain’s orders.”

“I’m all right; don’t flurry your fat,” replied Jack. “But Captain Cuttle may take his davy I’ll be even with him for this.”

“You’d have the ship’s company with you, sir,” said Davage.

The sailor descended to the deck, and Jack was left alone in his glory.

In the heavens the sun was shining brightly, and the wind whistled melodiously through the cordage.

For a time Jack did not mind it, but after an hour had elapsed, his position began to get painful.

“I suppose it’s my fault,” he said to himself. “But it is not pleasant. I’ve been deceived in old Cuttle. He’s a humbug. Crawcour was a lamb compared to him. I wish I hadn’t let the monkey loose. I wish I hadn’t gone to sea. What a fool I was!”

The day declined, and Jack’s position became every hour more and more irksome.

There did not seem any prospect of release.

“Perhaps Dick will come up to me,” he muttered, as he thought of Harvey.

CHAPTER VI

THE CAPTAIN’S SECRET

WEARILY passed the evening.

The pain which Jack had hitherto suffered increased to positive agony as the ropes with which he was lashed to the rigging chafed his limbs.

Had not Davage mercifully made the strain come round his body, and under the arms, his condition would have been worse.

To bodily pain were added hunger and thirst, the latter especially, for the salt beef he had eaten at dinner time made him long for a good draught of sweet water.

To his parched throat, even the salt sea appeared enticing, and he longed to be able to shake himself free from the galling cords, and plunge into the waves which leaped and danced at his feet.

There was a gleam of comfort when he remembered that it was Harvey’s watch.

About twelve, as near as he could guess, for he could not look at his watch, he heard someone coming up the rigging.

It was Harvey.

“Thank you for coming to see me,” said Jack, in a faint voice.

“I’ve come to do more, if you like to risk it,” answered Harvey.

“What’s that?”

“Cut you down. All the fellows in the ship say it’s too bad to keep you tied up here the best part of the day and all night too. Are you not stiff?”

“Rather,” replied Jack; “but I think I shall be able to get down. The circulation in my limbs is all right. Davage didn’t lash my wrists and ankles.”

“Cuttle turned in tight, I think, and won’t come on deck till the morning. Thompson, the first mate, is on deck, and he told me if liked to go up and speak to you, he shouldn’t see me.”

“Thompson’s a brick,” said Jack. “Under the circumstances, I’ll come down, Dick, and chance it. I’m that
dry, I could dip my beak into a puddle of road water; and my head aches fit to split.’’

“I should think it did; you had a tidy sun on you for some time.”

As he spoke, Harvey cut away the lashings, and threw them into the sea.

It was lucky he supported Jack with one arm, for the latter had overrated his strength, and it was some few minutes before he could recover himself sufficiently to trust himself off the trees.

At length he reached the deck, and crawled along in the shadow to the main hatch, and so reached the midshipmen’s mess.

His first care was to quench his thirst.

Then he looked around him.

Wren, Sinclair, Hunston, and Maple were fast asleep, and only a faint light came in through the portholes.

Wren was tossing about in an uneasy, restless manner, as if indulging in the luxury of a private nightmare.

“What is he saying?” Jack muttered, as he heard him talk in his sleep.

“He wouldn’t masthead me,” said Wren, speaking thickly and excitedly at intervals. “I’d call him Captain Scuttle, as I did once before.”

“Captain Scuttle!” repeated Jack, listening intently. “There is something in this.”

For a brief space Wren was silent.

“Didn’t I see him with my own eyes bore holes in the bottom of the ‘Polar Star?’ She was lost off Newfoundland. Foundered in a fog. Ha! ha! Crew saved in the boats, and reached St John’s. The Mercantile Marine Insurance Company wouldn’t have paid the damage if they’d known what I know. Cuttle or Scuttle, he mustn’t talk to me.”

Jack drank in every word of this revelation, after which Wren was silent.

The sleeping boy had probably been contrasting his position with Jack’s during his waking hours, and the result was a dwelling of the mind, upon what often occupied it, while asleep.

“That’s the captain’s secret, is it?” Jack said to himself. “A pretty villain Captain Cuttle is. I see now why Wren isn’t afraid of him. Wait a bit.”

Jack turned in, “all standing,” as he phrased it—that is, with all his clothes on, and slept very well till morning.

His messmates were astonished to see him.

“I didn’t know they’d let you run about loose again,” said Wren.

“You don’t know everything,” replied Jack.

“How did you like it?” asked Sinclair.

“Oh, stunning; lovely sky and beautiful prospect.”

Jack had scarcely finished his breakfast when he was sent for to the captain’s cabin as he had expected.

Captain Cuttle had been on deck, and discovered that the prisoner was not in his proper position.

He made inquiries without any result, and sent for the offender.

He was alone when Jack entered, and glared at him fiercely.

“Is there going to be a fight between you and me, to see who is to conquer, my lad?” exclaimed he.

“Yes, Captain Scuttle,” replied Jack.

“Captain WHAT?” roared the skipper.

“I beg your pardon,” said Jack. “Being aloft so long has made me rather stupid. I meant Cuttle. It was gazing at the Polar Star that confused me.”

The captain looked keenly at him, as if he would read his soul in its innermost depths.

For a moment he could not make out whether he was speaking by design or from accident, and Jack’s perfectly cool and off-hand manner rendered his task all the more difficult.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked, presently.

“No. I knew you wouldn’t do anything more to me.”

“Why not?”

“A little bird told me so,” answered Jack.

“Wren. You mean Wren,” exclaimed the captain, losing his presence of mind. “You’ve been talking to Wren.”

“He was only spinning me a yarn, sir,” replied Jack, “about being wrecked off Newfoundland. The ship foundered in a convenient spot, went down in a fog, which fogged everybody, even the Mercantile Marine Insurance.”

Captain Cuttle went up to Jack, and put his hand on his shoulder, grasping it till he hurt the flesh.

He was very white now, and he spoke with an intensity of feeling that showed he was in earnest.

“Keep your tongue between your teeth, lad,” he exclaimed, “if you want to save your life.”

“My life!” repeated Jack, who was rather alarmed at the skipper’s tone and manner.

“Aye, your life. Never dare to talk to me again as you have to-day. There was one about your own age— but no matter. Wren had best look to it. The one I was about to speak of fell overboard during the night!”

Jack’s flesh crept with horror.

“Go. I have said enough for a sensible lad like you. Don’t provoke me too far!” exclaimed the captain.

Jack moved towards the door.

“I suppose, sir, I needn’t go star-gazing any more?” he said.

The captain flung a boot at him, and he retired precipitately.

Jack had gained his point, but at what a cost!

He had incurred the hostility and suspicion of the captain, who was a violent and vindictive man.

He did not stick at trifles, or he would not have fired at Mr. Blader as he did, when Slocum so providentially spoilt his aim at the cost of a broken head.

The horribly mysterious hint which the captain had thrown out ran in Jack’s mind.

It was easy enough for a strong and determined man to throw a boy overboard on a dark night.

So he resolved not to irritate the captain beyond the latter’s power of endurance.

How he kept his resolution, we shall see presently.

He had conquered in the first fight, and was so far master of the situation.

CHAPTER VII

WREN DISAPPEARS

AFTER the interview that Jack had with the captain, he began to grow afraid of him.

Captain Cuttle was not the amiable person he had appeared to be, and his true character was showing itself day by day.

Though Jack appeared to have got the best of it, the captain was evidently not a man to forget.

His mysterious hint about the midshipman who fell overboard because he dared to talk about what he knew, alarmed Jack.

“It won’t do, Dick, to play with our captain,” he said.

“Why?” asked Harvey.

“Because he wouldn’t mind murdering a fellow.”

Harvey laughed.

“Draw it mild, Jack,” he said. “We are living in a civilised age, and with all the men on board he would scarcely like to risk getting his neck in a noose.”

“Suppose I fell overboard.”

“That would be your fault.”

“Ah, but suppose l was pushed over on a dark night, when no one was looking, and only the wind heard my cries for help.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harvey, curiously.

“I scarcely know myself. But I’ll tell you what I have learnt. When Wren was asleep the other night, he talked wildly about our captain scuttling the ‘Polar Star,’ to get the insurance money. Scuttling means boring holes in her bottom, so that she may sink. Wren sailed in the ‘Polar Star,’ and I hinted to Captain Cuttle something about it.”

“You did!”

“Yes, and that is why I was let off. But at the same time, the captain told me that one of his midshipmen ‘fell overboard,’ because he couldn’t keep his tongue between his teeth. I believe it will be Wren’s turn next, because Captain Cuttle thinks he has been chatting to me. I shall be very careful what I say this voyage, and when we get to Canton I shall cut and run, and hide till the ‘Fairy’ has started homewards, and then ship in some other vessel. I’m not going to risk the return voyage with such a skipper, if, please God, I last out this journey.”

“Here is Wren,” said Harvey. “He don’t look as if he funked much.”

“Well, my young true blue!” said Wren, approaching Jack. “You got out of your little scrape better than I expected. Old Cuttle doesn’t generally let fellows off; I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“You’ve got a hold over him,” said Jack.

“So I said; but neither you nor anyone else knows what that is, nor are you likely to.”

“Come here,” said Jack.

Wren approached, and Jack whispered in his ear—

“It’s something about the ‘Polar Star,’ isn’t it, and Captain Scuttle?”

“How did you know that?” asked Wren, much astonished.

“Captain told me. We’re like brothers,” replied Jack. “By the way, who was the midshipman who fell overboard?”

Wren turned deadly pale.

“Did he tell you that, too?” he said.

“If he hadn’t how should I know it all?” answered Jack. “You didn’t, did you?”

“It would have been as much as my life is worth to have done so,” replied Wren. “If Cuttle let on about what only he and I knew, since Damer’s death, he must be going off his nut.”

“He was tight,” Jack said; “and I caught him in the humour. How did Damer die?”

“Damer was the only friend I had on earth, and he was drowned one night in a gale of wind. What’s the use of your asking me a lot of questions, when you know all about it?”

“Foul play?”

“Of course. But I won’t be pumped; take my advice, and keep your mouth shut, or else you’ll follow Damer,” said Wren.

“Perhaps you’ll go first,” replied Jack.

“Not I,” said Wren; “I don’t go and clack about. I’m too wide awake for that, so sheer off, my hearty, and keep the chain up, or else——”

He broke off abruptly, and pointed to the sea with a significant air.

“Food for fishes, eh?” said Jack, coolly.

“And no mistake,” replied Wren, as he slouched off with his hands in his pockets.

“A lively prospect,” Jack remarked to Harvey.

“For goodness, sake, Jack, don’t be rash; take his advice and shut up,” Harvey replied. “There is danger, I can see it now. Captain Cuttle——”

“Scuttle, you mean?”

“No, I don’t. I wouldn’t whisper such a word, lest he might hear it, and wipe me out as—as he did Damer.”

Harvey sank his voice to a low tone as he uttered the last words, and looked around him cautiously.

There was no one near.

“I’ve concluded one thing,” Jack said, “and that is, I’d better subside for the present, though I should like to wake old Mole up.”

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities,” replied Harvey.

Jack was prudent enough not to offend Captain Cuttle in any way.

He remarked that he treated Wren with marked coldness, and although Wren could not guess the reason, Jack knew it well enough.

The captain thought Wren had betrayed his secret, and distrusted him accordingly.

The ship made a good voyage as far as the Cape, when they encountered stormy weather.

Jack was in his bunk one night, when the weather was more than usually boisterous, and the noise made by the gale that was raging woke him up.

It was Wren’s watch.

He could hear the steady pacing of his footsteps on deck, every now and then, as he passed overhead.

Suddenly he heard other footsteps, and he fancied there was the sound of a scuffle, and then a despairing shriek came up from the sea.

Jack sprang up and looked out of a porthole.

Was he dreaming, or did he for a moment see a wan, white, hopeless face rise to the surface, and then fall rapidly astern?

“I could swear that was Wren’s face,” Jack said to himself.

He would have gone on deck and cried “Man overboard!” but he was afraid to do so. He might be mistaken. If he raised a false alarm he would be bullied on all hands, and he knew enough of seafaring to be sure that no boat could live in such a storm.

If, indeed, Wren was overboard, he was lost without the possibility of hope.

Trembling in every limb Jack turned over and tried to go to sleep, without avail.

He could not get the horrid sight out of his eyes.

The apparition, if apparition it was, haunted him.

Towards morning he felt into an uneasy slumber, but did not say anything to his messmates, being too much afraid of the captain to do so.

At breakfast time Wren was missing from the mess, and on inquiries being made, nothing could be heard of him.

The man at the wheel had seen him at midnight, but not afterwards.

As the sea was running heavily at the time, and the decks were repeatedly washed by huge waves, it was supposed he had been swept overboard. Jack had his suspicions to the contrary.

So had Harvey.

And looking mournfully at one another, they asked whose turn it would be next.

Jack had not the remotest doubt that Wren had been thrown overboard by the captain in the storm.

He was most circumspect in his conduct afterwards for fear of arousing the resentment of Captain Cuttle, which had been slumbering for some time.

“Poor Wren,” said Jack to Harvey, “if I had not spoken, he would have been alive still.”

“You didn’t mean anything,” replied Harvey.

“God knows I didn’t,” said Jack; “I had no particular cause to like the fellow, but I did not think he would come to an end like this.”

The captain did not seem much concerned at what had happened.

He spoke a few words to his midshipmen, and concluded by saying, as he looked steadily at Jack, “You must all of you be careful. The best sailors are liable to accidents, and what has unfortunately occurred to poor Wren might be the fate of any of you.”

The ship, however, went on her way, and, as Jack was very civil and well behaved, and took care when on deck at night to look about him, to prevent a surprise, he was alive and well, when the ship, leaving the Indian Ocean, passed through the straits of Malacca, on her way to the China Seas.

The old seaman, Slocum, who had been knocked down by the captain for stating his ideas of duty, had taken a great fancy to Jack, and taught him many things he would not otherwise have learnt.

The first mate also gave him lessons in navigation, and Mr. Mole induced him to read with him in his leisure hours.

So it will be seen that Jack, through fear of his life, which he thought the captain would not hesitate to take if he offended him, was making very fair progress, and behaving very well.

After Wren’s loss, Sinclair, Jack and Harvey became friends, and Hunston and Maple were left to themselves.

Everyone was glad at reaching the Eastern Archipelago, for it was an indication that their voyage was drawing to a close.

Hunston who was profoundly ignorant on almost all points, was holding an argument with Sinclair one morning at mess about the position of Singapore, at which place the ship was to touch.

“I tell you,” said Hunston, “that Singapore is one of our settlements in the West Indies.”

Sinclair laughed.

“I’ll refer it to Harkaway,” said Sinclair, who came down in his shirt-sleeves to have his breakfast, for the heat was fearful.

“You’ve made two mistakes in one sentence,” replied Jack, “for Singapore is a free state, and can’t be called one of our settlements, exactly; and we are in the East, not the West Indies.”

“It doesn’t matter,” exclaimed Hunston, annoyed; “I thank goodness I don’t know much about these things.”

“Then you thank goodness for your ignorance,” said Jack laughing.

“Suppose I do; what then?”

“Oh, nothing much; only you’ve a great deal to be thankful for,” Jack retorted, with a gravity that made the others laugh still louder.

Hunston held his tongue, for he was no match for Jack when the latter began to chaff him.

At Singapore some cargo was delivered, and Mr. Blader, the naturalist, went on shore to see if he could purchase anything for his collection.

He came back just before the vessel started again, with a large box, which he had placed in his cabin.

There were holes in the top, as if it was intended to give air to some living thing.

Jack saw it come on board and his curiosity was strongly excited.

“Dick, what’s in that box of old Blader, do you think?” he asked, as the anchor was being weighed.

“Can’t guess. A hippopotamus perhaps,” replied Harvey.

“Hippopotamus my eye,” exclaimed Jack. “Will you help me to find out?”

“Like a bird.”

“When?”

“After the ‘uproar is over’ my pippin,” said Harvey, meaning when they were fairly under weigh.

CHAPTER VIII

WHAT WAS IN THE BOX

AS soon as they could get away from their duties, Jack and Harvey stole down stairs into the passengers’ cabin.

It was deserted.

By applying his eye to one of the holes in the box, Jack got a view of what was inside.

He sprang up with a cry.

“What is it?” asked Harvey.

“My eye!” exclaimed Jack; “I never saw such a thing in my life. It’s a snake as thick round as a man’s thigh.”

“Perhaps it’s stuffed.”

“You’re stuffed,” said Jack derisively. “What are the holes for if it isn’t alive?”

“What does old Blader want with a thing like that on board? I wonder the captain allows it.”

“The skipper, I expect, doesn’t know anything about it. Suppose we let it out. Won’t there be a dust up!”

“Oh, Jack!” said Harvey, lost in admiration of this brilliant idea.

The snake was a python of the largest size.

Fully fifteen feet long, and wide in proportion. It had been presented to the naturalist by a gentleman who had lately returned from a long journey to Cambodia, and it had been caught while gorged by the natives of Bankok.

Mr. Blader intended to drown it, by suspending the box in the sea by ropes, and then to put it in alcohol to preserve it; but as the ship sailed early, he had not had time yet to put his plan in execution.

The lid was fastened securely with a padlock, though it was easy to undo it by taking out one of the staples.

This Jack proceeded to do.

“I’ll go and tell Mole,” said Jack, “that someone wants to see him in the cabin. Won’t it be a lark?”

“Suppose the beast eats him,” suggested Harvey.

“He’s a fool if he does, for Mole’s so tough he’s sure to disagree with him.”

“It’ll be all up with Mole’s tea-garden.”

“Mind he doesn’t collar you, Dick,” said Jack, “the staple will be out directly.”

“I say, don’t funk a fellow into fits,” replied Harvey, getting further off. “I’ve read of those big snakes—pythons they call them—and they’re not poisonous. Their dodge is to fix their fangs in your leg, and then twist their coils round you, which they do as quickly as the lash of a whip twines round a post. Your bones crack, and it’s all U P with you in a half-a-jiffey.”

“There isn’t much of you, Dick,” said Jack, pausing a moment in wrenching out the staple with his pocket knife; “suppose you let him have you. It’ll be a nice whet to his appetite, like half-a-dozen of oysters before dinner.”

“Thank you,” answered Harvey, “you’re very kind. Show me the way first.”

“Next week,” said Jack, grinning.

“Won’t you?”

“Not much,” replied Jack; “I’m not tired of my life yet. His snakeship doesn’t gobble me up if I know it.”

“What’ll the captain say?”

“I’ll chance that.”

Suddenly the staple came out with a run, and Jack, who was pulling hard at it rolled over on his back.

Harvey made for the door, like a startled hare.

The snake, astonished at his unexpected freedom, raised his ugly head and glared savagely at Jack, who picked himself up and retreated to a safe distance.

“Morning, governor,” he said, nodding his head. “How do you find yourself?”

The python’s only reply to this was to uncoil himself and glide out of the box on to the floor.

Jack was astonished at his prodigious size; he did not think he was half so big or formidable, and was rather sorry he’d let him out.

“He’s a nice sort of customer to meet on a dark night,” he muttered.

Retreating to the deck, whither Harvey had retired before him, he looked round for his friend and found him perched upon the monkey-rail, leaning his back against the mizzen-rigging.

Mr. Mole was on deck, attired in a Chinese bagu, or loose blouse, a pair of canvas shoes and a large sun hat, which he had bought at Singapore, as being seasonable.

“Well, Jack,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, “now you can sing ‘I’m afloat’ once more.”

“I know that; I could sing the tune the old cow died on if I wanted to,” replied Jack. “I’m not in a singing humour. But I shouldn’t mind reading one of the Odes, if you’ve a Horace handy, sir.”

Jack knew he hadn’t, and would have to go down into the cabin for one.

“Certainly, my boy. I am always ready to instruct the mind of youth. Ingenuous youth, as we used to say at my esteemed friend, Mr. Crawcour’s.”

“Rather a change, sir, in going to China, and larruping niggers,” said Jack.

“I shall behave humanely to my labourers. Larruping, as you term it, is not a part of my programme.”

“Chain them up, sir,” Jack replied, thinking of the treatment he once received at Mr. Crawcour’s. Mr. Mole smiled, and said he would go for the Horace.

Harvey came down and exclaimed, “I see Mole’s gone.”

“Hold your row. He’ll come up quicker than he went if the snake doesn’t cop him,” rejoined Jack.

The two boys, breathless with impatience, awaited the result of Mr. Mole’s journey.

Presently there was a noise as of some one scampering up the companion-way, and Mr. Mole reached the top, uttering dismal cries.

“Oh! Lord help me! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! He made a snap at my canvas shoe! It’s awful,” exclaimed the schoolmaster.

Captain Cuttle and Mr Blader were walking together, and they came to Mr. Mole to inquire the cause of his fright.

“What’s the shindy?” asked the captain, in his blunt way; “anyone would think you’d seen Old Nick.”

“Worse, sir; worse, a thousand times,” answered Mr. Mole.

“What’s worse? the ghost of your grandmother?”

Mr. Mole’s knees shook and knocked together, while he was obliged to lean upon the naturalist for support.

“There’s a serpent in the cabin,” he muttered, “as big as a horse, and as wide round as a young donkey. Oh, Lord! It made a dive at my canvas shoe, as if it was going to begin to eat me, legs first.”

“A serpent on board my ship? I never heard of such a thing. That’s a sort of merchandise I didn’t bargain for,” said Captain Cuttle. “You must be dreaming. It’s the brandy-and-water you’ve had. Delirium tremens often makes men feel snakes in their boots, and you said he was at your canvas shoe.”

“Why, it must be my python,” remarked Mr. Blader, alarmed.

“Your python!” said the captain, “are you going to see snakes, too?”

“It’s a fact. I had an enormous snake given me yesterday,” answered the naturalist, “and brought him on board, intending to preserve him as a unique specimen.”

“I wish you’d have told me,” Captain Cuttle said, with a look of annoyance. “These reptiles are not easy to kill.”

“How he got loose puzzles me, but I suppose his huge strength enabled him to force the staple. It is really very thoughtless of me, and I am very sorry Mr. Mole should have been so much alarmed.”

Dick Harvey and Jack overheard this conversation with much glee.

“It was touch and go with Mole,” whispered Harvey.

“Yes—and blow me tight,” replied Jack, in the same tone, “if they won’t have all their work cut out for them to kill him.”

The captain reflected for a moment, and came to the conclusion that something ought to be done to get rid of the snake.

“It won’t do to let the critter have the run of the ship,” he said. “Here, you Harkaway, go to the carpenter, and get a hatchet.”

“Right, sir,” said Jack, running off for that purpose.

“I believe,” remarked Mr. Blader, “that you may fire at a snake, and put a ball in his body without doing him much harm. What is necessary is to break his back, or cut him in half.”

“Exactly—and that’s what you’d better do,” said Captain Cuttle.

“I!” cried the naturalist, aghast.

“Yes—the boy will be here with a hatchet for you directly. It’s your snake, you were responsible for his coming on board, and you’ve got to kill him.”

“Suppose I decline the honour,” observed Mr. Blader, who did not seem to like the task assigned him at all.

Jack now arrived with the axe, and said, as he handed it to Mr. Mole—

“Go in and win, sir. St. George and the Dragon for ever. You can do it, sir.”

“My dear young friend, I will have nothing to do with reptiles,” answered Mr. Mole, declining to take the axe. “Rather than encounter the dreadful eyes of that awful monster again, I would be—a—be keelhauled.”

“It won’t harm you, sir. He’s as tame as a kitten,” continued Jack.

“Look here, my lad,” exclaimed the captain with a malicious look. “You’re very fast in giving other people advice. If the thing is to be done as easily as you say, why don’t you do it?”

“I shouldn’t mind,” replied Jack, speaking almost before he thought of the effect of his words.

“That’s right—take the axe and go down into the cabin—kill that snake, and then we shall know what sort of stuff you’re made of.”

Jack hesitated and hung back.

The terrible risk he would run in an encounter of this kind, flashed across his mind, and he was more than half inclined to back out of it.

The mocking laughter of the captain rang in his ear.

“Ha! ha! You’re all smoke and no fire,” he cried, in derision. “Go about your business, my lad, and another time don’t try and get credit for that courage which you do not possess.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it,” replied Jack, growing pale. “Give me the axe, sir. I’ll have a shy at him, if he were as big as the mainmast. If he should swallow me, I suppose you’ll come down and rip him up to let me out.”

The captain laughed, and handed Jack the axe, which he took with a hand that trembled a little.

Removing his jacket, he stood in his shirt-sleeves, which he tucked up, and shaking hands with Harvey, said, in a low tone—

“Good-bye, Dick. It’s odds on the worm chawing me up. I wonder how it will feel inside.”

Harvey could not help wondering at the spirits his friend possessed at such a moment, but though Jack indulged in chaff, he was in reality in a dreadful fright.

However, the captain, who was his enemy, had dared him to the encounter, and he resolved to do the best he could.

The “worm,” as he playfully called the python, was no contemptible antagonist for a boy of his age, and the odds were against him as he had truly said.

Mr. Blader and Mr. Mole both remonstrated with the captain, about letting Jack embark in such an enterprise.

“Isn’t it cowardly to let a boy do such a thing with the almost certainty of being killed,” said Mr. Blader, “when there are men about?”

“You’re welcome to go and do it yourself as I said before,” said the captain. “One thing I know, and that is, I shan’t.”

This retort compelled Mr. Blader to be silent.

“If it wasn’t for my tea-garden and my prospects, and a certain rheumatic affection in my legs, which has just come on,” said Mr. Mole, “I would go and despatch the serpent myself.”

Captain Cuttle turned contemptuously from them.

“Ready, sir,” said Jack, preparing to descend the ladder.

“Wish you luck, lad,” replied the captain, who could not withhold his admiration of Jack’s courage.

The men, learning what was going to take place, all crowded aft, and some of them ventured so far as to go down the companion, and look in at the cabin door.

It was a moment of unparalleled anxiety and expectation.

CHAPTER IX

THE STORM

When Jack got into the cabin the python was gliding about the carpet and seemed to have the appearance of being astonished at finding himself where he was.

Directly he saw Jack he recognised an enemy, and coiled himself up, raising his head high out of the midst of his huge coil.

His red jaws were wide open, and his eyes shone like live coals.

For an instant Jack felt his blood freeze in his veins, and it is not to be wondered at, considering that he had undertaken a task at which men presumably brave, held back, and were afraid.

As a fact, the bravest men are always ready to own to a sensation of fear. It is their will that carries them through.

The snake realised, as it were, instinctively, that one of the two must die on that spot.

Jack approached him, and the python darted at his foot, hoping to fasten his fangs in his boot. Now Jack could understand what Mr. Mole had meant by saying that it made a dive at his canvas shoe.

“Good-morning!” said Jack, under his breath, as he started back with the agility of a chamois-hunter, “you didn’t do it that time, my beauty; and you are a beauty, after a fashion. I hope you’ll have a pain in your stomach if you swallow me, for then I shall know what’s going on outside.”

Again the snake darted at him and again he stepped back.

Noticing that it was necessary for the creature to recoil after each spring Jack ran in, just as he had sprung, and dealt him a blow with the axe.

Instead of falling across the snake and breaking its back, it only cut into the side, making a deep incision, from which the dark blood welled up.

The springing and dodging continued with more rapidity than before, and Jack jumped up and down with the activity of a harlequin, and the perspiration rolled down him.

“It’s hot work,” he thought, “I’ve heard of a bear dancing on hot plates, but I doubt if it’s worse than this. By Jove! that was a shave. Look out, old fellow. Now I’ve got you.”

The python’s jaws came within an inch of his foot, but Jack perceived his advantage. It was now or never, and he flung himself upon the snake, dealing him a cut about fifteen inches behind his head, which severed it from the body, except about an inch on the other side.

As he coiled up this part fell over, and in his dying agony he fastened his teeth in his own coils.

“That’s the finisher,” Jack cried in triumph as he dealt him another blow nearer the head, which rolled on the floor.

Drawing his knife, he stuck it into the brain, and armed with the ghastly trophy, ran out of the cabin.

The men made way for him, and a hearty cheer broke out. Such a cheer as only Englishmen, in their admiration of manly courage, can give.

Captain Cuttle patted him on the back, and said—

“You’re a fine fellow, my boy, and an honour to the ship’s company.”

Jack tried to speak, but he could not.

The reaction came, and sitting down on a bale of goods, he burst into tears, letting the head fall at his feet.

No one but himself knew what he had suffered in the few minutes that were occupied in his fight with the python.

He seemed to have lived a lifetime.

Some men were set to work to swab up the blood, and throw the loathsome reptile’s body overboard.

The captain took Jack into his own cabin and gave him some cordial out of a case bottle.

“Thank you, sir,” said Jack as he drank the dram.

“You’re a lad after my own heart,” said Captain Cuttle filling the glass a second time, and adding—“Drink it up. It won’t hurt you. It will steady your nerves after what you’ve gone through. You and I must be friends, so don’t make any more allusions to what that foolish and unfortunate fellow Wren told you. I have watched you narrowly lately, and I see you can keep your tongue quiet. I’m not the man to stand falsehoods being spread about me, and if you are discreet, we shall pull together. If not— well, I need not say any more to a boy of your intelligence.”

He gave Jack his hand, and the lad shuddered as he took it, for he felt sure that Captain Cuttle knew more about Wren’s death than he chose to say.

However, he made a virtue of necessity, and disguising his real feelings, left the cabin high in his captain’s favour.

This adventure made Jack quite a hero. He had all along been a favourite with the crew; now they looked up to him with admiring eyes as well as looks of affection.

This is always the reward paid by men to true courage.

Among those who congratulated him was Harvey.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” said Harvey, “if the owner had given me the ship and its cargo. How did you feel while you were about it?”

“Oh, jolly enough,” replied Jack, “when I saw what the beggar’s tactics were, I knew I was bound to have him.”

“Everybody admired your pluck.”

“Perhaps we shall have worse than that to go through before we get home,” replied Jack, who did not like being praised.

He spoke at random, but there was more truth in the casual remark, as they were soon to find out, than either he or Harvey imagined.

For many a night afterwards Jack woke up in his sleep with a start, fancying he saw a snake coiling round him.

The “Fairy” went on her course up the China Sea, and at last encountered very rough weather.

A storm arose and came upon her suddenly.

She rolled about for some hours, and one of her masts went overboard—a terrific sea swept her deck, carrying over the side two seamen, and disabling her rudder, and washing away the binnacle. It was night.

With all Captain Cuttle’s faults, and they were not a few, as we have seen, he was a good sailor.

The storms, in those latitudes are, however, so sudden and so fierce, that even a thorough seaman cannot at all times prevent disasters.

About midnight a leak was reported.

The “Fairy” was drifting about on the waves, tossed hither and thither—rudderless and helpless!

Captain Cuttle was out of his reckoning.

By a reference to the chart he imagined that at the time the storm came on they were in about 4 deg. N. latitude, by 109 deg. W. longitude.

This would place them between two groups of islands in the Indian Archipelago.

These were the Anambas and the Natuna isles.

The latter islands were about 120 geographical miles from Sarawak, in Borneo, and about 200 miles from Singapore.

Reports stated that the natives of these islands were wild and savage.

The sailors spun yams about head hunters or cannibals, and the boys listened with rapt attention.

It was probable that the ship would be wrecked, or indeed, that she might founder and go down in mid-ocean.

When the captain realized the desperate condition of his vessel, he strained every nerve to save her.

Relays of hands were kept all night at the pumps, and in the morning the dismasted ship rode, waterlogged, the sport of the wind, which blew steadily towards the Natunas.

Jack and Harvey worked like slaves.

The only skulkers were Hunston and Maple, who, thoroughly cowed and frightened, did not dare to speak a word.

Captain Cuttle, however, made them take their turn at the pumps, and saw that they did their fair share of work.

The approach of morning was a relief, for the storm had subsided somewhat.

Still the tempest had done damage which was irreparable.

A complete wreck—the once buoyant and beautiful ship “Fairy” was at the mercy of the wind and waves.

“Here’s a pretty kettle of fish,” said Jack to Harvey, as he went below to snatch a morsel of food, after being at work all night.

“What will become of us?” asked Harvey, dolefully.

“If we escape being food for fishes we shall make prime joints for the cannibals. There will be hot boiled Harvey, and cold roast Hunston, while jugged Maple will grace the festive board of the chief of the savages,” answered Jack.

“I wish,” said Hunston, “that if you must joke at such a time as this, you wouldn’t do it at my expense.”

“Why not, old cock?” asked Jack, dipping a weevilly biscuit in his tea.

“I don’t like it,” answered Hunston.

“Oh, if that’s all, you’d better do the other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Lump it,” answered Jack, carelessly adding to Maple, “Have a weevil?”

Maple shook his head, and Jack threw the little insect—which often enough will creep into ship’s biscuits—in his eye.”

“Oh!” said Maple, “you must be a beast to throw a weevil into a man’s eye.”

“Call yourself a man! That’s what you never were, and never will be,” said Jack. “Wait till we land among the savages; you shall be my chief slave.”

“Yours!” said Maple. “Perhaps you’ll be one yourself.”

“No, I shan’t. I shall make love to the king’s daughter.”

“Suppose she likes me best,” said Maple, extracting the weevil from his eye, and blinking over it like an old owl in an ivy bush.

“What!” said Jack, derisively, “a woman [alt: worm] like you. That’s coming it too strong. I tell you I shall marry the king’s daughter, and you shall be my chief slave, while, I’ll have Hunston artistically tattooed in various parts of his ugly body every morning before breakfast, for my amusement.”

A dark form appeared in the doorway.

It was Captain Cuttle.

“No joking if you please, my lads,” he said; “it’s past a joke now. The water’s gaining on us. Our only chance, as we can’t stop the leak, is to drift to shore. Who’ll go aloft and keep a lookout for the land?”

“I will, sir,” replied Jack.

The captain gave him a telescope, and he went aloft with alacrity, and taking his bearings, kept a sharp lookout.

These words, the first gloomy ones that the captain had given utterance to, struck a chill to all.

In a few hours their position had become desperate.

CHAPTER X

LAND AHEAD

AT the masthead, Jack amused himself with whistling the tune of the “King of the Cannibal Islands.”

He rather liked the idea of being wrecked. There was novelty in it, and it would be something to talk about when he reached home again, if ever he did.

Still he was as anxious as any of the ship’s company to sight land, and strained his eyes, with the aid of the glass, to distinguish the slightest speck.

Hours passed and he saw nothing.

Another night like that of the last would settle the fate of the “Fairy.”

Already the crew were worn out with the fatigue of pumping, and want of sleep.

To set them an example, Captain Cuttle had himself taken a turn with the men and contributed his share to their united exertions.

It was weary work for Jack to look out hour after hour upon that dreary expanse of water.

On all sides of him was the pathless sea, stretching as far as the eye could reach, like a vast prairie, undulating and objectless.

Presently he saw a speck, which turned out to be a bird, which he regarded to be a good sign, and a herald of the approach of land.

When Noah sent the dove out of the ark and it returned, having no place to set its foot, he knew that no land was near.

Jack pulled a biscuit out of his pocket and munched it, wondering what little Emily would say if she saw him in his present position.

All at once he beheld something through the glass that looked like a dark cloud.

In time it grew more distinct, and he clearly defined a ridge of rocks.

Joyfully he sang out “Land ahead!” and the cry was taken up by all, who saw in the announcement a gleam of hope.

Captain Cuttle and the first mate, Mr. Thompson, immediately reconnoitred through their glasses, and their practised eyes confirmed Jack’s declaration.

They conferred together.

“I fear there is no chance of saving the ship,” said Captain Cuttle.

“I can see none, sir,” replied the mate. “She is hopelessly waterlogged, and we can’t expect to keep her afloat any length of time, pump as hard as we may. What shore, sir, do you reckon we are nearing?”

“Some of the islands west of Sarawak. I don’t believe they are named on the map. There is a group called the Natunas; I should think we are nearing one of them,” answered the captain.

“It’s a bad job; but after all our lives are the first care. We have done our duty to the owner. Some would have abandoned the ship this morning and taken to the boats.”

“We may save some of the cargo, if we run upon a reef.”

“I doubt it, sir. If we strike we shall go to pieces, and it will be the devil take the hindmost,” replied Thompson.

“How is the glass?”

“Rising, sir.”

“More wind, eh?”

“I can feel it coming,” answered the mate.

Captain Cuttle’s face already clouded with anxiety, assumed a deeper hue still of dark care.

“Well,” he said; “keep the hands at it. We are in the hands of Heaven. If the worst comes to the worst, we must take to the boats, that’s all about it. To stay on board, and be driven on a lee-bound shore if the wind rises again will be worse than madness.”

“Sheer suicide, sir,” said Thompson.

The effect of the storm upon Mr. Mole was very marked. He made friends with the steward and procured more than one bottle of brandy, which he drank to keep his spirits up.

With an unsteady gait he entered the midshipmen’s mess.

“My dear boys,” he said, “this is a time of peril, and I trust that you are all prepared to do your duty—for what says the song upon this point, my dear boys ? It says—bother me if I know what it does say. That’s funny, isn’t it?”

And Mr. Mole sat down on a locker, and began to laugh.

“I say, Jack,” whispered Harvey, “Mole’s a little bit on.”

“On!” replied Jack; “I should say he was a good bit gone—half-seas over.”

“We can’t offer you a glass of grog, sir, for we’ve had none served out to our mess to-day,” continued Harvey aloud.

“Grog, my dear boys, what is grog?” asked Mr. Mole, with a vacant stare.

“Generally rum and water on board ship,” replied Jack. “I like it two parts rum and one water—none of your three water grog for me.”

“I was about to observe, Harkaway, when you interrupted me with your usual impulsiveness, that grog is a vanity in which I never indulge; a glass of sherry and a biscuit satisfy my moderate desires. What says the song about biscuits?”

“I really don’t know, sir,” replied Jack.

“No more do I; fac’ is my mem’ry is not so perfect as I could wish. Time was when I had a flute and could calm the savage breast with melody.”

“I’ve got a concertina,” said Harvey.

“Keep it,” answered Mr. Mole, waving his hand with dignity. “At such a time as this concertinas are sinful. We are on the eve of a shipwreck—savages loom in the distance—all hands are pumping. I myself would have taken a turn at the pumps, if—if—the rheumatism in my lower limbs had not suddenly attacked me.”

“What says the song to rheumatism, sir?” asked Jack.

“My dear boy, I am unaware that any song has been written upon so dismal a subject. If, however, I am mistaken, I shall be glad to sit corrected,” said Mr. Mole. “Consider, however, the perils we have gone though, how sublimely the waves rolled, and——”

“How beautifully they smashed the rudder and swept away the binnacle,” put in Jack.

Mr. Mole smiled, and took from his pocket a big bottle, which he raised to his lips. It was labelled “brandy.”

“Fair dues, sir,” replied Jack.

“What do you mean by that phrase? It is foreign to my comprehension,” replied Mr. Mole.

“Give us a drink, that’s all, sir. I’ve been on the lookout, and want a drop of something.”

“Take it; take it all. It’s nothing but vanity,” answered Mr. Mole, handing him the bottle. “Had it not been at the urgent solicitation of the steward, who is a good and likewise a humane man, I should not have provided myself with this cordial. Take, it. Harkaway, but—and this I must impress upon you—drink not too deep; remember that your humble servant, Isaac Mole, has spirits to keep up as well as you, and this is a trying time.”

“So it is, sir,” said Jack, taking a pull and handing the bottle to Harvey, with, “Take a swig, Dick?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” replied Harvey adding, as he looked at Mr. Mole, “here’s luck, sir.”

“Luck, my dear boy! What is luck?—what says the song to luck?” answered Mr. Mole. “Here, hand back that bottle, I see the form of Hunston in the doorway, and truly he is an imbiber; a bibber as the Scripture hath it, a bibber of wine, and, truth to tell, anything else he can lay his hands on. I demand back my bottle. Thank you; truly the flesh is weak.”

A long gurgle followed this remark, and Mr. Mole stretched himself at full length on the locker.

The bottle presently fell from his hand empty, and the worthy possessor of a tea-garden, in China, left him by the death of his uncle, snored.

Hunston only put his head in at the cabin door.

“Been at it again? Sorry for his tea-garden he speaks of,” he exclaimed, pointing to Mr. Mole.

“If you want to know, you can ask him,” said Jack.

“All right. I only came to tell you that the position of the ship is considered so desperate that orders have been given to man the boats.”

“Go on,” said Jack, “you’re chaffing.”

“Perhaps I am, and perhaps I’m not,” answered Hunston.

“Well, it isn’t a thing to chaff about.”

“Did I say it was?”

Maple was just behind Hunston, and he said in a whisper—

“What do you want to tell them anything about it for?”

“They’d be drowned if——”

“Would that be any loss? didn’t he cheek you just now as he always does?” interrupted Maple, who was of the same vindictive and sneaking disposition as when he was at Mr. Crawcour’s.

“I don’t care twopence for either of them,” replied Hunston, “you know that as well as I do.”

“Let them alone then.”

Jack began to think that there might be something in what Hunston had said.

“Look here, old man, if I’m wanted on deck,” he cried, “I’ll come, but I haven’t had a wink of sleep all night. I’ve been turn on and turn off hard at the pumps for twelve hours, and I’m very tired. I want to have a pitch somewhere for an hour or two.”

“Have it then,” said Hunston.

“No. Were you in earnest or not about the boats being manned?”

Hunston hesitated.

“Say No,” whispered Maple, “and if they stop here, they’ll be left on board. You know Captain Cuttle told us to go and get all hands up from below. Do as I tell you. What do you care for Harkaway? He has no power over you, has he?”

“Not he,” replied Hunston, adding in a louder tone, “it was only my humbug. The ship’s right enough.”

“Is it!” said Jack; “then don’t you joke like that again, or I’ll lick you with a rope’s end, Mr. Hunston; I don’t like such chaff. We may all be in Heaven in a few hours’ time, for what you know.”

“You won’t be there.” said Maple, peeping over Hunston’s shoulders.

“You mean I shan’t meet you there,” cried Jack, shying a biscuit at Maple, which hit him on the ear, and made it tingle till he howled again.

Hunston and Maple went away, and shut the door of the cabin.

The key was on the outside, and it caught Maple’s attention.

“Lock them in,” he exclaimed.

“What?” said Hunston.

“Keep them in the cabin, and then we shall be sure of not being worried any more by them, because they’ll go down with the ship. You heard the captain say she could not live much longer in this sea. The wind is as bad as it was last night, and threatens to get worse.”

Hunston caught at the idea, and turned the key in the lock as noiselessly as possible.

What Maple had stated was the truth.

Captain Cuttle and Mr. Thompson, the first mate, had determined to abandon the ship.

She was fully covered by insurance, and rather than risk being wrecked on the unknown—to them—shores of the Natuna Islands, and cast amongst the unhospitable and savage natives, they decided to take to the boats.

The boats were launched with great difficulty, as the sea ran very high, and with wind and tide there was danger of their being stove in.

Hunston and Maple made haste to get up the companion.

They had not ascended more than five steps before the vessel shipped a heavy sea, which ran in a volume down the hatch, and, striking the boys, hurled them backwards.

Stunned and bleeding, they lay on the deck deprived of sense or motion.

CHAPTER XI

WRECKED

THE first boat, containing the captain and several of the crew, had been successfully launched, and cleared the ship.

But the second was not so fortunate.

In it were the first and second mate and the remainder of the crew.

A wave dashed it against the side of the ship. It heeled over, filled, and turned bottom up.

Dreadful cries ascended to Heaven. Wretched men struggled for a brief space in the water, and then all was still.

Hearing the cries, Jack looked out of the porthole and saw his shipmates drowning.

“Dick!” he cried, in alarm, “they have taken to the boats. The ship’s launch is stove in. Hunston wasn’t chaffing after all.”

He rushed to the door of the cabin only to find it fastened, and made frantic efforts to open it.

“We’re fastened in,” he cried. “Hunston must have done this.”

Pale with rage and fear, he increased his endeavours to force a way out, which he at last succeeded in doing, by the help of his thick boots.

He literally kicked his way out.

Hunston and Maple were just recovering their senses.

Shaking the former, Jack said, “What is the meaning of this?”

With a vacant stare Hunston looked sullenly at him, but made no answer.

Rushing on deck, Jack saw the boat in which the captain was gradually growing smaller as distance separated it from the doomed ship.

He shouted himself hoarse, and made signals, but without avail. His shipmates could not have come back to his rescue if they had been desirous of doing so.

At such a time all the selfishness in a man’s nature comes to the surface.

The ship was deserted.

With a tremor of the heart Jack realised the fact, and he gazed dismally at the pieces of the broken boat, which were tossing about in wanton sport by the wild waves.

Hunston and Maple were caught in their own trap.

Sent below to bring up any who might be unaware of Captain Cuttle’s intention to abandon the ship, they had endeavoured to seal the fate of Jack, Harvey and Mr. Mole.

The wave which knocked them insensible at the foot of the companion-ladder was proper retribution, and now they were destined to share those dangers to which they would have condemned their messmates.

Harvey, who had followed Jack, stood by his side sharing his fears and blank looks.

Cast away, as it were, in the middle of an almost unknown sea, in a waterlogged vessel, which even then was a wreck, their prospect was indeed miserable.

“Go down below, Dick, and shy a bucket of water over Mole,” said Jack, “and bring him into the captain’s cabin. We must hold a council, and see what is to be done.”

Harvey obeyed orders with alacrity, and succeeded, after thoroughly dousing Mr. Mole, in rousing that gentleman to a sense of his position.

He was about to apply his lips again to the brandy bottle, but Harvey threw it on the floor and broke it.

“This is not a time for drinking, sir,” he exclaimed; “we are left to ourselves, and the ship is sinking.”

“Bless me! where is the captain?” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “I will go and remonstrate with him.”

He staggered into the captain’s cabin, where he saw Jack sitting at a table, Hunston and Maple were standing sheepishly before him.

“What is this I hear, Harkaway?” asked Mr. Mole.

“We five are the only souls on board this ship,” answered Jack; “and as someone must take the lead, I have made myself captain. If anyone refuses to obey my orders, I will shoot him with one of Captain Cuttle’s pistols.”

He placed one before him as he spoke.

“Very improper conduct of the captain to leave me here,” remarked Mr. Mole. “I am a passenger and the proprietor of a tea-garden in China. My life is too precious to be entrusted to a parcel of boys.”

“Mr. Mole,” replied Jack, sternly, “understand that in the face of our common danger——”

“Uncommon danger,” hazarded Mr. Mole.

“Our positions are reversed,” continued Jack, not heeding his interruption, “and please God, I will take successful command of this ship and run her ashore somewhere. The cargo is chiefly cotton goods, and I hope she will float. If you must behave like an old woman instead of a man go to bed.”

“Harkaway,” cried Mr. Mole, with drunken gravity, “this language to me is unseemly. It was I who taught your young ideas how to shoot. Talking of shooting reminds me that pistols are dangerous. Remove that pistol—you will not? Very well; a time will come. You called me an old woman—I shall not forget you. Mr. Crawcour shall hear of this.”

“He thinks he’s back again at Pomona House,” said Harvey.

“Danger,” continued the inebriated schoolmaster. “What do boys know about danger? The ships all ri’; I’m all ri’; but the winds blow. It pleases them and doesn’t hurt us. I shall go and turn in. Call me when the bell strikes for dinner.”

And he rolled away to his bunk with an unsteady gait.

“There’s not much help to be expected from him,” said Jack. “We are in the hands of Providence, and as we have sighted land, we may hope. As for you, Hunston, and you, Maple, you tried to murder Harvey and myself.”

“We——” began Hunston.

“Be silent!” cried Jack, authoritatively. “I am captain here. By leaving us in the ship when all the others were going, you were guilty of intent to murder; and when the time comes, you shall see that I can repay my debts with interest.”

“I am very sorry,” said Maple. “It was Hunston who did it.”

“You crammer,” replied Hunston, “you suggested it to me. I should have been off in the first boat with Sinclair, if it had not been for you; and to show you, Harkaway, that I wish to make amends, tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“You can do nothing,” answered Jack; “at the pumps your strength would not be of much use. My opinion is that the ship has taken in as much water as she will. The captain abandoned her too soon, but it’s all of a piece with his antecedents. All I want you and Maple to do is to clear out; get out of my sight, for I hate to look at you; only mind one thing, don’t play any more tricks, for if you do, by Heaven, I’ll shoot you!”

The boys slunk out of the cabin, and Jack was alone with Harvey.

“We’re in for it,” said the latter.

“So long as we can drift ashore, I don’t care,” remarked Jack, thoughtfully. “While there’s life there’s hope.”

“So there is.”

“I’m peckish. We must keep up our strength. Go to the steward’s cabin, and see what you can find. They killed some fowls yesterday.”

Harvey went away, and presently returned with a couple of cold roast fowls and the remains of a ham, of which they partook heartily, washing down the repast with some bottled ale.

“That’s the stuff, Dick,” said Jack. “I don’t believe in spirits when you’ve got to keep your wits about you. What’s the time?”

Harvey looked at the clock. It had stopped.

“I should guess it was about three,” he said.

“Then at the rate we are being driven by the tide, we shall strike about midnight—an awkward time, but there’s no help for it.”

“About those islands—are there not always coral reefs?”

“Nearly always.”

“Then we shall be some distance from the shore. Why not set Hunston and Maple to work, making a raft?” suggested Harvey.

“Not half a bad idea. If we can save some of the stores, and knock up a camp, we shall be all right, though we are rather out of the course of ships, and may look forward to a long captivity if we fall into the hands of the natives,” answered Jack.

“Are they cannibals?”

“Some of them are, and the Malays are terrible pirates. Still we needn’t funk. It’s better to be here than in the boat that went down—poor fellows. They are all gone to their account.”

“Mole will be ashamed of himself when he comes to,” remarked Harvey.

“So he ought, the beast,” Jack answered indignantly.

Jack was one of those who are eminently fitted to take the lead in anything and everything.

It has been well said, that some are born to command; others to obey.

The only man left on board, who ought to have been of use by his matured judgment and ripe experience, was incapacitated, by indulgence in drink; of all vices the most injurious and debasing.

The position of the boys was extremely critical.

Every wave that struck the ship threatened to knock her to pieces, and without boats, what help could there be for those on board, if she foundered in deep water.

Going on deck, Jack set Hunston and Maple to work, directing their efforts, and helping them occasionally.

Before night fell, a large serviceable raft was constructed, and they waited with impatience for what would happen next.

They made out the land distinctly now.

A strong current seemed to have set into the shore in which the ship was caught, for she moved with greater quickness, and in a straight line, instead of rolling about, first this way and then that, with every turn of the wind.

The land was low lying, and a heavy surf broke on the beach, and from the white clouds of spray that dashed into the air, about the distance of a mile and a half from the beach, they fancied there must be a ledge of rocks straight ahead of them.

“Sleep is out of the question,” said Jack, “we must keep on the lookout—to be ready to launch the raft, if she goes to pieces when she strikes.”

The moments passed anxiously.

Drenched with spray, and worn out for want of sleep, the boys looked ill and haggard.

In that hot region the air was warm, though not sultry, and they did not experience any of the evils which attend upon severe cold.

The current in which the ship was involved set in shoreward, and in the clear, beautiful moonlight, the boys could see her gradually nearing the line of surf.

So imminent grew the danger that Jack exclaimed—

“One of you go below and wake up Mr. Mole—bring him on deck, drunk or sober.”

Harvey set out to execute this mission.

Mr. Mole had turned in “all standing,” and when roughly shaken, jumped out of his bunk in a fright.

“What’s the matter? Is dinner ready?” he asked.

“You’ll have no dinner to-day, sir,” replied Harvey, “except what you can cadge anywhere.”

“Cadge,” repeated Mr. Mole, “that is not a word in my dictionary. Your tendency to slang, Harvey, will bring you to a bad end. If there’s no dinner, why rouse me from my sweet and refreshing slumber?”

“Because the ship is deserted, and we shall strike almost directly on the rocks.”

So emphatically and earnestly did Harvey speak that Mr. Mole began slowly to comprehend the position in which they were placed.

“If they have all gone, why did they leave me?” he inquired.

“You’d best ask them. I don’t know,” replied Harvey.

“Who is managing the ship?”

“Jack is, as well as he can, though she is not capable of much management. We’ve got a raft made, and that’s all we can do.”

“Where are the boats?”

“One is stove in, and the other is gone off with the captain and part of the crew.”

“The danger is pressing. I will come on deck and support you with my presence in this trying emergency,” said Mr. Mole.

Harvey did not care much for his presence, but was glad that he was sober enough to save him the trouble of carrying him up.

When they reached the deck the scene was a grand one.

The moon was rising high in the heavens, and the wind had somewhat subsided, though the ocean was in a state of perturbation.

Every wave broke splendidly over the rocks ahead, and a cloud of spray dashed high into the air.

Suddenly Jack cried out—

“Mind yourselves, it’s coming!”

And, in a few seconds, the ship trembled from stem to stern.

She had struck.

Fortunately the wave which carried her on to the coral reef had placed her in a high position, and though the waves broke over her in constant succession, she did not go to pieces.

The boys sheltered themselves as well they could, and Mr. Mole, after he had been twice taken off his legs, followed their example.

“Shall we launch the raft?” asked Harvey.

“Not till this sea is over,” answered Hunston. “I am an old sailor, you know, and if you take my advice, you will remain where you are. Stick to the ship as long as she will hold together.”

It was impossible to go below now, as each wave dashed into the hold and filled the ship. All the boys could do was to hang on with might and main and wait for a cessation in the war of the elements.

By morning they might hope for a calmer sea.

“This is painful,” said Mr. Mole, as a small quarter-cask rolled up against his legs, and he rubbed his shins.

“Hold tight, sir, or else you’ll be food for fishes,” cried Jack.

“It’s all very well, my young friend, to say, ‘Hold on,’ ” replied Mr. Mole, “when you have had your shins hurt and your arms are every now and then wrenched from their sockets.”

“That’s nothing,” answered Jack; “my shins were barked long ago, and I don’t know whether I have any arms or not.”

“Truly a draught of brandy would revive me. Oh!”

The latter exclamation was caused by a huge wave, which struck him in the face and filled his mouth with water.

“Won’t that do as well?” asked Jack, when the water had rolled off.

“It is nauseous; very much so. Brine is not exhilarating; far from it.”

“Look out, sir; there’s another coming!” replied Harvey, turning his back to the wave.

Mr. Mole was not so fortunate; he received it broadside on, and spluttered dreadfully.

“If this goes on I shall never get the salt out of my system,” he said. “Pickled pork will be nothing to me. If you love me, Harkaway, go below and get me a drink of something.”

“And be drowned in the attempt. Thank you,” answered Jack, “I’d rather not. Hang on till morning, and it will be all right.”

“Morning is far distant. I shall be pickled before then,” groaned Mr. Mole.

However, there was no help for it, and the boys had to “hang on,” as Jack phrased it, for dear life, while the waves at intervals dashed over the devoted ship.

CHAPTER XII

THE RAFT

IMPATIENTLY the boys waited for morning to dawn, and when it did, the scene which met their eyes presented a singular contrast to the horrors of the day before.

The sea was comparatively calm. No rain fell. A warm, glowing sun shone out in all the fierceness of tropical splendour.

It was found that the vessel, though waterlogged, was placed by the violence of the storm in a hollow basin in the reef.

Her store-rooms were free from water, and though their contents were somewhat damaged by the sea, there was reasonable expectation that a large quantity of provisions and stores would be available for their use.

When the storm abated and the dawn broke, Jack looked around him.

Mr. Mole had fallen asleep on the deck; so had Hunston and Maple; only Jack and Harvey remained awake.

“Nice fellows to help a lame dog over a stile, aren’t they?” said Jack sarcastically.

“What are we to do now?” asked Harvey.

“I’ll tell you, for I’ve been thinking all night. The storm is over, the ship is high if not dry, and she’ll live where she is till the next storm comes.”

“When will that be?”

“Who can say? In these beastly latitudes storms come on, of their own sweet will, at any time. The island we see before us looks as if it was deserted. All the better; there will be no niggers to eat us up.”

“Don’t,” said Harvey, with a shudder.

“I didn’t mean to funk you,” continued Jack, “but you can’t trust the inhabitants you find on those outlying islands in the China Sea. We must launch the raft, and take a lot of things on shore, and build a castle in which we can put our stores, because everything must be saved from the ship that is possible to carry away, and we have no time to lose. Another storm will finish the old ‘Fairy.’ ”

“I wonder where Captain Cuttle is,” remarked Harvey. “Perhaps he’s made some land.”

“He’d have been glad if he had remained on board if he could see us now.”

“I’m very glad he didn’t,” said Jack. “He is a selfish, dangerous, bad man. The way in which he left the ship showed that he cared for nobody but himself. We have got the island we see before us to ourselves.”

“If here are no niggers.”

“If the niggers, as you call them, don’t show themselves for a few days, I’ll make a castle which will enable us to defy any number of them, and we’ll call it Jack’s castle,” answered Jack.

“May I have a nap somewhere? I’m dead beat,” exclaimed Harvey, with another yawn, as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

“Not yet; dive into the cabin, and bring up what you can find. Something to eat and drink will put us both right—or, stop a bit. I’ll come with you.”

They went below together and found something to satisfy their hunger with, and lighting a fire, they made some tea, which was very refreshing.

“Now to work,” said Jack.

“Right you are,” replied Harvey. “I feel another man.”

“You’ll stick to me, Dick,” cried Jack, who looked at a pistol he had in his pocket.

“Never fear,” replied Harvey again.

“I’m captain now, and you are my lieutenant. I’m not going to stand any nonsense from anybody.”

“Give your orders,” said Harvey, laughing.

“Go and kick Mole, Hunston, and Maple in the ribs till you wake them.”

“Right.”

“I find the brains, and they’ll have to find arms. In other words, they’ll have to do the work.”

“I’ll lay into Mole first,” said Harvey, “and then I’ll let Hunston and his dirty sneak Maple have it.”

He went away grinning, as if he liked the idea of the task he had taken in hand.

A vigorous kick in the side roused Mr. Mole, who sprang to his feet, and looked wildly around him.

“Where are we?” he cried; “and what is the meaning of this outrage? Harvey, you kicked me; are you aware that you actually had the hardihood to kick, in the neighbourhood of the fifth rib, your late respected senior master and the proprietor of innumerable Hyson shrubs in a China tea-garden, near Canton.”

“Captain’s orders, sir,” replied Harvey.

“The captain! I thought all but ourselves had left the ship.”

Jack now made his appearance, and said—

“I have made myself the captain, Mr. Mole, and I shall act with the utmost severity to those who refuse to obey me.”

Hunston and Maple had been roused by Harvey, and stood sleepily surveying the scene, which was a lovely one.

While they had been slumbering, some magician seemed to have shaken his wand and the whole situation had been changed.

Wind had given place to a gentle breeze; huge waves were now ripplets. Black clouds gave way to a bright, sunlit sky, and inside the coral reef the water was calm as a millpond.

Mr. Mole was carried away by the situation.

“My dear boys,” he exclaimed, “we have been saved by a miracle from a watery grave, yet we do not know what dangers may confront us. You are singularly fortunate in having me to direct your efforts—with my mature judgment and ripe experience, you will find me a tower of strength, and——”

“I seems to me, Mr. Mole, that you do not know what you are saying; and as this is a time for acting, and not talking, you may oblige me by helping to launch the raft,” replied Jack. “Now then, Hunston, wake up. Lend a hand, Maple.”

“I want some breakfast,” replied Hunston.

“Happy thoughts!” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “The inner man begins to rumble, and thereby gives warning that there is a hollow space which wants filling up.”

“It will have to want,” answered Jack, “until the raft has been to the island and back; I’ll stand no nonsense. My orders must be obeyed.”

So determined was Jack’s manner that the raft was launched, and several things which it was considered would be of the first importance, were placed upon it.

“Now then,” cried Jack; steady all, away we go.”

As they were about to push off, they heard a whining noise.

“That’s the captain’s dog, Nero,” said Harvey. “He’s in the cabin. It’s a wonder he wasn’t drowned.”

“Go and cut him loose. A good watch-dog will be just the thing we want,” replied Jack.

Nero was a fine specimen of the black curly-haired retriever, and when Harvey cut the rope which fastened him, he rushed on deck, and springing on the raft, caressed the boys, who had always been kind to him, with every demonstration of affection.

After this, the raft was not long in reaching the shore, it being propelled by a light wind and the sail which Jack hoisted.

A small inlet or creek was espied, and up this the raft was pushed with a long pole, until a landing-place was reached.

Jack sprang ashore, and ticking the pole in the earth, cried—

“I take possession of this island in the name of our gracious Sovereign. Hurrah for the Queen!”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” cried everybody, except Mr. Mole, who had been overhauling the “luggage,” as he called what had been placed on the raft, and discovered a case of spirits, a bottle of which he was raising to his lips.

Jack saw this, and snatching the bottle from him, exclaimed: “At it again, are you ? Say ‘Hurrah for the Queen!’ ”

“God save the Queen!” cried Mr. Mole, adding, “Don’t be so violent, Harkaway. I am sure I’m as loyal as anybody, but after what we have gone through we must keep our spirits up.”

“When you’ve earned your rations you shall have them, not before,” replied Jack. “I shall call this Harkaway Island. Dick, light a fire, and give them something to eat and drink, while I go inland and explore a place for us to pitch our tent.”

Leaving his lieutenant to follow his instructions, Jack climbed up a sandhill and commenced his exploring expedition.

CHAPTER XIII

BUILDING JACK’S CASTLE

IF Jack had not been so anxious, his walk would have been a delightful one.

The island on which his lot had been cast was well wooded and the vegetation rank and luxuriant.

As he struck inland he came upon groves of tall trees, mixed with cocoa and betel nut palms.

It is scarcely possible to convey an idea of the rich grouping of the palms and shrubbery and festooning vines, as the sun shot into the abundant foliage, long horizontal pencils of golden light.

Coffee trees grew wild, and were covered with berries nearly ripe.

The sharp hiss of a snake, as it glided away in the long grass, warned him to be careful.

Before him, in the distance, loomed a mighty mountain, rising majestically from the earth.

Its high top, hundreds of feet above the level of the sea, was hidden in the early morning by horizontal clouds, which parted while he was gazing upon them, and let down a band of bright sunlight over its dark clefts.

The unbroken sweep of its sides, from its summit to the sea, was most majestic; but from narrow grooves that he perceived, Jack thought it was a volcano, and had been recently in a state of eruption.

He had not gone more than a quarter of a mile from the sea, along a level country, when he came to a slight hill.

Behind this was a clump of trees of a moderate height, and of a circular shape.

It immediately occurred to him that if those in the centre were cut down, and more trees planted, or stakes— which would grow in that fertile climate—stuck in between the spaces, an excellent wall for a castle would be made.

The hill hid the trees from the shore, so that smoke from a fire would be dissipated before it reached the summit of the eminence.

On the other side, or inland, a perfect forest of trees encircled a space of about thirty acres of rich land, covered with long grass and brushwood.

This land Jack saw would do to grow corn or potatoes, or, indeed, anything which he could rescue from the wreck.

So he determined to select this as his dwelling-place.

Whether the island was inhabited or not, or what animals infested it, he could not tell.

His first care was to make a house, into which he could take everything that he could rescue from the wreck.

Storms were so violent and so sudden in those regions that they might go to sleep at night and find the next morning that not a single vestige of the ill-fated “Fairy” remained.

Returning to the creek, where he had left his companions, he took them to look at the spot he had selected for a dwelling-place.

They all approved of it, and he set Hunston and Maple to work with an axe to clear the interior, leaving a circle of trees all round.

Mr. Mole dug holes, in which were placed the trees cut down, so as to fill up the gaps, and by nightful there was a thick fence, through which nothing could pass.

A small opening was left to serve as a door, and a large sail was spread over the top to keep out the rain and dew.

While this was being done, Jack and Harvey made several trips to the ship on the raft, and brought back a variety of articles, which they piled in a heap on the land.

They made their dinner on salt beef and biscuit, washing it down with some excellent water, which welled up from a spring near the castle, as they already called their future habitation.

For more than a fortnight they worked incessantly.

Planks brought from the ship divided the interior of the castle into rooms. Each one had a bedroom, and bedding brought from the ship supplied them with something to lay upon, and the covering they had been accustomed to.

The rooms were comfortably furnished with the ship’s furniture, and in one large room, which they termed the warehouse, all sorts of things were stored—guns, powder, shot, provisions, in short, all they could save from the wreck.

By tearing up the deck they made their partitions, and the doors of the cabins were easily fixed. Planks, placed slantingly against a central beam, made a capital roof, and they were able to defy the weather, while sails nailed all round the inside of the castle, kept out the wind from the chinks between the trees which made the outer wall.

The bedrooms ran round the castle, and the sitting-room was in the centre, being divided from the other room, or the warehouse, by long planks placed in the earth.

They had several casks of oil, and lamps in which to burn it as well as candles, biscuits, potted meats, salt beef, and other things saved from the ship—provisions to last them for at least six months.

They knew not what animals and birds the island could supply them with, as they had been too busy in building their castle to look about them.

At length it was finished, and very proud Jack was of it.

Hidden from the sea and protected from the wind in front by the hill we have mentioned, it was equally protected in the rear by the forest of trees.

The dog, Nero, was chained up close to the entrance, so that no one could approach without his giving notice.

When the ship had been ransacked of nearly everything that was worth having, another storm arose and shattered the wreck to pieces.

Jack, however, did not care for this. It was no longer a misfortune.

His companions had worked with a will, and recognised his leadership, being well satisfied with the result of his clever devices.

They had an excellent house to live in, with ample stores to last them for some months, and though on a desert island in a remote part of the uncivilised world, they had many of the comforts and luxuries of civilisation to console them in their enforced exile.

When the castle was finished, and they could cease from their labours, when the floor was planked over and the wind kept out by sails, which hung like tapestry on the walls, Jack determined to give a banquet, which he did in good style.

After dinner wine was put on the table, and he rose to make a speech.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “I have to thank you for your laudable exertions on behalf of our little commonwealth. We have now a house to live in, which is by no means contemptible. Our stores of provisions will last us for six months or thereabouts. Now, our next care will be to explore the island, and to dig up and plant the land which lies about our castle. We have a sack of corn, some barley, and potatoes.

“How long we shall be destined to live upon this island, or what our adventures may be, none of us can venture to say, but this I will assert, we have a great deal to be thankful for; and I trust that we shall live in harmony and be good friends. I know one thing, and that is, I mean to keep order in our little settlement, and without being a tyrant, I will be obeyed. Mr. Mole knows that nothing can be done without discipline.”

“Hear, hear!” from Mr. Mole.

Jack sat down, and Harvey got up, saying—

“I beg to propose the health of Jack Harkaway, our monarch. Jack the First, the king of Harkaway Island!”

The toast was drunk with apparent enthusiasm, for however much Hunston and Maple may have disliked him in their hearts, they did not think fit to give their opinion free vent at that time.

It was agreed that the next day they would explore the island.

Each of them was supplied with a gun and powder and shot, so as to be ready for any emergency.

CHAPTER XIV

MR. MOLE COMES TO GRIEF

MR. MOLE did not in any way attempt to thwart Jack, for he was afraid of him. Jack kept the key of the warehouse, and distributed the stores impartially; but when Mr. Mole and Hunston and Maple got together, they gave expression to their discontent.

“It’s true,” said Mr. Mole, “that we have a good house and that everything goes on well; but we have worked hard to get things together. Why should Harkaway keep the command? My age and my position entitle me to be the commander.”

“Of course,” replied Hunston. “If Harkaway’s vanity didn’t blind him, he would see that in a minute.”

“I vote,” said Maple, “that we take his gun some night, and make him our servant.”

“Don’t you know,” replied Hunston, “that he and Harvey never sleep at the same time? Either he is on guard or Harvey; it’s like fellows keeping watch on board ship.”

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Mole, “our time will come; we must not do anything in a hurry. If we were to make an attempt and fail, our position would be particularly unpleasant.”

“I’m not going to be his slave longer than I can help,” remarked Hunston.

They had been digging up the ground and planting potatoes for some hours, under a hot sun, which did not improve their temper. As Jack kept the key of the warehouse, they could get nothing to eat or drink without his permission, and were entirely in his power.

Jack and Harvey had gone out with their guns to explore the neighbourhood and bring home some fresh meat if any could be found.

Some thick clouds that had been gathering began to pour down a perfect flood of rain.

The drops were so large, and fell with such momentum, that it seemed like standing under a heavy shower-bath.

Lightning gleamed as it only does in tropical lands, and the thunder roared as if a park of artillery was at work.

The little party took refuge in the castle, and were presently joined by Jack and Harvey, who had shot several parrots and a small antelope; these were prepared for dinner, and with cocoanuts and mangoes, made an excellent repast.

“The island,” said Jack, “appears to be much bigger than I had any idea of. It is long and rather narrow. I think if we ascended the mountain, we could see about a couple of miles inland. We should get a good view with a glass.”

“Let’s go this afternoon,” exclaimed Hunston. “I’m tired of planting ’taters.”

“Very well. Maple shall stop at home and guard the castle and look out for tigers, for Harvey declares he saw one in a bit of jungle,” replied Jack.

“That’s pleasant,” answered Hunston. “Did you see any niggers?”

“Not the slightest, and I should fancy that the island is uninhabited.”

“I propose,” remarked Mr. Mole, “that I should build a little hut on the top of the hill, near our house, erect a flagstaff, and spend a portion of each day on the lookout with a telescope; because I have no wish to pass the remainder of my valuable existence on this island, and if I should attract the attention of a passing ship, we should all be taken off.”

“I have no objection to that,” replied Jack.

The idea was considered so good, that they postponed their exploring expedition, and that very day set to work and erected Mr. Mole’s observatory.

An excellent view of the ocean was secured from the hill, and the Union Jack waved gaily in the breeze from the summit of the flagstaff.

“I hope it won’t attract the attention of the Malay pirates, if ever they get into these regions,” remarked Hunston.

Mr. Mole was charmed with his device, and passed hours in the box looking through a telescope, which he had placed on a stand.

Everything soon got into good working order. Mr. Mole was the signalman, and his duty consisted in keeping lookout. Harvey and Jack looked after the castle, and went out shooting. Maple was the servant and did all the drudgery; while Hunston had the management of the farm, and sowed the crops.

As we have said, there was a good deal of lurking discontent at Jack’s high-handed manner, but as yet it had not shown itself in any marked degree.

Choosing a very fine day, an exploring expedition was formed to ascend the mountain, which had all the appearance of an extinct volcano.

Jack, Harvey, Hunston, and Mr. Mole formed the party, Maple remaining behind to wash the plates and dishes saved from the wreck, and cook the dinner.

Several hours were occupied in ascending the sides of the mountain, but a splendid view was attained when the summit was reached.

The land extended as far as the eye could reach, and seemed rather to be part of some large continent, than the little island they had imagined it to be.

A hollow cone, resembling the mouth of a huge well, enabled Mr. Mole to speak with certainty about the origin of the mountain.

Standing upon the edge of the extinct crater, and pointing with a bamboo to the black and yawning gulf, he exclaimed—

“My dear boys, we should never neglect an opportunity of imparting useful knowledge. This is a volcanic-mountain. It may have been silent for centuries, and it may break out again in five minutes.”

The boys started back a little at this declaration.

“Yes,” continued Mr. Mole, waving his arm grandly, “who can tell? Amidst the crash of empires and the fall of worlds what is the silence of one volcanic mountain? In these dark and murky depths was once a fountain of smoke and flame. The shaft may descend miles into the bosom of the earth. Woe to the unlucky wretch who tumbled down it!”

Suddenly there was a slight noise, as if the lava crust on which the speaker was standing, was giving way.

Mr. Mole had vanished.

Two hands were seen for a moment clutching at the treacherous surface, there was a dismal yell, and the late senior master of Pomona House academy for young gentlemen had, with as little fuss as possible under the circumstances, glided down the crater.

“Good-bye,” cried Harvey.

“Why, he’s gone!” exclaimed Hunston. “He might have said he was going.”

“It’s nothing to laugh at,” remarked Jack. “I don’t suppose we shall see him again till the next eruption.”

“How about the tea-garden?”

“Hunston,” said Jack, in a tone of mild remonstrance, “you’re an unfeeling beast. Here we are, on a desert island, like orphan children, and yet you laugh.”

“Who could help laughing? It’s so comical,” replied Hunston.

“If you’re not serious I’ll chuck you after him,” said Jack, making a threatening gesture.

Hunston retreated to a safe distance.

“Can’t we do something for him?” asked Harvey.

“ ’Fraid not,” replied Jack. “It’s dangerous to go near. Poor old Mole!”

It seemed as if Mr. Mole had disappeared for ever from the scene, as the depth of the hole down which he had fallen might be very great.

His only chance was to alight on some inequality in the sides. It was useless to try to help him, and the boys sorrowfully wended their way homewards, never expecting to see him again.

The loss of one of their number saddened them.

CHAPTER XV

THE BURNING MOUNTAIN

THE accident which had happened to Mr. Mole was of so sudden a nature that the boys could not actually believe for a time that one of their party had been snatched from them by a mysterious and awful death.

It seemed but a moment ago that he was talking to them, and explaining the nature of the extinct volcano that had engulfed him.

He had probably sunk deep down into the bowels of the earth, losing his life in the thick vapours which hovered about the shaft, if he was not dashed to pieces in his descent.

Even Hunston grew grave when the serious side of the matter overcame the laughable one.

“I didn’t mean anything,” he said; “I’m as sorry for Mole as you are, though he wasn’t much good, and he’d never given me any cause to like him.”

“Never say anything bad of the dead. Let him rest. We don’t know whose turn it may be next,” said Jack.

“You’re right there,” remarked Hunston. “In these countries you may put your foot on what seems to be a stick, and get bitten by a snake, or a tiger may have a go in at you for looking at him too closely, or the niggers may take a liking to your head. Hullo! hold up.”

They had reached the level ground again, and this exclamation was occasioned by a sudden movement of the earth, causing the boys to stumble.

The next minute there began a low heavy rumbling, deep down in the earth.

It was not a roar, but such a rattling or quick succession of reports as is made when a number of heavily-laden coaches are driven rapidly down a steep street paved with round cobble stones.

The following minute it seemed as if some invisible giant had seized the boys and thrown them forward, and then pulled them back with the greatest violence.

“Lie down! lie down!” shouted Jack. “It is an earthquake, and a stinger, too.”

“You needn’t say ‘lie down’ when a fellow can’t keep his legs,” replied Hunston, who was one of those boys who will have their say, even when death and danger are staring them in the face.

For a brief space the boys lay perfectly still, rather expecting that the earth might open and swallow them up.

The first shock, however, was not followed by another.

Jack computed that the time which elapsed between hearing the rumbling noise and the feeling of the shock was about five seconds.

It was the time of year when the monsoon prevailed, and the wind blows refreshingly day and night.

But after this earthquake there was not the slightest perceptible motion of the air.

The tree-toads stopped their steady piping, and the insects all ceased their shrill music.

“I say,” cried Hunston, looking up.

“What?” asked Jack, shivering.

“Old Mole’s been waking them up down below, hasn’t he? Perhaps they’ve been waiting for him down there, and think it the cheese to give him a chyaike on his arrival.”

“How can you joke at such a time as this?” asked Jack.

“Doesn’t it look like it?” replied Hunston, in an argumentative tone. “Here is old Mole gone and fallen down the crater of a volcano. Nobody asked him to. He did it all of his own free will, and directly afterwards there’s this shindy—it’s cause and effect.”

No one answered him. Jack and Harvey were too much upset at this perturbation of nature to care for chaffing.

Everything was so absolutely quiet that it seemed as if all nature was waiting in dread anticipation of some coming catastrophe.

Such an unnatural stillness was certainly more painful than the howling of the most violent tempest, or the roar of the heaviest thunder.

The utter helplessness which one feels at such a time, when even the solid earth groans and trembles beneath one’s feet, makes the solitude most keenly painful.

It was half-an-hour—and that half-hour seemed an age—before the wind began to blow, or before at least the animals and insects resumed their cries and humming.

Jack had often wished to see an earthquake, but after he had witnessed one there was something in the very sound of the word which made him shudder.

The boys, finding the earthquake was over, went back to their castle, and ate the dinner which Maple had provided for them.

Although they did not care for Mr. Mole, they could not help feeling his loss; and Jack brought some wine out of the warehouse after dinner to cheer them up a little.

It seemed to grow dark sooner than usual that evening.

Maple, who had gone outside for some purpose, rushed in again, saying—

“The mountain’s on fire!”

“What does he mean?” asked Jack.

“I thought the earthquake meant more than we saw at first,” answered Hunston. “If the mountain’s on fire, as Maple says, then there must be an eruption. Old Mole can’t let us alone.”

“I wish you’d let him alone. You’ve no respect for anyone, dead or alive,” exclaimed Jack, angrily.

“I haven’t much for you,” growled Hunston.

Jack and Harvey ran outside the castle and perceived that the mountain was actually in a state of eruption.

Volcanic influences were at work.

Three distinct columns of flame had burst forth, all of them within the verge of the crater, and their tops united in the air in a troubled, confused manner.

At intervals showers of stones about the size of walnuts were thrown into the air, and these were followed by clouds of ashes.

Jack and Harvey gazed at the terrible sight with awe.

Red lines, like fiery serpents, were to be seen on the side of the mountain, showing the course taken by the burning lava.

“Look out for Mole,” said Hunston, who had followed them into the open air. “He’ll come out like a fossil presently.”

Jack did not feel pleased at this constant levity of Hunston’s and hitting out at him, he sent him into Maple’s arms, saying—

“If you have no decency left in you, I must teach you that I have. Get out.”

Hunston retired with Maple, and his hatred of Jack increased at the blow he had received.

“Tell you what, Map, old boy,” he said between his teeth, “I shan’t stand this much longer. I’d rather cut the camp, and go and do my best with a gun in some other part of the island. It’s been King Harkaway long enough. I’ll make it King Hunston or die for it.”

“You know I’ll stick to you like bricks,” answered Maple.

“We’ll wait till we see what this jolly old mountain means to do, and then leave everything to me,” said Hunston. “This state of things isn’t good enough for me by a long way. I can’t get a glass of grog unless his majesty Jack the First is in a good temper and chances to produce a bottle from the warehouse.”

The mountain continued to burn and throw up stones and lava and ashes until the middle of the next day.

Then the eruption subsided as rapidly as it had begun.

It was dreadful to think that Mr. Mole’s grave had been the crater of a volcano, and that his was a winding-sheet of molten lava.

CHAPTER XVI

HUNSTON PROCLAIMS HIMSELF KING OF THE ISLAND

ALL danger of the lava or the ashes covering the castle was at an end for the present.

Some weeks passed, and everything went on at the little settlement as well as the boys could wish.

Such was the fertility of the island that the land they had dug up and planted began to show a favourable return, and a promise of excellent crops.

Jack did not expect to live there all his life, but he knew that his stores would not last for ever, and if they did not make the most of their opportunities they would have to undergo great privation, if they did not die of starvation.

A good lookout was kept at the signal station which the unfortunate Mr. Mole had caused to be erected.

It seemed that the island on which their lot was cast was not in the track of ships—for not a sail was to be seen.

One day, however, Harvey, who was engaged in sweeping the sea with his glass, reported a sail, and every effort was made to arrest the attention of those on board.

A huge fire was lighted, and guns were fired without avail.

The ship passed on its way, and was soon lost to sight.

“No go, Dick,” said Jack with a sigh, as the vessel’s outline sank below the edge of the horizon.

“Better luck next time,” said Harvey.

“I hope so. Turn it up for to-day, and come and talk to me. We’ll send Maple up here, and give Hunston something to do.”

Jack had put his gun down by the side of the shed. A dark figure passed quickly by him, and seized it.

“Will you give Hunston something to do?” he exclaimed. “Perhaps it will be the other way.”

Jack looked up and saw Hunston. At the same time Maple had seized Harvey’s gun, and the two friends were helpless.

“What do you mean?” asked Jack, clenching his fists.

“Just this. We’ve had enough of your reign,” answered Hunston. “I’m going to be king, and if you don’t obey me, why, I’ll put a bullet through your head. The tables are turned now. Harvey will stop here and keep a lookout, while you go and hoe the potatoes. When Maple and I have had our dinner, you may come and eat up the scraps.”

“How do you feel now, Jack?” asked Maple, with an odious grin.

Jack gave him a kick on the shin which made him howl.

“That just served you right—who told you to speak?” remarked Hunston. “I’m king, I tell you, and I can say all I want to. Give me the key of the warehouse, Harkaway.”

Jack saw Hunston place the rifle against his shoulder, and knew him well enough to be sure that he would fire if he was thwarted, so he tossed the key towards him.

“That’s right,” said Hunston, triumphantly; “that’s how things ought to be. Go and hoe those ’taters, and keep the parrots out of the corn; and you, Harvey, look out, or I’ll let you both know the reason why.”

He walked off to the castle with Maple, and the two friends were together.

“What an ass you were to leave your gun where Hunston could see it and collar it,” exclaimed Harvey.

“I didn’t know he meant treachery,” answered Jack, looking very crestfallen.

“What shall you do?”

“Go and do what he told me,” said Jack. “He’s got the run of the spirits now, and he’ll be drunk in an hour or two, and then——”

“What will you do?” asked Harvey.

“Wait and see. He’ll never more be officer of mine. I’ll start him. He shall see how living on cocoanuts and mangoes in the woods agrees with him. Perhaps he’ll make a good dinner for a wild beast. I don’t care. I wish he’d tumbled down the hole in the mountain instead of old Mole. Hunston always was a bad lot, but Mole had something good about him, if he was an occasional ass.”

At sunset Maple came out to Jack, who had been hard at work, and said insolently—“You may come and have your dinner now.”

“May I?” said Jack, flinging a dead snake at him, which he had killed with his spade.

“Will it bite?” asked Maple, starting back, and dropping his gun.

Jack sprang forward and seized the weapon.

“If he won’t, this will,” cried Jack. “Down on your knees and beg my pardon.”

Maple hesitated, and Jack fired one barrel over his head, which had the effect of causing Maple to sink down with his hands clasped.

“That’s it; I knew you’d do it. Where’s Hunston?” continued Jack.

“In the castle,” replied Maple.

“What’s he doing?”

“Drinking.”

“Is he tight?”

“Not quite; but getting on that way,” answered Maple. “He says he’s the king now, and he’s going to hang Harvey tomorrow.”

“Is he?” said Jack, between his teeth. “I’ll let him know. Get up that tree, and stop there till I come back and tell you to get down. If you dare to move, I’ll shoot you like a parrot.”

Maple was up the tree like a flash of lightning, and Jack went to the castle.

“Is that you, Maple?” asked Hunston as the door opened.

“Yes,” said Jack, altering his voice.

“Come and give me a hand up. I think there’s been another earthquake or something. I’ve tumbled off my chair, and the beastly place goes round with me like winking.”

Jack darted forward and had Hunston by the throat before he could seize his gun and attempt to defend himself.

“Hullo! What’s this? Let me go, Harkaway,” cried Hunston, becoming sober.

“Not yet, my boy; you must come with me. I’ll show you how I deal with rebels.”

Jack dragged him into open air, and half carried him, half pushed him to the place where he had left Maple.

“Now, Maple, come down. I want you,” he said.

“What is it, Jack?” replied Maple in a civil voice, as he made his appearance.

“Take a spade, and dig a hole five feet deep and about two wide. Look sharp, unless you want a tanning.”

Hunston let his eyes close, and pretended to be asleep, while the work was going on. In about an hour the hole was dug, and Maple perspiring from every pore, left off.

Jack dragged his enemy to the hole, and put him in feet foremost, and let him sink till his head was on a level with the soil.

“Shovel in,” he exclaimed.

“I say, Jack,” cried Hunston, coming to himself, and growing alarmed. “Don’t be a savage—remember that there are wild beasts and snakes, and birds of a carrion kind here. What do you mean to do?”

“It’s a nice bed for a king. Shovel away, Maple,” answered Jack.

The earth was quickly thrown in, and pressed down by Jack’s feet, until Hunston was buried in the soil, unable to move hand or foot, and only his head appeared above the surface.

“Give me that spade,” said Jack.

Maple did so.

“You will stop here all night,” continued Jack, “that is to say, if you care for your friend, and you can keep off the snakes and wild things that he seems so much afraid of. I will see what is to be done with him tomorrow morning.”

In vain Hunston appealed to Jack to let him go—he turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, and went to seek Harvey, to whom he related what he had done.

“Serve the beggar right,” said Harvey.

“He said he meant to hang you tomorrow,” continued Jack with a grin.

“Did he?” exclaimed Harvey. “Perhaps he’ll think better of it.”

They went to the castle, and amused themselves by playing at chess, having saved a board and men from the wreck.

Maple sat down near Hunston, and was quite unable to render him any assistance. He had neither spade nor pickaxe, and could not remove the earth.

“You’ve betrayed me,” said Hunston, who was quite clear and sober now, under the influence of the danger that threatened him. “Why don’t you get me out of this?”

“I can’t,” replied Maple, sullenly. “It’s bad enough to have to sit here all night and watch you.”

“Don’t leave me—for Heaven’s sake don’t leave me alone!” cried Hunston, in a voice of deadly terror. “Harkaway only means to punish me—he don’t want to kill me. Look in that thicket. I can see the eyes of a tiger gleaming.”

“A tiger?” repeated Maple.

“Yes! Look—look!” repeated the terror-stricken youth.

“Oh! If there are tigers about, I shall step it,” said Maple, coolly. “I don’t care about being eaten up by the wild beasts. Good-night.”

Hunston’s voice failed him, and he could say no more. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he thought his last hour had come.

Maple walked quickly away, showing his former friend how much reliance there was to be placed upon his partnership, for Maple was one of those who always go from the losing to the winning side.

King Hunston was in a pitiable plight.

CHAPTER XVII

THE SAVAGES

MAPLE went to the castle, and knocking at the door, was admitted.

“What do you want?” asked Harvey.

“Tell Harkaway, please,” replied Maple, “I saw tigers about, and want to come in.”

“Have you left Hunston to his fate?” asked Jack, coming forward.

“Yes. I couldn’t do him any good.”

“You dirty little cur. Shall I poleaxe him?”

“He deserves it, but I don’t think I would, because we want a servant,” replied Harvey.

“All right,” said Jack. “Go inside. Dick, come with me. I only want to frighten Hunston, and should be sorry if any harm came to him.”

Maple went inside, and Jack, followed by Harvey, walked by the soft moonlight to the place where Hunston was buried up to his neck in the ground.

When Hunston saw them he exclaimed—

“Thank God you have come. You were always a generous fellow, Harkaway. Knock me on the head, but don’t leave me here to die in the night.”

“I’ll dig you up,” replied Jack, who had brought a spade with him.

In a few minutes the earth was sufficiently loosened to admit of the captive being dragged out, and he was placed upon his legs, which for a time trembled so that he could scarcely stand upright.

“Now, what are you going to do?” asked Jack.

“I hate you, and I’ll never make terms with you,” replied Hunston. “I’ve roughed it in various parts of the world, and I daresay I can do so again. I’ll work my way down the island, and if I can’t turn anything up I’ll come back to you and be your servant.”

“You’d best make friends, and say you won’t kick over the traces again,” replied Jack, good-naturedly.

“I shan’t,” Hunston said, sullenly. “I want to get away from you, and start on my own hook. You can give me a pistol and a few charges of powder and shot if you like.”

“Thank you. I’ll trust you as far as I can see you and no farther,” Jack said. “You can stop if you like, or you can go. Take your choice.”

Hunston put his hands in the pockets of his pea-jacket, and holding down his head, walked away, being soon lost to sight amongst the trees that fringed the outskirts of the little farm.

“He’ll come back. It’s only temper,” said Jack.

“What else can he do?” answered Harvey. “He’s got no arms. Perhaps he might make a bow and arrow, but he’ll be glad enough to come back in time.”

“If he doesn’t, it’s not our fault. Perhaps things will go on smoother now, Dick. We never had a row when we were alone.”

“And Maple is just fit for our servant,” said Harvey.

“Of course he is—make him work.”

“It will serve him right. He backed up Hunston in his revolt, and pretended to be such a friend of his, and when the fortune of war went against him, he the first to leave him.”

“He always was a sneak. Didn’t he show just the same spirit at Crawcour’s?” replied Jack.

Talking in this way they returned to the castle, and finished their game at chess. Jack slept while Harvey watched, and, when Jack woke up, Harvey took his place.

Their little band was diminishing gradually. First Mr. Mole had been cut off, and now Hunston had left them.

A couple of days passed, and they saw nothing of him.

Jack grew uneasy.

“I don’t think I ought to leave that fellow Hunston to wander about wild in the woods,” he said to Harvey.

“He’s lurking about somewhere, and means to drop down upon us when we least expect it,” replied the latter.

“I don’t think so.”

“What will you do? Let him take his chance?”

“No,” replied Jack, “I shan’t do that. Will you stay here with Maple? I’ll take my gun and go out and look for him. I don’t like the idea of leaving even Hunston to take his chance in the woods.”

“You’re more generous than I should be.”

“Now, Dick,” said Jack, “you know you’ve got a good heart, and it won’t do for you to try to make yourself out a beast.”

Jack would have his way, and shouldering his gun, he sallied forth to look for Hunston, forgetting in his generosity how badly he had treated him.

He walked for some hours, and traversed several miles of ground.

The sun was setting when he halted, weary and thirsty.

Throwing some stones up at a tree, he knocked down some ripe cocoanuts, and quenched his thirst. Suddenly he heard a noise.

Looking before him he saw, to his consternation, a band of savages.

He was only hidden from them by a small fringe of brushwood.

They were dancing round and round in a ring, in the middle of which was a human being tied to a stake.

Crawling on his hands and knees to the edge of the brush, Jack took a closer view.

The savages were about twelve in number, and the man in their midst was Hunston.

“It seems to me,” muttered Jack, “that my presentiments did not deceive me, and I have come just in time.”

His first idea was to fire, but that would have been folly, considering the number of the natives.

Yet Hunston must be rescued.

How to render him material aid was the question. Lying still on his stomach, Jack ruminated.

It was clear that the natives were performing some savage rite, and that Hunston, who had unluckily fallen into their power, was the object of it.

“I’m king of this island any way,” said Jack to himself, “and I’ll let them know they’re not going to have it all their own way—not much.”

Twelve to one, however, was great odds. For once in his life Jack was at a loss.

CHAPTER XVIII

JACK TO THE RESCUE

THE savages whom Jack now saw for the first time were very singular-looking beings.

In height and general appearance they closely resembled the Malays.

The colour of the skin and hair was dark, the latter short and crisp, confined on their heads by a red handkerchief, obtained from the natives on the extreme eastern coast.

Their clothing was simply a strip of the inner bark of a tree, beaten with stones until it had become white and opaque, and looking much like rough white paper.

This garment was three or four inches wide, and about three feet long.

It passed round the waist, and covered the loins in such a way that one end hung down in front as far as the knee.

On the arm, above the elbow, some wore a large ring made, apparently, from the stalk of a sea-plant.

Each of the warriors was armed with a cleaver, which he raised high in the right hand.

Some had shields, three or four feet long, but only four or five inches wide, and others again held long spears.

Their dance was merely a series of short leaps backwards, and forwards, with an occasional whirl round, as if trying to defend themselves from an imaginary attack in the rear.

They sang a wild song, as fast and as loud as they could.

At length the dancing warriors became more excited, and flourished their cleavers, and leaped to and fro with all their might until it looked as if their eyes were on fire.

They worked themselves up into a state of temporary madness, and it was easy to believe that while in this condition, they would no more hesitate to cleave off a human head than they would to cut down a bamboo.

These creatures belonged to the tribe of the far-famed head-hunters, a race of which every traveller in the Eastern Archipelago has heard and trembled at their barbarous customs.

It is a custom with them, which has become a law, that every young man must, at least, cut off one human head before he can marry.

Heads, therefore, are in great demand.

Hunston was evidently a windfall for them, and they were rejoicing accordingly.

New heads must be obtained to celebrate such events as a birth, or a funeral, as well as a marriage.

One man, taller than the rest, had a necklace made of human teeth.

Small holes had been drilled in several score of teeth, which were strung on wire, long enough to pass three times round the neck of the hero who wore it.

Jack rightly supposed this to be the chief of the ferocious band.

On the piece of paper-like bark which hangs down in front, and which we have just described, the wearer makes a mark when he cuts off a head.

This mark was in the shape of a circle; and some had as many as ten or twelve of these circles, while others only had one or two.

When the dance was over, they all sat down and indulged freely in an intoxicating liquor, made from the juice of the flowering part of a palm.

Then they began to dance again, and the chief tossed into their midst a human head, apparently not long severed from its trunk, for it was all smeared with clotted blood.

This they proceeded to kick wildly about as if it had been a football.

A sickening sensation, akin to fear, crept over Jack, as he lay hid, watching the awful carnival of those fiends.

“Very jolly sort of neighbours to have,” muttered Jack. “I wonder what they are going to do with old Hunston? He don’t look happy.”

Nor did he.

As he was bound to the stake, Hunston’s face had assumed an expression of utter and hopeless terror, and at times he closed his eyes as if he could not bear the hideous sight before him, and wished to shut it out.

It was clear that when Hunston gave way to his temper, and left his party, he had wandered about the island until he fell in with the natives, and was captured.

Perhaps he intended to return, and try and surprise Jack and Harvey again, and make them his slaves.

He was bad enough for anything.

However Jack was far too generous to allow his companion to perish.

He could not find it in his heart to leave him in the hands of the barbarians, whom he saw dancing around him, and celebrating a feast of blood.

When he was at Mr. Crawcour’s academy, he had produced a singular effect upon everybody by his talent in ventriloquism.

It occurred to him now that if Mr. Crawcour and his masters could be startled by the exercise of this singular art, the savages were much more likely to be impressed by it.

No sooner had he imbibed the idea, than he determined to put it into execution.

It was true that he was armed with a double-barrelled breech-loading rifle, but he did not like to take life unnecessarily and without due provocation.

Besides the killing of one or two natives would only make the others more savage.

Blood for blood is a principle of the savages’ creed.

Suddenly throwing his voice into the air, he exclaimed—

“Hunston, old man, how do you find yourself?”

The effect of this speech was magical.

The savages stopped their wardance, and looked up anxiously and inquiringly.

Neglected lay the head they had been kicking about.

But it was upon Hunston that the effect of the observation was most marked.

He recognized Jack’s voice, and he knew he was a ventriloquist.

Just as the wretch reprieved on the scaffold may go from despair to hope, so did Hunston’s face give up its blackness and assume a happier look.

“Keep up your pecker,” continued Jack, “I’m not far off.”

Hunston made no answer, but looked at the chief in a peculiar way.

Jack saw this significant look.

“He means something,” he thought “I must be careful.”

For a time he remained silent.

When the natives had recovered from their astonishment, the chief, whose name was Banda Navia, called by his followers the Tuan Biza, or great chief, approached the captive.

Now Jack saw why Hunston had put on such a singular expression.

The Tuan Biza had, by meeting traders on the coast of Coram, whither he had been taken when young, picked up a knowledge of English, and Hunston was afraid Jack might say too much.

The suspicion of the Tuan Biza would be at once aroused if he heard any familiar phrases.

It was Jack’s object to make him think that the great spirit was speaking.

All the savage tribes on these islands believe in a great spirit, and in witchcraft.

It was their well-known superstition that Jack hoped to play upon.

Speaking to Hunston, the cnief said—

“Was that a spirit we heard?”

“Yes,” answered Hunston, “it was my guardian angel.”

“What did it say?”

“Listen. It will speak again.”

Jack heard this conversation, and immediately exclaimed—

“Kill him not. If you do you will incur my vengeance.”

“It says you are to spare my life,” cried Hunston overpowered with joy.

The Tuan Biza translated this to the warriors, who seemed much concerned.

One of them, named Buru, who was famed for his cruel and wicked disposition stood forward and spoke.

“He is our captive,” he said, pointing to Hunston, “and by our laws we are allowed to kill him. What is the spirit which forbids us doing so? One of our young men, Keyali, is about to be married and wants a head. It is not well that the captive should be spared.”

Keyali, who had regarded Hunston as his special property, gave a grunt of approval.

“You hear what the spirit speaking from the clouds above our heads has declared,” replied Tuan Biza.

Jack spoke again, and this time his voice was so near the chief as to make him start.

“If he is hurt,” he exclaimed, “dread the fiery mountain, which shall cover you with stones and ashes. It does not please me that he shall die, as he is under my protection.”

“Why, then, O spirit, did you let him fall into our hands?” asked the chief.

“Because, O Tuan Biza,” replied Jack, giving the chief his title, “he had displeased me. It is the custom of some of your tribe to tattoo their skins, and I doubt not that you will find one of your number who understands the art. Let the captive, then, be pricked all over in curious devices, and marked with the juice of a nut.”

The Tuan Biza turned to his friends, and related the order of the spirit, which seemed to please them immensely.

Hunston, however, did not relish the order at all.

“I say, Jack,” he said, “don’t for goodness’ sake, tell them that .They’ll do it. I shall be as ugly as a Red Indian.”

“Serve you right,” answered Jack, coolly. “You and I have had a score to pay off this ever so long.”

“I’ll tell them where the castle is, and make them come and fight you,” continued Hunston.

“They’ll get pepper if they do,” Jack said; “and if you threaten me, I’ll tell them I’ve changed my mind, and that interesting youth, Keyali, or whatever his name is, who is going to be married, and wants a head, according to custom, shall have yours.”

“Jack, dear Jack,” cried Hunston, “don’t let them tattoo me. Fancy what I shall look like if I ever get back to England.”

The Tuan Biza thought Hunston was saying his prayers, and beseeching the spirit to intercede for him.

“What you call your spirit? Is it Jack?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Hunston.

The chief informed the savages that the spirit who watched over the white man was called Jack, and they imbibed a great respect for the name at once.

“Tatoo him at once,” said Jack.

The chief being thoroughly awed by the voice, ordered Hunston’s clothes to be removed; and a sharp fish-bone was procured with which to puncture holes in the skin.

Into these the dark juice of a nut was to be squeezed, which would penetrate under the skin, and make the marks lasting.

“Will the spirit like him to be marked with birds and fishes?” asked the Tuan Biza.

“Birds, fishes and serpents,” answered Jack, “with a parrot on each cheek and a small crocodile on the nose.”

“I say, Jack,” cried Hunston, again, “this won’t do. I’d rather die. Fancy going about the Strand or Regent Street with a parrot on each cheek, and a small crocodile on the nose. Don’t! I’ll pay you out if you do.”

“You’ve done all the malicious and beastly things to me you could do,” replied Jack, “and I’m not a friend of you. Those who offend a greater power than themselves must pay the penalty. O Tuan Biza, you have found favour in our sight. Proceed at once with the—a—what do you call it?—tattooment.”

The chief, Banda Navia, and Buru understood the art of tattooing, for they had travelled about the Archipelago, in prahus, or large boats, trading with nutmegs and spices which grew in abundance on trees in the group of islands on which the “Fairy” was wrecked.

They had seen sailors do it, as well as remote tribes and Banda Navia was not a bad artist.

Hunston was stripped naked to the waist.

The fish-bone was wielded by the chief, and its point proved as sharp as that of a needle, as if it had been rubbed on a stone.

Buru was prepared with the juice to make the stain when rubbed into the pricked skin.

The warriors began to sing and dance again, and determined to have some fun over this ceremony, if they could not have any over that of cutting off his head.

“Jack, Jack,” cried Hunston, as the fish-bone began to describe circles over his face.

Jack remained obstinately silent.

“I’ll say you’re not a spirit, and it’s all humbug,” continued Hunston.

“Go it, my tulip,” answered Jack, “they’ll only cut off your head. It makes no odds to me particularly, but you’re so jolly ugly as you are, I thought I’d have you beautified, and make you look pretty, that’s all, my hearty.”

Jack said this in his own voice, and from the thicket where he was concealed.

In a moment he saw his mistake.

The chief, who was a shrewd fellow, began to move in that direction.

There was danger of the trick being found out.

CHAPTER XIX

HUNSTON IS TATTOOED

FORTUNATELY Jack could see all that was going on.

His presence of mind did not desert him.

When the chief had reached the edge of the cleared space in which the savage rites were being celebrated, and was gaining Jack’s hiding-place, the latter imitated the hiss of a snake.

This was done to perfection.

It seemed just under the foot of the Tuan Biza.

He started back with an expression of horror, and Jack shifted his position.

A large tree was close by, and he hid behind its trunk.

The Tuan Biza changed his mind, and did not search any further.

The natives proceeded with the process of tattooing, and as Hunston was tied to a stake, he was unable to offer any opposition.

After tattooing his face and nose, his back, chest, and sides were operated upon.

A stinging sensation like that produced by the bites of mosquitoes, assailed the victim of this cruel joke.

But it must be recollected that Hunston had done many things to make Jack his enemy.

He and Maple had actually tried to leave him and Harvey to drown in the sinking ship.

There is a limit to generosity, and, though Jack could be a good friend, he could be a good hater.

When the tattooment was completed, the chief, looking upward, said—

“O spirit, is it well?”

Hunston was writhing in agony.

He actually foamed at the mouth, not altogether through physical pain, but because he thought of the singular figure he should present ever afterwards.

There is no process which will affect tattooing. When the marks are once made with the point of anything sharp, and the dye, if it is a lasting one, rubbed in they last a man’s lifetime.

“You have done well, O Tuan Biza,” replied Jack, still speaking from the air near the stake. “Keep the captive till the sun sets, and then release him.”

The chief bowed his head, for he was superstitious enough to think that when the snake hissed, it was a serpent sent by the spirit to sting him for listening to what Hunston had said.

At any other time Hunston would not have betrayed his companions.

Indeed he had been threatened with death by the savages, before Jack came up, because he would not tell how he came upon the island or how many companions he had.

This must be stated in his favour.

Now he was so maddened and furious at being tattooed that he felt no pity for any of his comrades.

“Let me go,” he said, “and I’ll tell you something worth knowing. I have companions on this island. We were wrecked here about a couple of months ago.”

The Tuan Biza pricked up his ears, thinking he was going to hear something agreeable.

“How many?” he asked.

Hunston was about to reply when Jack, seeing the danger that threatened him, imitated his voice and made him say—

“Fifty-five.”

The chief looked grave.

“There were four with me, but now there are only three,” exclaimed Hunston.

“Just now you said fifty-five. Why do you say one thing one minute and then alter your number?” asked the Tuan Biza.

“It wasn’t me; it’s Jack,” answered Hunston, driven wild with pain and annoyance.

The chief shook his head.

It was his opinion that Hunston was going mad.

Buru, the savage-minded native of whom we have spoken, approached with his cleaver and threatened the captive.

Speaking in his own language, he said that he and his companions were not satisfied with the conduct of the chief.

The captive had said that he and his companions wanted heads.

The Tuan Biza replied that the spirit had forbidden him to touch Hunston.

Buru made a derisive gesture and danced round contemptuously, cutting what we should call a caper.

He snapped his fingers in the air, and again threatened Hunston with the cleaver.

“Ugh!” he exclaimed, “what can the spirit do? Keyali, our young man, must have his head.”

Keyali stepped forward, much elated at the turn affairs were taking.

“Beware!” thundered Jack. “Fire and smoke will come down from Heaven and consume you. Release the captive at sunset. Dare to touch a hair of his head and you will die.”

Buru had been drinking rather too freely of the intoxicating liquor we have alluded to.

He snapped his fingers again, and led Keyali towards Hunston.

The other savages hung back.

Jack saw it was necessary to act.

Bringing his double-barrelled gun to a level with his shoulder, he prepared to fire.

It was not his object to kill either Buru or Keyali, as he wanted to make an example and strike terror into them.

So he aimed at Buru’s leg, because he was the foremost in opposition, and the most ferocious-looking.

“Strike!” said Buru to Keyali.

At that moment Jack pulled the trigger.

Buru fell to the ground weltering in his blood.

Keyali ran away into the bush, and did not stop until he had gone some miles.

Then he sat down on the ground, and began to examine himself to see if he was hit.

The warriors were thunderstruck for a brief time, after which they chatted like a lot of monkeys.

Some examined Buru and bound up his wound, while others, headed by the Tuan Biza ran into the thicket from whence the smoke came.

But Jack was too quick for them.

Directly after firing, he had run away and hidden himself again at some distance.

They could find nothing, and their dismay was immense.

It was their firm belief that fire had come out of Heaven, as the spirit said it should.

From that instant Hunston’s life was sacred in their eyes.

Even Buru would not have thought of harming him.

The wound inflicted upon the latter was situated in the thigh, and though painful, not dangerous, or necessarily fatal.

Feeling that he had saved Hunston’s life, Jack hurried home to the castle, where he knew that Harvey must be waiting for him with the utmost impatience.

He had established a certain power over the natives; but he feared that since Hunston had told them there were other white people on the island, they would never rest until they had found them out.

Whether the savages lived at the extreme end of the island, or had come to this particular one to celebrate some custom, he could not tell.

It was enough for him just then to have come up in the nick of time, and prevented Hunston from having his head cut off by Keyali.

The mention of head-cutting was conclusive in Jack’s mind that the natives he had seen were the dreaded and far-famed head-hunters.

Tired and hungry, he reached the castle.

Harvey was on the lookout, rifle in hand.

“Hullo, Jack,” he said; “I thought you never were coming back. Seen anything?”

“Yes,” replied Jack.

“What?”

“Niggers.”

“No! Have you really?” said Harvey, much excited. “Have they got Hunston?”

“There’s no mistake about that, they’ve got him hard and fast. It serves him right for playing tricks with us and being treacherous. If he hadn’t given way to his temper, he’d have been all right.”

“Will they eat him?”

“I don’t think they are cannibals; they didn’t look like it,” answered Jack, “though they are ugly enough for anything. In my opinion they are a tribe or off-shoot of the Dyak head-hunters of Borneo, and nothing like nice neighbors.”

“Didn’t you try to save him?” asked Harvey.

“I did save him. As it happened I came up just at the time they were going to perform upon him, about a dozen of them. Such savage-looking beasts!”

“Why didn’t you bring him with you?”

“You’ll see him before long,” said Jack, laughing, “and I’ll bet you a sovereign, which, by-the-by, I could not pay if I lost, as we haven’t got any money amongst us, that you won’t know him.”

“Why not?” replied Harvey.

“His own mother wouldn’t know him. Ha! ha! ha!”

“What are you laughing at?”

“Never mind,” said Jack, “I’ve payed Master Hunston out for all that he has done to me. You will know all about it soon enough. Give me some grub. I’m dead beat.”

“I don’t know what you’ll have to eat,” replied Harvey; “the ants have got into the biscuits, and there is nothing but the kegs of salt beef I have not opened.”

“I’ll tell you how to dodge the ants,” answered Jack.

“How?”

“Put a saucer full of water under each leg of a table, and they can’t get up. Look out! There’s a parrot. Odds I pot him.”

As he spoke Jack fired at a gaudy-plumaged bird, and brought it down.

“Put him in some hot water,” he continued, “the feathers will come off, then clean him and cut him open. He’ll do fine on the gridiron; or, look here, where’s Maple? Make him do it.”

“All right. Maple’s civil enough. He’s been on his knees, as one may say, ever since Hunston cut it!” replied Harvey.

“Here, you, Maple,” cried Jack, “you’re to be head cook and bottle washer; take this parrot, and get him ready for my dinner! If you are not slippery over it, I pity you.”

Maple set to work with alacrity, and in a quarter of an hour Jack had a very good broil, for it must be recollected that they had saved from the wreck all the cooking utensils and things for use that they wanted.

What Harvey had said about the ants was quite true.

They were pests.

The little insects got into everything that was not protected.

If a bird was shot and laid down for an hour there would not be much of it left, and they ran up everything in swarms.

While Jack was having his dinner, Maple approached him and said—

“Is it true that Hunston has been caught by the savages?”

“Yes; and so will you if you don’t watch it,” answered Jack, with his mouth half full of broiled parrot.

“You won’t give me to them, will you?”

“That depends upon how you behave yourself.”

“I’ll never do anything to offend you again,” said Maple, with tears in his eyes, “and I’m glad now they’ve got Hunston, because he set me on against you all along. If they eat him it will only serve him right.”

“Get out,” exclaimed Jack in a tone of great disgust. “I hate you more now than I did before. You are a worse sneak than I thought you were.”

“Why, Jack?” asked Maple.

“Don’t call me ‘Jack,’ ” replied he. “You and Hunston have been friends ever since you have known one another. You’re as bad as he, and it’s cowardly of you to let him down. Get up.”

“Oh! if you’ve taken a spite against me, I can’t help it,” replied Maple, surlily.

Jack threw a biscuit at him, and he made his escape into the open air, looking more like a cowardly sneak than he usually did, and that is saying a great deal.

When Jack had satisfied his hunger, he called Harvey.

“You must keep a good lookout tonight,” he exclaimed.

“Why more tonight than any other?” asked Harvey.

“I’ll tell you why, Dick,” answered Jack. “Those head-hunting niggers have an idea that there are white people on the island, and they will search for them. That’s for sartin, as the African observed, when he was told he’d be hanged for eating his grandmother.”

Harvey laughed.

“It wouldn’t be pleasant to wake up in the morning, and find our heads gone,” Jack went on.

“If our heads were off, we shouldn’t wake any more,” Harvey said.

“Yes, we should; we should wake in another land,” answered Jack, smiling. “Don’t interrupt me. I’m tired, and you must watch till twelve; then call me. Let Maple sleep. We can’t depend on the little varmint. If Hunston comes in, wake me at once, only don’t take him for Tippo Saib in his war paint.”

“I wish you’d tell me what has happened to Hunston,” exclaimed Harvey.

“I won’t spoil the fun. All I say is this. Hunston will be let go at sunset. I’ve worked the oracle so far, and I shan’t say any more at present,” replied Jack.

“I daresay it will keep,” rejoined Harvey, in a tone of annoyance. “But about the natives? My only wonder is the beggars haven’t found us out before. We’ve got quite a little farm about here.”

“Yes; but were in a sheltered nook, and they wouldn’t spot us now if they didn’t follow Hunston.”

“You think they’ll do that?”

“I don’t think; I know it. Niggers all over the world are the dodgiest beasts out. So keep your swivel eye open.”

“Never fear,” replied Harvey. “I’m wide awake. They won’t catch this weasel with both eyes shut.”

Jack was satisfied with his answer, and though the sun had not yet set, lay down to rest.

The fatigue in the hot noontide he had gone through was enough to make any ordinary mortal sleepy.

And sleep he did, like a top that hums, for he snored loud enough to scare the mosquitoes away, as Harvey observed with a laugh to Maple.

CHAPTER XX

TREACHERY IN THE CAMP

MAPLE was thoroughly cowed in the absence of Hunston, and obeyed every command which was given him by Harvey without a word.

His evil, malevolent nature could only plot—he had not the courage to carry out his wicked designs.

Coming up to Harvey about sunset, while the latter, gun in hand, was keeping guard during Jack’s sleep, as he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree outside the castle, he said—“Do you want me any more?”

“Yes,” replied Harvey.

“What for?”

“That’s nothing to you.”

“But I should like to know. I’ve been weeding the corn all day, and I’m as tired as—as—help me to a simile.”

“I shan’t,” answered Harvey. “If you can’t find similes, go without them, or, if you must have one, say ‘as sleepy as an ass,’ which is what you are.”

“You’re always on to me,” said Maple, with a subdued growl. “I suppose you think you can do as you like with me because you’ve got me on a desert island, and Hunston’s sloped.”

“It isn’t deserted. Jack’s seen savages.”

“Has he? How many, and what are they like?” asked Maple, in surprise.

“You’ll know in time. Hunston will be here soon.”

“Will he? That’s good news. He won’t have me slave-driven. But what am I to do now?” Maple said, his face brightening at the news of Hunston’s return.

“Skin a deer.”

“Where is it?” Maple inquired, looking round.

“You’ll see directly. I’m on the watch. The deer have been at the corn. They come about this time, and I mean to have a shot at one of the gentlemen,” replied Harvey.

It was a lovely evening.

There was a constant changing of beautiful colors in the cloud that rested on the high mountain peaks in the south, while the day was fading into twilight, and the twilight in its turn subsiding into a fine, starlight night.

A little way off they could hear the sandpipers come and trip to and fro on the beach when the tide was full.

Many long-winged night-hawks swooped back and forth, feasting on multitudes of insects that came out as evening approached.

The deer of which Harvey spoke were most destructive.

They were accustomed to come into the prairie-lands in great droves, and frequently an area of a quarter of an acre was so completely rooted up by them that it looked as if it had been ploughed.

This was annoying, as the corn the boys had planted was making good progress under the fertilizing influence of the climate.

Presently there was the sound of hoofs clattering on the hard ground.

Harvey fired and brought down a fine deer.

He had learnt how to shoot, and having a quick eye, was as good a shot as Jack.

“Well shot,” cried Maple. “You spotted him splendidly. It was stunning.”

“It’ll be more stunning when you’ve skinned him and cut him up. Take a sharp knife, and I’ll make a cat gallows to hang the flesh on,” replied Harvey.

Accordingly, he cut down a couple of saplings, and placed them in the ground.

Over these he tied a horizontal bar.

Then he made a hole in the ground at the foot of each upright pole, and puddled the bottom with clay to make them hold water.

By this means he prevented the white ants climbing up the poles.

They would have eaten all the meat before morning if he had not adopted the plan of surrounding the sticks with water.

When the strips of fresh meat were hanging on the cross-bar, he lighted a fire underneath, and smoked them, placing a couple of steaks on the flames for his and Maple’s supper.

“Not bad tackle this,” observed Maple, as he cut into his steak. “Venison’s fine when you’ve had nothing but salt junk and biscuit for a week.”

While the boys were eating their supper there was a sound of footsteps.

Harvey sprang to his feet and shouldered his rifle.

“Fire! fire! It’s a nigger,” said Maple.

The intruder held up his hand, and said—

“Don’t you know me?”

“I’ll be hanged if I do,” replied Maple; and yet it is— no, it can’t be—yes, it is Hunston.

Hunston it was.

But how altered!

His face was haggard, and his eyes bloodshot.

Naked to the waist, as when the Indians let him go, in obedience to what they considered the command of a spirit, he appeared in all the grotesque horror of his recent tattooing.

His back presented a perfect nest of snakes, and a huge python coiled on his shoulders.

Parrots and other birds were represented on his chest and arms, while his stomach gave one a very good idea of a tiger crouching for his spring, and underneath all was a belt of fishes.

On each cheek was a parrot, and on his nose was a small crocodile.

He was smarting with the pain of the tattooing, and his skin presented an angry and inflamed appearance.

A more diabolical-looking object could not have startled his companions.

Maple began to laugh.

He could not have helped it.

“Why, Hunston, old man,” exclaimed Harvey, joining in the merriment his condition excited, “what have they been doing to you? Is it paint?”

“I wish to goodness it was,” answered Hunston, in a hollow voice, “then it would wash off, but now I’m marked for life.”

“I must say you look pretty. You’re quite a work of art. I never saw such a picture. You ought to be stuffed and sent to the British Museum.”

“I’ll stuff you if you chaff me,” answered Hunston. “Give me some of your grub. I’m very nearly starved.”

“How did you get away?” asked Maple, putting a slice of deer meat on the fire.

“It was Jack’s ventriloquism that did it,” replied Hunston, with a groan.

“He funked the critters awfully, and there was one buffer, the Tuan Biza, or chief, who quite thought he was a spirit, but I wish he’d left me to die, I do. What good am I, pricked about like this? I’ll have my revenge, though, see if I don’t?”

Maple had been trying to smother his laughter, but he could not do so any longer.

“Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho, ho!” he broke out, ducking his head, and laughing till his sides shook.

“What are you grinning at, ugly?” cried Hunston, seizing him by the ear. “I’ll give you something to howl at.”

“Oh, don’t, Hunston!” exclaimed Maple. “I couldn’t help it. You look so comical.”

Hunston dragged him to the fire, and bending him down by his superior strength put his head in the flames,

In a minute almost all his hair was singed off, and he would have been seriously burnt if Harvey had not pulled him away.

“Now you look comical, and I’ll make you more so if you don’t watch it,” replied Hunston, savagely.

Maple did look funny without his hair, and retired to a distance, rubbing his scorched head and crying.

When Hunston had satisfied his hunger he was a little better tempered, and Harvey gave him a little bottle of wine which had been saved from the wreck.

“Stop that bellowing,” he exclaimed, to Maple, who was still roaring.

“You can go to roost as soon as you like,” said Harvey.

“How can I sleep with a singed head? It stings so,” answered Maple.

“Go and get some grease, and rub it well in, and put on a sailor’s cap,” suggested Harvey.

“Your thatch will grow again,” remarked Hunston, “while my beauty will never come back. My figurehead is ornamented for life, but I’ll be one with Master Jack Harkaway.”

Harvey did not like the persistent way in which he spoke of his cherished vengeance.

“Don’t rile Jack too much,” he said, “or he may wipe you out altogether.”

“Two can play at that game,” returned Hunston; “and you’d better keep out of it. I’ve no row with you at present.”

“Your bad or good opinion doesn’t matter much to me,” answered Harvey carelessly.

“Doesn’t it? We shall see. I’m desperate now, and if you quarrel with me, you’ll find it no bottle, as the sailors say; so shut up before there’s any harm done!” Hunston exclaimed threateningly.

“Why can’t you live on friendly terms with us?” asked Harvey. “I am sure we ought to be more friendly than ever in our lonely position, with all sorts of dangers staring us in the face.”

“You’ll have enough of them soon,” said Hunston, significantly; “and you should have more sense than to suppose that I can ever be jolly with any of you after this.”

He pointed to his face.

“Jack did not do it.”

“He told the savages to do it, which comes to the same thing.”

“At the same time he saved your life, which you did not deserve.”

“What’s the use of my life to me?” asked Hunston. “I can never return to a civilized country with a face like this. I tell you he has just made me desperate, that’s all.”

“Did you not try to drown Jack, and I, and poor Mr. Mole when the ‘Fairy’ was abandoned?”

Hunston was silent.

“If you want to argue, you shall have enough of it,” continued Harvey. “I suppose Jack thought you were only good enough to live among savages. It’s what your bad disposition has brought you to.”

“You’d look foolish if I brought the savages down on you,” remarked Hunston.

“What good would that do you?” asked Harvey. “We are your friends, are we not? At least we are as friendly as you will let us be. The fact is, you were always a bad fellow, and I don’t blame Jack for what he’s done. But there may be hope for you yet.”

“What hope?” cried Hunston.

“All the tattooing I have seen on board ship has been done with Indian ink, which won’t come out.”

“Well?”

“Suppose the dye of the berry the savages used is not lasting.”

Hunston’s face grew positively radiant at this suggestion.

“God grant what you suggest may be true. It sounds too good, however. A week or two will show. It’s kind of you, Harvey, to try to comfort me. I thought you all hated me.”

“Jack doesn’t hate you in his heart. He’s not the sort of fellow to hate anyone; only remember your last attempt to take the command here and make us your slaves. You can’t be trusted—you are so treacherous and evily disposed.”

“Jack had best look out.”

“I wonder you don’t feel grateful to him for saving you,” Harvey said. “I’m not exactly a pious sort of a fellow, as you know, though I try to steer clear of anything wrong, and——”

“Ah, yes, I daresay!” sneered Hunston. “You’re one of those saints who carry a Bible in their pockets.”

“I have got a Bible, I am thankful to say in my pocket. It was my mother’s last gift, and I find a good deal of comfort in it, now and then, though I am sorry that I don’t read it so much as I ought.”

“You have got one?”

“Yes, and I’m not ashamed of it,” replied Harvey, resolutely. “But what I was going to say is this——”

“I shall slip my cable and sleep in the woods if you are going to preach.”

“Only a word or two. Don’t you think you are better here with us than if you had been killed, and sent as you are to be judged? One ought to pay a little attention to these things.”

“Oh, don’t bother me?” answered Hunston, uneasily. “I want to be quiet and think.”

Harvey said no more.

As he watched Hunston doze, after his dinner, he fancied his face assumed a villainous expression.

Bad thoughts were evidently lurking in his mind.

Of course the tattooing disfigured him, and made him look repulsive and even ferocious, though there was a comical side to that also.

“I must warn Jack,” muttered Harvey. “There is something in the beggar’s look which I don’t like. If he does not mean mischief, I can’t read faces.”

Full of thought, he paced up and down, keeping a good lookout, and breathing with more ease, now a cool current of air, such as the evening brings, took the place of the garish light of day and its sultry atmosphere.

CHAPTER XXI

JUST IN TIME

HUNSTON, who was thoroughly exhausted, fell asleep.

The wind, in heavy gusts, sighed through the dense foliage over his head, while in the distance rose the deep, pulsating roar of the ocean surf.

Inland was a deep ravine, and from its furthermost recesses rolled out the reverberating, moaning cries of monkeys, who all the night long kept up a piteous calling, each answering his fellows in the same mournful tones.

Hunston’s dreams were not pleasant.

A storm was coming on, to avoid which Harvey entered the castle, still on the lookout.

At midnight a troubled dream disturbed the rest of Hunston.

An indefinite horror thrilled along his veins as he fancied for a moment that he was whirling round and round a deep yawning maelstrom.

Then a change occurred, but scarcely one for the better.

He fancied he was fixed in the midst of a water-spout, and in his struggles to escape, awoke to find that a great stream of water was pouring down upon him from the leaves of a palm under which he was sleeping.

A heavy shower had come on.

Getting up, he went to the house the boys had built, and was about to enter, when he was stopped by Harvey.

“You can’t come inside,” said the latter.

“Why not? Do you want me to catch rheumatism out in the wet?” answered Hunston.

“I’ll ask Harkaway. It’s time to call him; but the fact is, after the threats you used, I am afraid of you.”

“I shan’t hurt you,” said Hunston, with a laugh. “It would be easy enough, if I felt inclined. What’s to prevent me from cutting your throat like a rabbit?”

Harvey shuddered.

Hunston spoke in such a cold-blooded way, that he feared him more than ever; but, touching his gun, he exclaimed—

“Only this, my boy. This will stop you.”

“Let me in tonight, and I’ll cut the shop tomorrow,” Hunston said, pleadingly. “I shall be better off with the savages.”

Harvey woke Jack, saying—

“It’s your turn to watch now. I am pretty well done up.”

“Has Hunston come back?” asked Jack springing up.

“Yes; he’s at the door. It’s pelting with rain. Shall he come in?”

“Oh, yes, let the poor beast in.”

“Be on the lookout. He’s in a nice state of mind, I can tell you.”

“Is he? Well, it isn’t to be wondered at. What does he look like?” asked Jack, with a grin.

“Beautiful. He’s a sort of cross between a zebra and a chimpanzee with the measles.”

Hunston stepped forward.

He had heard this remark, and he exclaimed—

“What are you? I should call you a cross between a laughing jackass and a baboon, with a dash of Tom Fool in you.”

“Look here! stash that sort of thing,” cried Jack. “I’m cock here. You must not cheek Harvey.”

“Why can’t he let me alone?”

“It’s his playful nature. He is not savage like you.”

“Enough to make me savage. Look at my face,” growled Hunston.

“I will in the morning, when there’s more light; at present our lamp is rather dim. But you ought to feel flattered at the delicate attention the natives have paid you.”

“Why?”

“Because, when you get back to England, if you ever do, you need not be hard up,” answered Jack. “All you’ve got to do is to hire yourself out to some cove with a caravan, and he can take you round the country and show you, at a penny a head, as the ‘wild man of the Unknown Islands, by nature painted as you see him, born with a parrot on each cheek, ana a small crocodile on the nose. Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, walk up; only a penny. Positively only a brown to see this wonderful natural phenomenon.’ Then will come a touch of the big drum, and the coppers will roll in like a steam. Tie a sheepskin round your waist, and you’ll draw. Your fortune’s as good as made.”

“Go on,” said Hunston. “It pleases you, and it doesn’t hurt me.”

“Or you might be advertised as the marvellous man monkey, ornamental if not useful.”

“I shan’t answer you. I’m going to pitch in the corner. My unfortunate nut aches fit to split,” Hunston observed.

“ ‘Behold him, ladies and gentlemen, but at the same time beware’,” Jack went on, “ ‘for he takes the most lovely maidens into the topmost branches of the highest trees, regardless of their piteous cries, and the agonized entreaties of their frenzied relatives.’ ”

“Shut up, you fool!” cried Hunston, who could not keep his temper.

“I’m only doing the showman,” Jack answered.

“You might let a fellow get a few winks of sleep after all he has gone through.”

“All right. Dick be quiet. The pictorial ape sleeps.”

Hunston pretended to snore, but he did not go to sleep.

He was watching his opportunity, which came sooner than he expected.

Harvey threw himself down, and also made him believe that he was worn out and wanted rest.

But he distrusted Hunston and determined to watch him.

Only the humming of the night birds and insects, with the occasional hiss of a snake, and the wild and horrid noise made by some wild beast in the jungle, broke the silence of the night.

The rain had cleared up as suddenly as it had come on.

Jack took a peep outside, standing half in, and half out of the doorway.

The rain that had fallen rose again in thick heavy vapour from the hot ground.

Knowing that this very often gave rise to fevers, Jack did not venture out.

Hunston had not taken his snake-like eyes off him.

Seeing his back turned, he rose on his hands and knees.

Opening his clasp knife, he placed it between his teeth, and crawled stealthily towards his victim.

In an instant Harvey was after him.

Just as he started up in the dim mist of that tropical night to plunge his knife into the back of Harkaway, who was totally unsuspicious of his intention, Harvey was upon him.

Throwing his arms round his neck, he put on a hug that nearly strangled him.

He fell on his back on the floor of the hut, and Harvey placed his knee on his chest.

“Would you?” he said.

“What’s the shine, Dick?” asked Jack, turning round.

“Can’t you see?”

“I can’t make out exactly.”

“It would have been all up the Baltic with you in a brace of shakes if I hadn’t guessed what his game was and watched him. He’d got a knife to stab you with.”

“Had he, by jingo?” replied Jack, who now began to realise the narrow escape he had had.

Hunston glanced sullenly and defiantly at them.

CHAPTER XXII

AN UGLY FIX

PRESENTLY Jack spoke.

“I’ll tell you what it is, old man,” he exclaimed, “if you play tricks with me, it’s either your life or mine, and as king of this island, I shall have to try you by court-martial, and let the daylight into you with an ounce of lead.”

“I didn’t mean anything,” answered Hunston, cowering before him.

“What had you a knife for?”

“You see, I was dreaming, and walked in my sleep.”

“It won’t wash,” said Jack.

“What I’ve gone through upset my mind. I thought I was going to attack one of the natives, and make my escape.”

“It isn’t good enough,” continued Jack.

“Don’t you believe me?”

“Not by a long way. You’re a bad lot, Mr. Hunston, and you’ll have to make tracks.”

“What?”

“Walk your chalks!”

“You won’t send me away! How can I live unarmed, in the open?” pleaded Hunston.

“You stepped it of your own accord a little while ago, and now you’ll hook it to please me.”

“That was temper. I meant to come back, only the natives copped me,” replied Hunston. “Come, Jack, make it up. I swear I didn’t mean any harm. You were always more generous to me than I deserved. Don’t kick me out like a dog. There are wild beasts on the islands, and I saw snakes. These are not nice companions, let alone the head-hunting natives.”

“It’s your own fault.”

“Don’t be hard on me,” continued Hunston.

“I’ll leave it till the morning, and then we’ll decide what’s to be done with you,” replied Jack. “It’s beastly to think there is treachery in the camp. I don’t like it.”

“I know what that means,” said Hunston, gloomily. “You’ll let me be quiet till the morning, and then you’ll shunt me. If I go by myself on this island I must croak, you know that.”

“No, I don’t. Forage for yourself.”

“You don’t seem to see exactly what you are doing,” Hunston said. “But I’ll tell you if Harvey will let me go.”

“Let him get up, Dick,” said Jack.

Hunston rose and shook himself, like a Newfoundland dog on getting out of the water.

“Go ahead,” continued Jack. “I’m so far up to you, that you don’t perform on me. I’m wide awake enough.”

“If you send me away, you drive me into the hands of the natives. They won’t kill me now, because they consider me under the protection of a spirit, and they will be glad enough to have me when I tell them who the spirit is, and what a nice, little, well-stored crib he’s got here.”

“You’re villain enough for anything,” exclaimed Jack.

“If I’m driven to it.”

“Were you driven to trying to annoy me at school, or to drown me on board ship, or to make yourself master here, or to go in for stabbing me tonight?” said Jack, looking pointedly at him.

“Let the past drop. I’m talking about what you’re driving me to now,” answered Hunston.

“You double-distilled ass,” exclaimed Jack, impatiently. “Do you think I can’t see through you?”

“I don’t want to be master,” Hunston continued. “But I don’t see why a fellow with my experience, who has made more than one voyage, should be put on the shelf, because you choose to make a favourite of Harvey.”

“Dick and I are old chums. Dick is a gentleman, which is what you never were, and never will be.”

“His father’s only a clerk, a half-and-half City banking Clerk, and my father has got his own property,” Hunston said.

“I’m talking about the man himself, and not about fathers,” replied Jack. “I say Dick’s an old pal of mine, and he has always gone straight, which you have not, and that’s why I made him my lieutenant.”

“Won’t you trust me?”

“I can’t. If you were to go down on your knees, and take all the oaths you ever knew, I shouldn’t feel any more comfortable with you in the place, than I should with a young cobra copella between my ship’s blankets.”

Hunston looked foolish.

“You asked me for it, and now you’ve got it,” Jack went on.

“Then you’d rather have me as an enemy,” said Hunston.

“What are you now?”

“Willing to be your friend.”

To Hunston’s offer of friendship Jack simply replied—

“Bosh! over the left.”

“All right, my hearty. It don’t make much difference to me,” cried Hunston. “If I can’t have your friendship, I’ll have——”

“What?” asked Jack, as he hesitated.

“Your head,” replied Hunston.

Jack and Harvey regarded him with amazement.

Was he going to make another attack upon them?

What did he mean? Jack scarcely knew how to deal with Hunston.

He was in a sort of fix.

Hunston was not slow in taking advantage of the impression that he had made upon Jack.

“I suppose you know,” he went on, “that the natives you saw to-day are head-hunters?”

“Yes. I gathered as much as that,” answered Jack.

“Very well, then we can sail fair,” continued Hunston, who stooped down to repossess himself of his knife. “Am I to go?”

“How can I keep you here, when you are always trying to prod me with knives, and won’t knock under?”

“I never did, and never will. The man isn’t born whom I shall call master.”

“But don’t you know,” exclaimed Jack, “that even the savages have a chief? There must be some head to keep things in working order. What is it you want?”

“My idea is that of a republic. One man’s as good as another. Let us live like brothers, and share and share alike.”

“Yes,” Harvey said, derisively, “a nice brother you’d make. If you had the key of the spirit chest, you’d be as light as a drum in an hour.”

“A good job, too,” replied Hunston. “But don’t you put your say in. I’m talking to your master.”

“Who’s that?”

“Harkaway; didn’t he say he was king? Very well. If he is, of course he’s your master as well as mine, though that’s not what I’m driving at. I’m to go, that’s flat. I don’t care much, for I shall go to the natives and make terms with them. They will plan an attack on you here, and I shall show them the way, so you know what you’ve got to expect.”

“That’s a nice return for all our kindness,” observed Jack.

“Kindness,” repeated Hunston, scornfully.

“I don’t see that we have treated you badly.”

“Oh, don’t you? I’m sorry for you then.”

“You have tried more than once to take away my life, and I suppose you know that is murder,” exclaimed Jack, severely. “If you were at home you would be tried and hanged for it.”

“Hanged for killing a thing like you!”

“Never mind what I am. You need not be so cocky. I could shoot you now and be justified in doing so,” Jack said colouring.

“Why?”

“Simply because you have basely and treacherously tried to take away a life you cannot give back again. You’re like a dog that bites the hand that feeds it.”

“Well, I’m off. My name’s Walker, and I can see the sooner I slope out of this caboose the better. It won’t take me long to find better diggings. Will you give me a gun and some powder and shot?” said Hunston.

“Not likely,” answered Jack, “you don’t take me for such a flat, do you ? I may be green, I know I am green in some things, but I’m not so jolly thundering green as all that.”

“I only want to shoot something.”

“Somebody you mean, and that somebody is myself. No, thank you. When I’m tired of my life, I’ll make you a present of our best double-barrelled, but not before.”

“I meant I wanted to kill something to live upon,” said Hunston, looking confused.

“Over the left,” remarked Harvey.

“Join your friends the niggers. You’re worth your grub to them; they’ll board and lodge you,” replied Jack.

“I may not find them at once.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t live here,” replied Hunston, becoming confidential. “This is a desert island, with no inhabitants except ourselves. They came over in proas or long boats.”

“How do you know that?” queried Jack, who was much interested in this announcement.

“I heard the Tuan Biza talking, and asked him a lot of questions. They call this Pulo Kapul or Ship Island, because it is a dangerous coast, and ships have, been wrecked here before.”

“What did they come here for?”

“For a spree, I suppose. There was some ceremony on, and it was a sort of excursion,” answered Hunston.

“I don’t understand the habits of the beggars,” exclaimed Jack. “But are you sure you are not humbugging us?”

“No, I’m not really. I tell you the truth. The natives you saw came from some distance. They had, as far as I can ascertain, boarded an English merchant vessel, for they are awful pirates, and they had killed all the passengers and crew except a young girl, whom they led captive to their town or village.”

“An English girl?” asked Jack, his face flushing indignantly.

“Yes.”

“Well, cut along, Hunston,” Jack said; “you can’t stop here until you get better ideas, I won’t say into your head, but into your heart; that’s where you are wrong, old boy.”

“Good-bye,” muttered Hunston, as Harvey left the doorway to make room for him to pass.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Jack went on, “if you come back ready and willing to make one of us, I shall always be glad to forget what’s happened. I can’t say more than that, can I?”

Hunston was silent.

“Can I, Dick?” repeated Jack.

“I’m sure you can’t,” replied Harvey.

“Oh, yes,” sneered Hunston, “you want to be a couple of jolly good-natured fellows, don’t you? That sort of lingo is only meant to glorify yourselves, and make me look small.”

“I won’t waste any further words with you,” Jack said, in a tone of annoyance. “Clear out.”

He stood on one side, and Hunston quitted the castle in the grey dawn of the early morning, and was soon lost to sight in the distance.

“A good riddance,” remarked Jack.

“Yes, he’s useless; and I suppose I can take my forty winks now,” replied Harvey.

Jack replied in the affirmative, and walked up and down outside the castle, gun in hand, so as to be ready in the event of a surprise.

He thought over his present position, and thoughts of home came into his mind.

Would he ever see his home again?

Surrounded on all sides by peril, it was extremely doubtful, but he kept a good heart and did not despair.

Thinking of what Hunston had told him about the wreck of an English ship on a neighboring island, and the capture of a young lady by the natives, caused his thoughts to turn to Emily.

It was pleasant to think that she was happy with her friends.

To know that the natives had only visited his island was consoling, because they were not so likely to attack him.

What would Hunston do?

He had, in his bullying, blustering way, threatened to make friends with the natives if he fell in with them again.

Very likely he might be able to effect an union with them.

And flushed with the hope of plunder as well as human heads, they would not be a force to be despised.

Yet he could not blame himself for letting Hunston go away.

While in the castle, he was always plotting against Jack and seeking his life.

He was his enemy anyhow.

All Jack could do was to be always on the watch.

He resolved that he would go out the next day and once more explore the island, so as to see if the savages were still upon it.

In his belt he placed pistols and knives, and over his shoulder he carried his breech-loading gun.

When Harvey heard his intention, he begged to be allowed to accompany him.

This he could not agree to, as it would not have been safe to leave the castle in the charge of Maple.

So Jack started alone.

Having set off before the heat of the day came on, Jack, in about three hours, had done his ten miles.

He passed several lakes, fringed with ferns; hot, sulphurous fumes exhaled from them.

On one was a flock of wild birds, which he longed to have a shot at, but did not deem it prudent, as he might give an indication of his presence to enemies.

Occasionally he came across springs and pools of steaming, boiling water, showing the volcanic nature of the ground for miles near the burning mountain.

A range of hills rose up before him, and from these descended a variety of streams which formed themselves into a river.

This gradually increased in size and volume till it reached the sea.

It was magnificently wooded on both sides, and, as Jack stood on the bank and gazed up and down, he thought what a lovely place it would be to come and fish in.

Vines, shrubs, and large trees, were mingled together, while gaudy-plumaged birds disported themselves in the dense foliage.

Even a photograph could scarcely convey a correct and adequate idea of the magnificence of the scenery.

Being hot and tired, Jack made up his mind to have a bath.

For a moment he forgot that there might be dangerous reptiles in the river.

The water looked so cool and tempting that he could not resist it.

Laying down his gun, pistols and knives, he took off his clothes, and selecting a good place on the bank to jump off from, plunged in with a header.

He came up with the sparkling water bubbling over his head.

“This is jolly,” he exclaimed. “I wish old Harvey was here. How he would enjoy it.”

And he struck out to cross the river, the stream of which was not very strong. He had not gone more than a dozen yards before he heard a shouting behind him.

Turning round he saw three men.

A glance seemed to show him that they were savages.

They gesticulated and held up their hands in which were spears, as if to arrest his attention.

Luckily he had taken the precaution to hide his weapons and clothes under a carraway tree, the long, needle-like leaves of which effectually protected and concealed them.

It seemed as if the natives were telling him to come back.

“Thank you,” muttered Jack to himself, “I’d rather not. I’ve no doubt you’re very nice when one knows you, but I’ve no desire to have the pleasure of your acquaintance, we’ll postpone the honour.”

His intention was to swim to the opposite bank and make his escape.

He could return for his gun and clothes when they were gone.

Anything was better than falling into their hands.

The noise made by the natives redoubled.

“What a row the varmints are kicking up,” Jack said, wondering what they meant.

He was very soon to find out.

Suddenly he saw something in the water ahead of him.

Something ugly and scaly, like the head of a monster in a pantomime.

A thing with dull eyes, but big jaw, which he knew in an instant belonged to a crocodile.

It was between him and the shore.

Behind him were the natives.

It was death to retreat, and it looked very much like death to advance or stay where he was.

Jack’s blood turned cold, and he felt as if the water, which he had hitherto thought temperate, had become icy.

“I’m a gone coon,” he said to himself; “either the crocodile or the niggers must have me, and it’s odds on the croc.”

It was certainly an awkward meeting, and showed the danger of bathing in a river in the tropics. What was he to do!

Jack had not the remotest idea.

He stared at the crocodile, and the repulsive brute glared back again at him.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE FEAST OF THE CANNIBALS

“Yes,” continued Jack to himself, “I’ll back the fish. It’s long odds on the scaly monster of the deep.”

But in spite of his apparent levity, he was very much alarmed.

His position seemed a hopeless one.

He was afraid to move much, and kept treading water and floating gently down the stream.

If he moved he had an idea that the crocodile would at once make a dive at him.

All at once he heard something whizz past his ear.

A short stick floated on the water near him, and he fancied that the natives were shooting arrows at him, and trying to kill him.

“That’s coming it too strong,” he muttered. “It’s getting hot now and no mistake.”

Another and another of these short sticks fell close to him, and Jack grasped one remarking that it was sharpened at both ends, and seemed to be cut from a very hard sort of wood.

This action of his may have roused the crocodile, who was of average size, for the monster moved towards Jack.

His huge jaws opened, and the formidable teeth he possessed became visible.

“God help me,” cried Jack, as the beast rushed at him. “It’s all over now. Good-bye to everybody and every thing. I should have liked a better grave than that beast’s stomach.”

The instinct of self-preservation was very strong within him.

Scarcely knowing why he did so, he put out his hand.

In it was the short stick shot at him by the natives.

This he thrust into the crocodile’s mouth quite suddenly.

His jaws tried to close, to bite off the boys appetising arm, but they shut on the sharp edges of the hard stick.

Unable to open or shut his mouth, the creature lashed the water into foam.

The natives had been very quiet for a time.

Now they set up a shout.

This led Jack to believe that they had purposely sent him the sharpened sticks, and not with the intention of injuring him.

Whether their intention was friendly or not he could not tell.

Perhaps they wanted to eat him themselves, and did not like the idea of a crocodile having such a tit-bit all to itself.

“They may be friendly, and they may be t’other. Very much t’other, I should suspect,” thought Jack. “However, I shan’t give them the chance of chawing up this child.”

Anxious to get out of the water as soon as possible, he swam with quick stroke to the opposite bank to that on which the natives were standing.

The crocodile followed him, though it was as inoffensive as a lamb now.

Once on the shore, Jack sank on his knees and thanked Heaven.

Then he took up a stone and threw it at the crocodile, upon which it made no impression.

“The brute’s like a hog in armour,” remarked Jack.

He ran for some distance, but finding the heat of the sun inconvenient, he climbed up a tree and hid himself among the thick leaves.

Here he remained until the sun’s power decreased.

He was so delighted at his escape from the dangers that had menaced him, that he did not care much for such little evils as being scorched by the sun, or parched with thirst.

When he could conveniently do so, he intended to seek a place near the river’s source, where he could ford the stream.

Nothing would have induced him to swim across the water again.

To be face to face, when bathing, with a crocodile, is quite enough once in a lifetime.

He learnt afterwards that it was not at all an unusual thing for the natives to thrust sharp-pointed sticks into the monster’s jaws, and so render him incapable of closing them.

That some natives still lingered on the island he had no doubt.

On dry land, and armed, he did not fear them.

It appeared, from what he learnt subsequently, that when they saw him in the water, they took him to be one of their own party.

Their shooting the sticks with their bows towards him was no proof of their friendliness to him.

Perhaps they were not a little surprised when they saw him get out of the water, with his white skin shining in the sun.

In time Jack descended from the tree, and made his way, as well as he could with his naked feet, along the river bank.

He found a ford, about two miles further up, crossed, and went towards the spot where he had left his clothes.

To his joy, he discovered them just as he had left them.

It did not take him long to dress, and with his gun and pistols, he felt himself a man once more.

It was time to get back, so he started on the homeward journey, not having done much that day.

That the island was larger than he had imagined he had found out, as well as that it had a water-shed from a range of hills of some importance.

In addition to this, the natives had not yet gone away.

There was a source of danger in this fact, for if Hunston was as good as his word, and made friends with these savages, he might at any moment lead them against his former companions.

While thinking of the dangers ahead, Jack stopped abruptly.

A wild sound fell upon his ears, which he knew from his experience of the day before, was the festival chant of the nation.

Approaching very cautiously, he saw that he had arrived at the spot where the savages had been singing joy songs over the capture of Hunston.

Had they got him again?

A glance sufficed to show him that the victim tied to the bamboo stake was not Hunston, nor did he see any trace of that young gentleman.

Fascinated by the expectation of some horrible spectacle, Jack halted, being well concealed, and looked on.

“Here’s the show gratis for nothing, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t peep at it,” was Jack’s remark.

A sharpened prop was placed under the prisoner’s chin, so that he could not move his head.

One look at the wretched man’s face proved conclusively that he had given up all hope of life.

It was possible to read nothing there but blank, hopeless despair.

Presently the barbaric chant ended.

The Tuan Biza stepped forward with a large, sharp knife in his hand.

As the chief, it was his privilege to cut out of the living victim any piece he liked best.

The parts of the human body which are esteemed the greatest delicacies by these cannibals are first, the palms of the hands, and then the eyes.

When the chief has gratified his choice the others are entitled in turn to advance and cut out bits.

The savage feast proceeded quickly, and the victim’s shrieks and moans were pitiful to hear.* (* For confirmation of this revolting custom, refer to Bickmore’s and Pfeiffer’s travels among the Battas of the East Indian Archipelago.) Jack ground his teeth with rage, but on looking to his rifle, found that he had lost the percussion cap off the nipple, and had not another with him. Besides the man might have been a criminal for what he knew.

It was evident that those men did not eat human flesh for lack of animal food.

Abundance of game was to be met with, as Jack knew.

They indulged their appetites in this beastly manner because they liked it.

It was a very long time before Jack got the sight of the hacked and bleeding form from his eyes.

Sick at heart, and faint, he glided away from the spot, and struck out for home.

When he reached the castle, he related his adventures to Harvey, who listened with increasing horror at each fresh detail.

Maple was equally impressed.

“I’m glad you got away from the crocodile,” said Maple. “But it would have been worse to fall in with the natives. Do you think they would eat us?”

“Yes, like a shot,” answered Jack. “But I don’t mean to give them the chance.”

“Will they attack us?” said Harvey, “that is the question.”

“Yes, a hundred to one on it,” answered Jack. “Hunston will make his peace with, and become one of, them, solely by promising them the plunder of our castle, and the enjoyment of our bodies. I don’t expect him tonight, though we shall not be safe from one hour to the other.”

“Let me watch, Jack,” exclaimed Maple, “and give me a gun. I’m sure I can shoot.”

“I can’t trust you,” replied Jack.

“Not when our lives are in danger? I should not, for my own sake, let the natives capture us.”

“Yes, you might if Hunston got hold of you, and promised you your own life. That’s what it is to have a bad character,” Jack continued. “You might in this crisis help us a great deal, but we know what you are; so, while Harvey and I do the watching and fighting you must be the indoor servant, Sally the housemaid, and Polly the cook, rolled into one; so set about your business at once, and let me have some dried venison and something to drink.”

Maple slunk away, ashamed of himself, and annoyed at not being allowed to act the part of a man.

It was his own fault, however, and he had only himself to thank for it.

“You’re dull, Jack,” observed Harvey, pouring him out a glass of wine.

“My nerves are a little shaken,” answered Jack, drinking the wine at a draught.

“No wonder.”

“And I’ve got an idea that stirring events are going to happen.”

“I wish a ship would come and take us away,” said Harvey, with a sigh, as he thought of home.

“So do I, but I don’t know that I should go in her,” replied Jack.

“Why not?” asked Harvey, in surprise.

“You heard what Hunston said about a ship being wrecked on another island?”

“Yes.”

“And an English girl being saved?” continued Jack.

“And taken into the interior as a captive or slave or something,” said Harvey.

“That was it,” replied Jack, adding, “well, I want to save that girl, and bring her away with me; and I shouldn’t consider myself a man, or be happy all my life, if I had the chance of going away, and did not make something more than an effort to rescue that English girl.”

“By Jove! you’re right, Jack. I always said you were a fine fellow,” cried Harvey, his face speaking the admiration he felt.

Involuntarily the boy’s hands met in a cordial grasp.

It was a silent compact between them to save their fair and unfortunate countrywoman at all hazards.

CHAPTER XXIV

KEPT IN SUSPENSE

A FEW days passed without bringing any cause of alarm to the castaways.

Jack did not decrease in vigilance.

He and Harvey kept a good lookout, distrusting Maple, who was treated as their drudge, for they knew his deceitful nature, and feared lest he might in some way be in communication with Hunston.

The captain’s dog, Nero, of which we have spoken, was tied up outside the castle, so that he might give notice of the approach of any foe.

He would not bark at any of the boys, and not knowing what Hunston’s real character was, he rather liked him in return for meat and biscuits he had given him, but the slightest tread of a strange footstep would make his loud bark resound through the woods.

“I wish I knew the worst,” Jack remarked to his friend. “If Hunston is going to lead the natives to attack us, he might do it and get the thing over.”

“Perhaps he’s not so bad as we think him, and will change his mind,” answered Harvey.

“Not he,” said Jack, with a shake of the head. “I know him of old. He only cares for himself. He would like to be king of the savages and have all our stores and firearms, but he hasn’t got them yet.”

“That reminds me of an idea I had,” said Harvey.

“Out with it then; don’t be afraid of it.”

“If we were attacked it would be from the clearing we’ve made, as the enemy could act more compactly together. My idea is to load, say twenty guns, and fix them nearly all together so that we could tie a string to the triggers, pull it and fire a volley, which would kill the lot.”

“All right,” said Jack. “I loaded about thirty guns yesterday, and put them in a corner, so that I could take up one after another and let fly at the niggers on the principle of one down, t’other come on.”

This idea of Harvey’s was adopted, and a formidable battery erected in a few hours.

The boys felt more comfortable when they had taken every precaution against a surprise that prudence suggested.

“Some of these guns are oldish. I hope they won’t ‘bust’ up,” remarked Jack, with a smile.

“If you think that,” answered Harvey, regarding the battery fondly, “let’s make Maple pull the string. If he was blown into little bits and smithereens, he wouldn’t be much loss. ”

“I should like to take a stroll and see what is going on,” Jack said, anxiously.

“You mustn’t venture a yard from the castle, Jack,” cried Harvey. “I won’t have it. Our only chance is in the bundle-of-sticks dodge. We must hang together. How do you know that we are not being watched now from some bush, and that your departure on a stroll would be the signal for a rush in and a surprise of the place. It makes my hair curl to think of it.”

“All right. I won’t leave you,” Jack replied, “though this continued suspense is not at all to my liking. Perhaps the natives have left the island, their game of jinks being over, and Hunston can’t find them.”

“No,” said Harvey, thoughtfully. “He’s found them. If he hadn’t, he’d have been back. How could he live without arms to kill birds and things? He’s met with them, and is getting something up for us.”

“He’ll meet with a hot reception. Our guns will astonish the weak nerves of his new friends.”

“That’s what he’s afraid of. He wants to catch us napping.”

“Don’t he wish he may get it?” answered Jack, adding, “I say, Dick, have you noticed those fine birds that look like pheasants—the beggars that eat our corn up! Look at them now; they’re wiring in like steam. Here, Maple, you little humbug, why don’t you go and bird-flap? It’s all you’re fit for.”

“They won’t go away,” replied Maple, who was hoeing the weeds out of some potatoes that had just begun to sprout.

“You’ve only got to show your ugly mug and they’ll have fits,” replied Jack. “Whistle, howl, do something. Give them a ‘lul-li-e-ty’ like that we used to wake old Crawcour up with, and drive Mole mad on the winter evenings at Lillie Bridge.”

“I wish I was back there again,” said Maple, almost tearfully.

“You ungrateful little viper,” exclaimed Jack sarcastically. “Do you mean to say that you don’t appreciate the honour of being head-cook and bottle-washer to King Harkaway and Duke Harvey, his prime minister, home secretary, and all the rest of it.”

“Duke Humbug,” muttered Maple.

“What’s that you say?” asked Harvey. “I’ll give you something, my fine fellow. Come here and do homage. Come on.”

“Do what?” said Maple, laying down his hoe and advancing.

“Do homage. Kneel on both knees, and put my feet on your head in token of submission. You won’t? Lend me that stick, an’ it please your most gracious majesty. I must welt this disobedient subject.”

Jack handed him a stick he carried in his hand, and laughed heartily.

“Lamm in to him,” he said.

“Oh, don’t hit me, Harvey,” roared Maple. “I’m sore all over from the last hiding you gave me. I’ll do homage or any other rot you like.”

Accordingly Harvey refrained, and Maple kneeling down, put his head under the prime minister’s feet, and was afterwards allowed to resume his work.

“That will teach you not to be cheeky,” observed Harvey. “We don’t allow any Radicals here.”

Maple gave him a spiteful look, and went to the cornfields to drive away the gaudy-plumaged birds that were making such sad havoc with the corn.

They rose in a body as he approached, but when he went away they soon came down again.

Jack tried to get a shot at them, and found them too wary, for they would not let him get near them.

In appearance they resembled pheasants and seemed as if they would be excellent eating.

“I never saw such wary brutes,” Jack observed. “It’s a nuisance, too, because if we could kill a few, we could see what they would be like in the pot, and we should also be able to make some scarecrows to keep the rest away. I can’t get near them.”

“I’ll tell you a dodge,” remarked Harvey. “Although I’m a Londoner and the gov’s a clerk in the City, I’ve been a good deal at my uncle’s farm in Gloucestershire, and I’ll tell you how he gets his game.”

“Shoots it, I suppose?”

“No; he doesn’t shoot it either; so you’re out there. The landlord wouldn’t let him start a feather with a gun,” answered Harvey, with a knowing wink.

“How is it done, then?” asked Jack.

“I’ll show you. You know those fowls we saved from the wreck?”

“Yes; they’re in the coop now. A cock and three hens. I had an egg for my breakfast this morning. What of them?”

“Go and bring the cock, will you? He’s a regular old Turk to fight, and I’ll show you some fun.”

Jack went to the hen-coop and brought out the cock, which was a thoroughbred game fowl.

During his absence, Harvey had broken off two blades from his penknife, which he had in his pocket.

Taking the bird from Jack, he fixed the blades on to the creature’s legs.

“Those don’t make bad spurs, do they?” he asked.

“Not at all,” answered Jack.

“Follow me, then, and you shall see a match between the English barndoor fowl and the East Indian nondescript.”

They approached the cornfield, and the handsome birds flew away, perching as usual some distance off on high trees.

Harvey put down the cock, which began to crow loudly, and the boys hid behind the trunk of a tree.

The birds came cautiously back to their food, and one of the males, not liking the appearance of a stranger on the scene, flew down and gave him battle.

The birds flew at one another, and the issue was not long doubtful.

The English bird struck his enemy, and the blade of the penknife cut into his head, causing him to fall down with a death flutter.

“Dead as mutton,” whispered Harvey gleefully.

“What a lark!” said Jack, in the same tone.

“Hold your noise,” cried Harvey. “There’s another coming to have a pitch in.”

He was right.

Another of the beautiful birds came to fight the intruder and with an angry screech, which the cock met with a crow of defiance, the battle began, and ended quickly with the same result.

In a short time, half-a-dozen fine cock-birds were lying on their sides.

Harvey thought that enough, and took the victorious game-fowl back to the coop, having previously removed his formidable spurs, and then he rewarded him for his prowess with a handful of corn.

“What do you think of that?” asked Harvey, rejoining Jack, who was examining the spoil.

“Stunning. Your uncle was a genius, Dick,” replied Harkaway.

“That’s how we used to get the squire’s birds, as the keepers never heard a gun fired, they never twigged the caper. But I’ll show you something else. My aunt was very fond of partridges, and we used to give them her. First of all we spotted a covey, and when this was done we were bound to have them.”

“How?”

“Give me about an hour, and I’ll show you. I’ve got to make my preparation,” answered Harvey.

“Cut along, then,” said Jack, adding—

“Maple?”

“Yes, Jack,” answered Maple.

“Don’t ‘yes, Jack’ me,” exclaimed Harkaway, with an affectation of anger. “I’m king. Speak to me with proper and becoming respect.”

“Very well, my lord,” said Maple.

“That won’t do. It’s not half grand enough.”

“What does your majesty require? Will that do?”

“It’s better. Take a brace of those birds; pluck them, and stick them before a fire. I want to see how they eat.”

Maple sat down and began his task with a groan.

He hated plucking and cleaning birds.

But grumbling was no use, and he had to do it.

CHAPTER XXV

HUNSTON’S RECEPTION BY THE NATIVES

TO use his own expression, Hunston was rather “down in the mouth” as he threaded his way through the luxuriant vegetation of the tropics. The day had broken with its usual splendour, and though not insensible to the beauties of nature, he had no inclination just then to give rein to his admiration.

His mind was full of dark, black thoughts.

“I hate Harkaway,” he muttered; “I always did dislike him, and now I detest him more than ever. We never cottoned at school, and it’s clear we can’t pull together.”

He forgot that Jack’s hostility was entirely provoked by his own bad conduct.

He had never kept faith with his companions, and he had not hesitated to act in the most murderous manner towards them.

Was it any wonder that Jack was obliged to use harsh and strong measures?

But the wicked are always slow to blame themselves.

Their evil thoughts lead them to think unkindly of the virtuous and good.

As he went along he passed groves of nutmeg trees growing wild.

This useful tree is in such abundance that the land is full of it without its being planted by anyone.

All the islands in the Archipelago produce it more or less.

When June and September come, the nutmeg, which produces the mace outside the shell, is ready for gathering, and when the natives are inclined for trade, it brings a rich harvest.

Feeling thirsty, Hunston threw a heavy stone at a cocoanut palm, and brought down a rich cluster of the ripe fruit.

Cutting them open with his knife, he put his mouth to them and sucked out the rich juice.

Then he stooped down and cut a pineapple.

The Malays and Javanese call it nanas, and are very fond of it.

“Fancy a fellow cutting pineapples and sucking cocoanuts,” said Hunston. “Those who go to sea have a chance of meeting with strange things. Some chaps like it. I don’t. I’d rather be smoking my pipe and dipping my beak into a foaming pewter of malt in some quiet pub, going out of the Strand or Tower Hill, than running wild in this beastly hole.”

He had not gone much further before he saw a tall dark form in front of him.

“Scissors!” he ejaculated.

He had come face to face with a native whom he had not much difficulty in recognizing as the Tuan Biza.

The recognition was mutual.

“Ha!” exclaimed the chief. “Has the great spirit sent you to us again?”

A cruel smile played round the corners of his ugly black mouth.

“Fiddlesticks,” said Hunston. “I’ve nothing to do with spirits, although I shouldn’t mind four of pale brandy, cold, with a lump of ice in it. This land of yours is so jolly hot.”

“Why do you seek our camp then?” continued the Tuan Biza, who did not know whether to regard Hunston as a friend or enemy.

“To put you up to a good thing. Do you know enough English to understand that?”

The chief nodded his head in token of assent.

“I want to be your friend,” continued Hunston. “Let us enter into an explanation. When you caught me a few days back, I had had a row with my companion.”

“Ah!” said the Tuan Biza, with a significant look. “Those who with you were wreck.”

“Just so.”

“How many?”

The chief counted on his fingers one, two, three, four.

Then Hunston stopped him.

“There were four,” he said. “But one is dead. That is to say, we were five in all. One being dead, and I being here, the number is reduced to three. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” replied the Tuan Biza.

“Very well. They have arms, guns, pistols, and powder. Do you know what those are?”

“No,” replied the chief. “I learn English when I work in the hold of a ship; but I never see what you speak of. I go to the coast, but not know much.”

“I’ll enlighten your ignorance then,” said Hunston. “You remember Buru being hurt, as you thought, by the spirit? Well, it was a shot fired from a gun held by one of my late companions.”

The chief intimated that he had heard of such wonderful things, though he had never handled them, and he thought he had seen them, but he had never taken any particular notice of or interest in them.

In fact, the Tuan Biza knew very little about the habits, customs and weapons of civilized countries.

He had obtained his knowledge of English from some traders to whom he sold spice, and who employed him to load the cargo; but that was long ago.

With great difficulty Hunston made him understand that guns could kill anything at a certain distance, and that his three companions had a good store of them, together with powder and shot.

He added that they lived in a house they had built, not far from where they were then standing, and that they had saved a variety of valuable things from the wreck of their ship.

The Tuan Biza was a sharp man in his way, and he comprehended Hunston’s meaning so far as to say—

“You want to be one of us, a head-hunter?”

“Yes. I should like to have Jack’s head and Harvey’s,” replied Hunston, savagely.

“Who Jack? Who Harvey?” asked the chief.

“The people in the castle—Jack’s castle.”

“And the other, the three one?”

He meant the “third” one.

“Oh, he’s a pal o’ mine; a friend, I mean, and I’ll entice him out. I don’t want his head.”

“And you will show us how to get the lightning guns and the stores?”

“Of course I will. You and I with your men can do it,” answered Hunston. “But tell me, why are you stopping here?”

“Buru is badly hurt,” replied the Tuan Biza. “I thought the spirit struck him by lightning, but I now see that it was the fire-gun. We came here to have a feast, according to our customs. We not live here. Our island many miles, fifteen, twenty, thirty from here. When Buru well, we go back in two boat.”

“Oh, that’s it? Will you take me with you, and make me your king?”

“First give us the fire-gun and the ship’s things. Do this for us, and we will make you king,” answered the Tuan Biza cautiously.

“That’s an agreement. I’ll lead you against Jack’s castle.”

“When?”

“Oh, there’s no hurry. We’d better wait a few days, as they expect an attack now, and if we are quiet, they will not be so watchful. You see we have no guns, and they have an advantage over us.”

“Come with me,” said the chief. “I will make you friendly with my young men. You are tattooed, and they will not hurt you, because they think you are under the protection of the great spirit.”

“You won’t let Keyali have my head? Keyali wants a head, you know,” remarked Hunston.

“I am Tuan Biza,” answered the chief, drawing himself up grandly.

“All right. I only want to be on the safe side. No tricks upon travellers. Don’t you try any games on with me. It won’t wash.”

This speech was not very comprehensible to the Tuan Biza, but he seemed to catch the sense of it, and, taking Hunston by the hand, led him some little distance to the camp.

The warriors were surprised to see Hunston.

His appearance, owing to his recent tattooing, was rather savage and ferocious, but they might not have received him favourably, unless the chief had told them that he was their great friend, and was going to get them heads and many good things belonging to the white men.

When the Tuan Biza’s companions understood the benefit that Hunston was going to confer upon them, and realised that their chief had made a compact with him, they crowded round Hunston, and gave him signs of friendship.

This was enough for Hunston.

When he felt that his life was safe, he became arrogant once more.

“Give me some of that spirit stuff you make out of the palm,” he exclaimed.

They brought him what he required in the half of a cocoanut.

Then he threw himself down on some leaves under a tree, and prepared to go to sleep.

“Keep your friends away from me, will you?” he continued to the chief. “I maybe a worthy object of curiosity, but I want to be quiet for a spell, and your nigger friends don’t smell nice when the wind blows this way.”

The Tuan Biza ordered the open space around Hunston to be kept clear.

He collected his companions in another spot, and told them all what Hunston was going to do for them.

At the prospect of heads and plunder into the bargain, they all grew jolly.

The palm spirit passed freely from one to another.

War songs were sung, and they talked of nothing else than the coming murder of the whites, against whom their new associate Hunston was to lead them.

Hunston and the savages had made friends.

The alliance boded no good to Jack and his companions in the castle.

But some people’s consciences are elastic.

At all events Hunston slept calmly, and did not seem to be troubled with bad dreams.

CHAPTER XXVI

A MESSAGE FROM THE SEA

In about an hour Harvey came out of the castle with a basin full of peas.

“What have you got there?” inquired Jack.

“Peas—soaked in oil of vitriol,” replied Harvey, “you’ll see the birds pick them up and roll about quite groggy, when we can go and wring their necks. The peas will burn a hole in their crops, and fall out of themselves, so that the game won’t be injured at all.”

“You and your uncle were up to a few rummy dodges,” remarked Jack. “I should call him a scientific poacher.”

“He was all that. It was a lark to hear the squire’s keeper come and say, ‘I can’t make out, Mr. Harvey, where the birds go to. Covey after covey vanishes. There must be some desperate poachers about somewhere,’ ” replied Harvey, laughing as he thought of it.

Walking to the edge of the clearing, Harvey scattered the peas about, and retired to watch the result.

The timid birds did not come down from the trees until the coast was clear.

When the flock found out the peas, which had been partially boiled in hot water, and then, soaked in vitriol, they snapped them up savagely.

The effect was soon visible.

They were unable to fly, and staggered about in eccentric circles.

Jack and Harvey rushed up and seized them easily, wringing their necks, and bagging several dozen, which thinned the flock considerably. The finest they reserved for eating—the others they tied to stakes driven in the ground, and used as scarecrows to frighten the others away.

“We might have tried that dodge on with old Mole’s pigeons at Crawcour’s,” remarked Jack.

Maple now appeared with Jack’s dinner. The birds were done to a turn, and found to be excellent eating.

“I don’t know what this fowl is called, but it eats better than parrot,” Jack remarked, “and your plan of killing these things will save our powder and shot, of which we haven’t got too much. Try a wing.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” answered Harvey.

It was the custom of Maple to go to the signal station that Mr. Mole had built, for an hour every day, to sweep the sea with a glass in the chance of seeing a passing sail.

Approaching Jack, he exclaimed—

“Shall I go to the lookout now?”

“Have you done your work?” replied Jack.

“Yes.”

“Cut along, then, and don’t go to sleep as you did the other day. If I come up and find you winking even, I’ll take it out of you,” Jack said.

Maple put a telescope under his arm, and went to the beach.

Harvey and Jack liked the birds so much that they cooked another brace.

It was a lovely day, and after looking through the glass, and seeing nothing in the shape of a ship, Maple thought he would like a bath.

“The sea looks jolly tempting,” he muttered. “I’ll chance a walloping. Jack’s gorging those birds, and he’s a beggar to eat when he gets anything he likes. I’ll have a dip, if I die for it.”

Quickly throwing off his clothes, he walked along the hot sands, which almost burned his naked feet, until he came to a rock-bound pool, clear as crystal.

The retiring tide had left it full of water, and its depth was about three feet, while its circumference might have been a couple of dozen yards.

Beautiful shells and sprigs of coral glistened at the bottom, which, like the beach, was lined with soft, golden sand.

Plunging in, Maple splashed about like a young and sportive porpoise.

“This is something like,” he exclaimed, as he beat the water back in childish sport. “The sun has just made the water deliciously warm. This is Jack and Harvey’s bathing-place. They’ll warm me if they catch me.”

Suddenly his eye caught something round and black lying on the top of the water, half hidden by a patch of seaweed in which it had got entangled.

“What’s that?” he cried. “It looks like a bottle.”

It was a bottle.

Wading up to it, he grasped an ordinary black bottle, which, once upon a time, might have contained port or sherry.

It seemed very light.

A cork was stuffed firmly into the neck, and as it rode on the surface of the water, it could have had nothing but air inside it.

“Only a bottle somebody has shied overboard for a lark,” he muttered, being about to throw it away.

He, however, was struck by a brilliant idea.

“I’ll make a cockshy of it,” he said to himself.

Selecting a prominent piece of rock at the edge of the basin in which he was bathing, he placed the bottle on it.

Then he picked up half a dozen round middle-sized pebbles.

The first one he threw at the bottle missed it, but the second caught it plump in the middle, and it fell down cracked in twenty pieces.

“Well, shied, sir; good shot, indeed, sir!” he exclaimed, exulting over his own prowess, just as if he was applauding the delivery of the ball from “Long on” in a cricket-field.

Just at that moment Jack came up and thought Maple had gone mad, but the latter soon stopped the noise he was making when he heard the king’s voice.

“What’s all this hullaballoo about?” cried Jack; “and what do you mean by leaving the signal station when you’re on duty?”

“I wanted to bathe,” replied Maple.

“I believe you will be all the sweeter for washing, and on that ground I won’t say anything more about it,” Jack exclaimed, with a smile. “But what was that I heard break? It sounded like glass.”

“So it was. I found a bottle and made a cockshy of it. There is what remains of it.”

Jack approached the broken bottle and the wind gently wafted a slip of paper towards him.

He bent down and seized it between his fingers.

“I say!” he cried; “it’s lucky I came up.”

“Why?” asked Maple.

“Because it’s a message from the sea.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t you know that very often when a ship is sinking, people will write something on a bit of paper, and putting it in a bottle, cork it down and chuck it into the sea, in the expectation of its being washed ashore or picked up by some one?”

“And is that a message?” asked Maple, coming out of the water and basking in the sun to dry himself before he put on his clothes.

Jack was too much absorbed in the perusal of the message to pay him any further attention.

“What is it, Jack? You might tell a fellow,” continued Maple, who really felt curious.

“Find out,” answered Jack.

Holding the paper in his hand, he hastened back to the castle to find Harvey.

The latter was lying under a tree in front of the castle, to protect himself from the heat, which, being the middle of the day, was very great.

As near as possible the sun was in its meridian.

“What’s the shindy, Jack?” asked Harvey, noticing that he was agitated.

“Come inside and I’ll tell you,” replied Jack.

“Just like my luck,” muttered Harvey, “I no sooner settle myself down for a snooze than somebody rouses me. I’m like the old woman in the story, who said she was doomed to be flustrated.”

He entered the castle after Jack, singing—

“I feel—I feel—I feel—

I feel like a morning star;

I feel—I feel—I feel——”

“I wish you’d make some allowance for my feelings, Dick, and not be howling that rubbish in my ear,” interrupted Jack.

“What’s come to your royal highness?” asked Harvey.

“A message from the sea.”

“The deuce there has ! That’s interesting. Let’s have it,” Harvey exclaimed, adding—

“The most devoted and obedient subject of your august majesty impatiently awaits your pleasure. Speak, oh king, and don’t make any bones about it.”

“I’ll break your bones, Dick, if you chaff,” answered Jack good-humouredly.

“Start with Maple or send him into the woods to catch a nigger, if your majesty is in a savage humour,” replied Harvey.

“Do you want to hear the message?”

“Yes. What did I leave my nest under the palm tree for? I’d rigged up a punkah—a beautiful one. It is an old door, hung on a branch. I have tied a piece of string to it, and can move it up and down, which makes a splendid draught just over one’s head. I shouldn’t have left it, I can assure you, unless I thought urgent affairs of state required my presence in the council chamber. Fire away.”

Jack straightened the paper, and prepared to read.

CHAPTER XXVI

WIDE AWAKE

This was the message from the sea:—

“Having come to the conclusion that I might improve my circumstances by emigration, I embarked with my wife and child in the ‘Eastern Monarch’ but on gaining the Indian Ocean, we encountered bad weather, which ultimately made us a wreck.

“At the time I write, the boats are being lowered, and we are going to seek safety where we may find it.

“This is to let my friends in England know how dreadful our situation is. God help us!”

Jack paused, and looked up.

“Well, what is there in that?” inquired Harvey.

“The signature is ‘J. Scratchley, late of Highgate, London,’ ” answered Jack.

“What then?”

“Haven’t I told you that I was brought up by a Mr. Scratchley?”

“Ah, I see.”

“And Emily, his dear little daughter, is the only girl I ever loved in my life.”

“Excuse my forgetfulness,” said Harvey. “I remember it now. Of course you were spoony on Emily, and you think that she has been wrecked with her father in the ‘Eastern Monarch.’ It’s as plain as a pikestaff now. But don’t fret. She’s somewhere about. No doubt she’s saved.”

“I don’t know,” replied Jack, with a shake of the head.

“Oh, yes; she is. It’s better than if she’d ‘gone to Brigham Young, a Mormonite to be.’ ”

“I’ll tell you what I fancy,” continued Jack. “I fancy Emily is that girl that Hunston’s savages spoke about. It’s my firm impression that she is on one of those islands.”

“Shouldn’t wonder,” answered Harvey, after thinking a moment. “It’s very likely; and if it is Emily, won’t it be jolly to save her?”

“She must be getting a big girl now. Who’d have thought old Scratchley would have emigrated?”

“Who’d would have thought of Mole going to China.”

“True,” said Jack. “It’s a curious world; so full of changes. We never know one year where we shall be next.”

“Was this letter corked up in a bottle?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the date?”

“It isn’t dated. I suppose Scratchley was too much flurried to think of dates; and if it were it wouldn’t help us, for I don’t really know the day of the week or the month of the year. I can only guess at them.”

“What’s the odds, so long as you’re happy?” said Harvey.

“I’m not happy,” answered Jack. “I don’t mind being here so much because I’ve got you, and it’s always jolly to have a friend. Robinson Crusoe is all very well on paper, but in reality it becomes tiresome when it goes on too long. I must rescue Emily.”

“She’s getting a big girl by this time,” observed Harvey.

“Yes; and I’m a big boy. Within the last few weeks I feel as if I had become a man, Dick.”

“So do I. Being in one’s own house makes one feel manly.”

“What’s that?” cried Jack, suddenly.

“What?”

“Hush!” Jack continued, putting his finger to his lips; adding, as he lowered his voice to a whisper—“There is some one in the bushes to the left. Keep a good lookout, I’ll go and fox him.”

In a moment Jack had glided away.

Before Harvey had recovered from his astonishment, he had disappeared.

Five minutes had elapsed. It was an age to Harvey.

Then Jack returned.

“That’s worth something,” he exclaimed. “I’ve found out what’s going on. Wasn’t there a cove in ancient history who had a hundred eyes?”

“Argus. Mythological sort of buffer,” replied Harvey.

“That’s the man. Well, one ought to be like him to keep one’s head on one’s shoulders. What do you think ? You’ll never guess.”

“I shan’t try. Put me out of my misery at once,” answered Harvey.

“I saw Maple talking to Hunston.”

“No!”

“I did though, and no flies,” replied Jack.

“You should say mosquitoes. Mosquitoes are the customers one meets with here,” remarked Harvey.

“It’s all the same. A ‘muskeeter’ is only a big, overgrown, stinging sort of fly. But listen to me. Maple has been talking to Hunston, and has agreed to betray us.”

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes; I was just in time. If I’d had my gun, I do think I should have felt justified in peppering Mr. Hunston.”

“The brute!” said Harvey.

“There is to be a night attack,” continued Jack.

“When?”

“Tonight. Maple is to ask us to be on guard, and to kill the dog. Then the niggers, led by Hunston, are to come up and tomahawk us.”

“A very neat arrangement.”

“Isn’t it? Fortunately we are wide awake, and they’ve got to spell ‘able’ before they do it.”

“It doesn’t matter so much now we know what their little game is,” said Harvey. “Because we can choke them off if they don’t surprise us.”

“I don’t mean that enterprising young nigger Keyali, I told you of, to have my head,” replied Jack.

“And he shan’t have mine. Not much. I guess we shall be too many for them.”

“Rather. Just a few,” answered Jack. “Still it is as well to know what we’ve got to expect.”

“We ought to have started Maple when we kicked Hunston out.”

“So we ought. They always did hang together.”

“What a reptile he is,” Harvey observed.

“Reptile. He’s worse than that. I’d rather make a friend of a boa constrictor than of him,” replied Jack, indignantly.

“What shall we do with him? Drown him like a kitten, or kill him with a back-hander like a rabbit?”

“Neither one nor the other. When we are attacked he is to go over to the enemy with as many loaded guns as he can carry. He knows where the loaded guns are. We will change the position, and put some empty ones there.”

“That’s not bad, but he ought to be done something to,” said Harvey.

“Wait till the battle begins. The savages will think their guns, stolen by Maple, are loaded, and they will advance pluckily. You’ll see Maple and Hunston among them, and if I get a cool shot at either of them, I shall think I’m justified in pulling the trigger.”

“I should think you would, too,” said Harvey.

“We shall kill the whole boiling of them, and a good job it will be. It’s very hard we can’t be left alone. We’re not interfering with anyone. However, they’ll get it hot this journey, or I’m very much mistaken.”

Presently Maple came up, looking rather sheepish.

“Hullo, Maple, what’s the row?” asked Harvey.

“I’m all right,” replied Maple, “bar the heat. This country takes it out of a fellow, and makes him want to sleep half his time.”

“Oh! I thought you’d seen somebody?”

“I haven t seen anybody, and don’t want to.”

“Don’t stand there jawing. Go and do something,” exclaimed Harvey. “What do you suppose we keep you for?”

Maple slunk away, and pretended to busy himself in some way.

“It’ll soon be over,” he said to himself. “They don’t know as much as I do.”

And he chuckled quietly.

In the afternoon Jack placed some empty guns where the loaded ones had been, and transferred the latter to another spot.

He and Harvey did not appear to have any idea of what was going on, and treated Maple just as they had done before.

This threw the latter off his guard.

Jack was on guard, but he lay down, and Maple thought he was asleep.

Taking advantage of his apparent slumber, he removed the guns and put them under a tree in the clearing.

All this was observed by Jack.

It was about twelve o’clock when Maple disappeared altogether.

Jack rose and touched Harvey on the shoulder.

“Now for it,” he exclaimed.

“Are they here ?” asked Harvey, who, in accordance with their arrangements, had been having a nap.

“I don’t think they are far off. Wake up. Maple’s stepped it.”

“Are the guns gone?”

“Yes.”

“I’m ready,” said Harvey. “Give us your hand, Jack. Think of me if I’m picked off.”

“God bless you, Dick. If you die I shall lose the only friend I ever had,” answered Jack, whose eyes were moist with tears.

“I can say the same. But I say, this won’t do. You’re blubbering, and so am I. Suppose you turn the cock on in another direction. Let’s have a drop of something.”

Jack produced a bottle of brandy, and they both took a sip.

Nero began to growl.

“The dog’s growling,” exclaimed Harvey.

“Then they’re coming. Look out. The loaded guns are in that corner. I have made two loopholes, one on each side of the door. You take one. I’ll take the other.”

“Right you are,” replied Harvey, who was freshened up by the brandy.

“Cover your man before you fire. There are a dozen of them, besides Hunston and Maple.”

“They’ve got nothing but spears,” exclaimed Harvey. “They’re not worth their salt as fighting men against us.”

All at once the dog gave a moan.

Jack peeped out, and saw him lying on his side.

It was evident that he had been killed by an arrow.

Setting his teeth together, Jack said—

“Stand close, Dick. They’ve killed the dog. There is just light enough to enable us to see the dark-skinned brutes. It’s their lives or ours.”

“So it is,” replied Harvey. “I don’t like the idea of shooting anyone, but it’s their lookout, and not ours. We don’t attack them.”

As he spoke, a troop of dusky savages emerged from the trees that skirted the clearing, and approached the castle.

The natives, with Hunston, walked behind Maple, who was some yards in front.

Jack sank on the ground, and simulated sleep again.

“Jack—Jack, old man,” said Maple.

There was no answer.

“I say, Jack,” continued Maple.

Still no answer.

Maple retired.

“It’s all right. They’re both asleep, and I’ve stolen the guns,” Jack heard him say.

Then Hunston spoke to the Tuan Biza, and the natives, in obedience to a sign, again advanced.

“Now, Dick, let ’em have it. Remember, it’s us or them. Aim low,” whispered Jack.

In an instant a couple of reports were heard.

These were followed by another and another in quick succession.

Loud cries arose on every side.

All was darkness and confusion.

The defenders of the castle continued to fire as rapidly as they were able.

It must be acknowledged that Hunston displayed great courage.

His voice could be heard incessantly urging on the savages whom he had led against his former friends, and when he found that the guns Maple had supplied them with would not go off, his rage knew no bounds.

The defenders of the castle kept up a steady fire. Such weapons as the natives possessed were of no use against the walls of the castle.

Seeing his companions falling around him, the Tuan Biza gave the orders to advance in a body, and storm the castle.

This was what Jack was waiting for.

With his own hands he pulled the string connected with the battery of firearms.

There was the report of a volley of musketry, loud cries followed the discharge, and then there was a solemn stillness, which intimated that the attacking party had either all perished, or had thought it advisable to beat a retreat.

Jack was completely victorious.

He did not, however, cease his vigilance—for it was impossible to tell what plans the savages might have made.

They might have had reinforcements, or be meditating an attack in another quarter.

So two weary hours passed, and then the much longed-for daylight came.

Neither Jack nor Harvey had made more than a passing remark occasionally.

Now they joined one another, and cautiously ventured outside.

Their victory had been more complete than even they had anticipated.

Eleven dead bodies lay upon the ground.

First of all they passed the dog, which had been killed at an early part of the engagement, and Jack said—

“Poor Nero!”

Ten of the bodies were those of fine, handsome, full-grown natives.

The eleventh was a white.

Passing in front of the corpse, Jack said sorrowfully—

“He has brought it upon himself. In the confusion and the darkness I cannot say whether you or I caused his death, Dick.”

It was Maple.

The boy was lying on his back, and a tranquil expression sat upon his features, as if death had been instantaneous, which perhaps it was, there being a wound in the region of the heart, through which the bullet probably passed.

“Poor little beggar,” remarked Harvey. “I’m sorry he’s gone. It makes one feel lonely, though I can’t say I really liked him. He never did anything to deserve pity at our hands.”

“Still,” said Jack, “it’s one more gone. We were five when we were cast on this island. Mole was the first to go, then Hunston left us, and now Maple’s dead.”

“He’d have killed us, Jack, if he had won the fight.”

“So he would, but I would rather Hunston had been killed. Maple was led by him.”

“Not always. Maple had a wicked mind, though as he’s gone, I won’t say anything against him. If you will look at the matter in the light I do, you will come to think that it’s a good thing we are left to ourselves. It strikes me we shall get on better.”

“You and I, Dick, could jog along anywhere; we were made to run together in double harness.”

“There don’t fret any more about Maple,” replied Harvey. “He was killed in fair fight, and deserved his fate; for a more treacherous trick than to steal our guns was never thought of.”

“He and Hunston arranged it; by the way, I suppose Hunston has got off clear with the Tuan Biza. I don’t see the chief among the slain.”

“We have killed nearly all of them—that’s a comfort,” Harvey remarked.

“After what has happened, Hunston will never come back to us,” Jack said. “He’ll go over to the Tuan Biza’s island and perhaps organise a fresh expedition against us.”

“I can’t understand two English fellows like Hunston and Maple fighting against their own friends,” Harvey said. “It licks me altogether.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” replied Jack; “and it seems to me that when a man gives way to his wicked thoughts and passions, ever so little, he opens the door to temptation, and he goes on doing low and dirty things till it becomes a habit with him, and he doesn’t know when to stop.”

“There’s a good deal of truth in that; a fellow becomes a villain by degrees, not all at once.”

“Examine the history of a thief,” continued Jack, “and you will find that he has been bad in other things, before be brought himself to steal. People are not born bad. Its giving way to temper, idleness, and one’s passion, and being self-willed, that does it; but I don’t want to preach a sermon. Maple’s dead, and we must bury him decently, as well as those others.”

“Better dig a trench for the natives,” Harvey suggested.

“Very well,” answered Jack, “and give Maple a grave to himself. Fancy, Dick, our having killed all those. It seems very dreadful, doesn’t it?”

“Killing’s no murder in self-defence. We didn’t begin the row. Take a spade and make a start. I’ll wire in on this side and meet you half way.”

They selected a sequestered spot, some little distance from the castle, and in about four hours had dug a trench sufficiently deep to bury the natives in.

Reverently they placed the bodies in the hole and covered them up with the soil, for they knew that all, whether Christian or savage, go, after death, to meet their Creator.

Their next care was to bury Maple, which they did in a green spot, on which the sunshine played, and around which the birds sang and sported.

Neither Jack nor Harvey said anything, but they both cried heartily as they laid the little fellow’s body in the grave.

They were not ashamed of their tears.

Nor had they any reason to be so.

We like a boy, or a man either for that matter, to be able to shed a tear when there is occasion for it.

It shows that he’s got a heart and not a bit of stone in his bosom.

When the last sod had been beaten down, Jack fell on his knees and said something in a low voice.

Harvey did not hear every word, but he knew it was a prayer.

When Jack had done, Dick slowly said—

“Amen.”

All the rest of that day Jack was busy carving a little cross, which he placed at the head of the grave.

As they went away after performing their last office of respect for the memory of the dead, Jack’s eyes were moistened again.

He seized Harvey’s hand, and wringing it, exclaimed—

“I can’t help it, Dick. I know I’m an old fool; but I thought I should make a decent man of him some day if I could only get him away from Hunston’s influence.”

“When sow’s ears make silk purses, then——” began Harvey.

“I know all that,” interrupted Jack. “Perhaps you’re right. Let’s talk about something else. Come for a stroll; we’re safe enough now. The savages have had enough to last them some time and they won’t bother us again, I’ll bet.”

“I don’t like to leave the castle,” replied Harvey.

“There’s no danger. I think we have killed the lot with the exception of the Tuan Biza and Hunston.”

“The very two I should have liked to see fall.”

“Yes. They are the ones who are likely to give us future trouble,” replied Jack.

As they went along they remarked that the volcanic mountain was in a state of agitation.

On the south west side, about one-fourth of the distance from its summit, was a deep, wide gulf.

Out of this arose thick opaque clouds of white gas, which, in the still clear air, was seen rolling grandly upwards in one gigantic, expanding column to the sky.

On its top were thin, veil-like clouds, which occasionally gathered and then slowly floated away, dissolving into the pure ether.

These cloud masses were chiefly composed of steam and sulphurous acid gas.

As they poured out they indicated what an active laboratory nature had deep within the bowels of this old volcano.

“Look out, Jack!” cried Harvey all at once.

In a moment Jack had raised his gun to his shoulder.

“What is it?” he exclaimed.

“I don’t know exactly, but unless I am going to fancy things, I could swear I saw a nigger in the bush.”

As he spoke a native emerged from the concealment of the jungle.

He advanced on his hands and knees in token of submission, and finding that no harm was done him, he stood upright in a submissive attitude.

Of middle height, the fellow had a good-humoured, ingenious countenance, though he appeared to have suffered recently from hunger.

His only clothing was the strip of the inner bark of a tree, beaten with stones, until it looked very much like rough white paper, and which we have described before as being peculiar to these islands.

It passed round the waist, and covered the loins in such a way, that one end hung down as far as the knee.

He was unarmed, and Jack refrained from firing at him, as he did not seem to have the slightest intention of harming them.

“Take care,” said Harvey, as he saw Jack lower his gun; “perhaps there are more behind, and it’s only a dodge.”

“I don’t think so. You keep guard, while I make signs and try to find out what his game is.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

MONDAY

THE native went through a performance which, as Jack said, would have puzzled a deaf and dumb man.

It was clear that the signs he made were intended to convey to the boys that he claimed their protection, and would be their servant.

The native climbed up a tree, and bringing down fruit, placed it at Jack’s feet, kneeling before the boys; and taking Harvey’s hand, he struck himself on the head with it, meaning he would not resent a blow.

Then he pointed to the sea with every expression of horror, as if his enemies were in boats.

“It’s quite a pantomime,” remarked Harvey.

“My idea,” answered Jack, “is, that this fellow is one of the victims brought over here by the natives who attacked us. I saw them kill one, you know. Perhaps this one escaped, and so disappointed them in their expectation of his head.”

“Shouldn’t wonder,” replied Harvey.

“Now Maple’s gone we shall want some one to drudge about. Suppose we enlist this Mr. What-d’ye-call-him.”

“Old Bob Crusoe had his man, and he called him Friday. I vote we christen Thingamagig there Monday. I like Mondays. We used to get our pocket-money at Crawcour’s on a Monday. And he sang—“He had a man Friday

To keep his house tidy;

Fortunate Robinson Crusoe!

Or we might say—

“It happened on one day,

We came across Monday;

Finish the verse for me, jack. I was never good at poetry.”

“I couldn’t finish it, if you paid me for it,” replied Jack. “But I’ll bet a pound of snuff, that this will turn out an honest fellow.”

While they were talking, the native appeared very anxious, as if they thought they meant to kill him.

Jack, however, took him by the hand, and shook it, giving him to understand by a variety of signs that they would do him no harm.

They led him back to the castle and fed him on such food as they had ready to hand, which he seemed to like very much.

Jack showed him how to do various things, and he evinced an aptitude and willingness that made him a valuable acquaintance.

Monday saved the boys a great deal of trouble, and the poor creature was as faithful as a dog, and as grateful as possible for their kindness.

He began to learn English, and acquired a great proficiency in a short time, being singularly quick.

If he once heard a word and was given its meaning, he never forgot it, and would repeat it over and over again to himself to impress it on his memory.

Monday was not more than two-and-twenty, strong and healthy, and not bad-looking, for one of his people.

It was to Jack that he attached himself more than Harvey, though he liked both and obeyed orders from each.

Still he was more Jack’s man than Harvey’s, if any distinction could be fairly drawn.

Both the boys used to take the greatest interest in teaching him their own language, to which task they devoted several hours each day.

Of course, when he knew English, he would be of more use to them and a better companion.

Fully three months passed.

Their corn and their potatoes came up and were gathered into the warehouse in the castle, before the rainy season began.

Nothing had been seen or heard of Hunston.

Whether he was alive or dead they did not know.

But Jack had made a tour of the island which took him three days, and he saw no signs anywhere of other occupants than themselves.

The grass was growing green and waving over Maple’s grave.

Both Hunston and Maple were in a measure forgotten.

At length Monday began to talk.

His English was broken and imperfect, as is generally the case with those who are commencing to learn a language, for it takes time to make one’s self proficient in the moods, tenses, etc., of a strange tongue.

However he spoke well enough to enable Jack to understand him.

This is in effect what he said—

About twenty-four miles off, or six hours’ sail, there were two islands not more than one hour’s sail from each other.

One was called Ship Island, which was the one Hunston had heard of from the Tuan Biza.

The other was named Limbi.

From this one Monday came. In his own country his name was Metabella, but he was quite reconciled to the name given him, and even seemed rather flattered at it.

The inhabitants of the two islands were pretty nearly equal in point of numbers, and they were all head-hunters.

They continually made war upon one another.

The victorious party always ate its captives, and generally, in fine weather, made a voyage to another neighbouring island, and had a sort of a picnic.

“Lively amusement,” remarked Jack to Harvey, as Monday was proceeding with his recital.

“Nice neighbours,” answered Harvey.

Once, Monday said, a Hukam Tua, or missionary, as far as Jack could make him out, came to Limbi in a ship.

The day after his arrival the natives killed and ate him.

“Did you have a bit?” asked Harvey.

“Yes,” replied Monday; “me have bit. Hukam Tua good, fat, much nice, Monday eat him up quick!”

“You cannibal beast, I shall never like you again,” cried Harvey, turning away in disgust and loathing, which the horrid confession was quite calculated to produce in the breast of a European.

Monday saw the expression of his face.

“No eat mans now, ” he said hastily. “Monday know better, and never more eat up mans. No; never—no.”

The poor fellow kept on saying this until Harvey told him he forgave him, because in those days he did not know any better.

“Are you sure you won’t wake up some night and make a meal of me?” asked Harvey.

Monday said there was no chance of that. The teaching he had received and the affection he had for his masters, would prevent him from doing anything of that sort.

Some little time after this conversation Jack thought of a question which he wished to put to Monday.

From what Hunston had told him of the remarks of the Tuan Biza, and from the letter in the bottle that Maple had picked up, he fancied his dear old friend Emily was a captive in the hands of the savages.

The letter was signed by Mr. Scratchley of Highgate, and it wasn’t likely there would be two people of that name.

Nor was it surprising that a scheming, unscrupulous man like Scratchley should make up his mind to emigrate.

Thousands of people do the same thing every year.

If then, Mr. Scratchley, his wife and child didn’t remain on board the “Eastern Monarch,” when she was deserted in a sinking condition, it was fair to suppose that they escaped in the boats.

Still there was a stretch of the imagination on Jack’s part in supposing that the girl in captivity, of whom the chief had told Hunston, was Emily.

Nevertheless, Jack had got hold of the idea; and when, as he said, “he got a thing fixed in his nut, it wasn’t easy to get it out again.”

So he took Monday on one side and said—

“Did you hear in your country of an English girl being shut up?”

He did not say in captivity, or use any long words, because he thought they would be beyond Monday’s comprehension.

For this reason he always used as plain language as he could pitch upon.

“Not my country,” answered Monday; “on Ship Island, a girl; that’s why call Ship Island.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Jack; “then on Ship Island they have got a girl from an English vessel?”

“Yes,” answered Monday, nodding his head up and down.

“How do you know this?”

“Oh, I hear from one my people who go there to make war. We beat them last time, though they take me and one more, and carry over here to eat.”

“Which are the best warriors, your people or the other islanders?”

“Sometimes one, sometimes another. It’s not always one,” answered Monday.

“I should like to go to your natives and help them to make war, and save this English girl,” continued Jack.

Monday’s countenance brightened.

“Come, come,” he cried. “You shoot your powder shot, you kill all, and we never have no more war.”

As he spoke, he danced round and round in a sort of ecstasy.

“But I thought your people liked war,” said Jack.

“Me teach them better. If no one make no more war on them, then my people no more war,” said Monday.

“Do you think we could build a boat and go over to your country?”

“Oh, yes; me build boat.”

Jack knew that the natives could build boats.

They have no iron, and therefore, the whole boat is made of wood; but it is not the less seaworthy on that account.

The central part is low, and the bow and stern curve up high.

These boats generally resembled those used in the South Sea.

“Give Monday axe,” exclaimed the faithful fellow. “He soon make boat, but”—and his face assumed a sorrowful expression—“no send Monday away. Save Monday’s life. Kill Monday if you part him.”

By which he meant to say that he should die if Jack sent him away.

“I won’t part with you,” answered Jack, “so long as you do as I tell you. But I want to go to your island and make friends with your chief.”

“Why make friends?”

“Will they not thank me for being kind to you?”

“Oh, yes! Much thank. You be great chief.”

“Very well. I will lead them against their enemies, and we will rescue the English girl,” said Jack.

It was annoying to him to think that Emily, if it was she, should be amongst the natives with whom he supposed Hunston had gone to live.

Sending Monday about his business he sought Harvey, who was having what he called “a jolly,” that is, he was lying on his back under a tree, and sipping a drink he had made through a straw, while he read a book.

“Dick,” cried Jack, “we’re going to build a boat.”

“Bully for you!” answered Harvey.

“And we’re going over to Monday’s savages, and intend trying to make them fight Hunston, and rescue the English girl.”

“Good again. I’m on.”

“It’s worrying me to think that Emily may be in the power of Hunston and the Tuan Biza.”

“Gall and wormwood, as the novels say,” remarked Harvey.

“What do you say to it?” continued Jack.

“I like the idea much,” replied Harvey. “To tell the truth, this sort of life is all very well for a month or two, but it gets very wearying after a bit. I’d do anything for a dust up.”

“All right. Help us to make the boat.”

“Like a shot. Is Monday a naval architect?”

“He says so,” replied Jack.

“His accomplishments come out one by one. First of all he knows how to cook and eat a human being, next he learns English, then he builds boats. Monday’s developing. It’s a good dodge, in a wild and unknown island, to have a tame nigger.”

Jack smiled.

That afternoon they commenced building the boat, in which they were to make the adventurous voyage which had for its object the rescue of the girl Jack supposed to be Emily.

Whether he was right or not we shall soon see.

CHAPTER XXIX

BUILDING THE BOAT

THE arrival of Monday proved very valuable to the boys.

He grew much attached to them.

They could both sleep at night, for the young savage soon learnt to load and fire a gun, and kept watch while his masters slept.

His progress in learning English was very quick, and showed him to be sharp and clever.

The project of building a boat proceeded satisfactorily.

Monday had helped to make boats on his own island of Limpi.

Selecting a spot near the sea he set to work.

The trees in the tropics grow for centuries, and then fall down from decay, literally dying from old age.

A constant source of danger in these regions arises from these falling trees, which topple down without any warning.

Choosing a mighty tree which had just fallen Monday began to hollow out the trunk.

It was a work that took some time.

Monday called this species of boat a “leper-leper,” though in the far west it would be spoken of as a “dug-out.”

When the tree was sufficiently hollowed pieces of plank were placed on the sides to raise them to the proper height.

Both sides are sharp and curve upwards.

About four feet from the bow a pole is laid across, and another the same distance from the stern.

These project outward from the sides of the boat, and to them is fastened a bamboo, the whole forming what is known as an outrigger.

This is necessary, because the canoes are narrow and crank.

Monday declared that with a small triangular sail and a paddle he could manage a leper-leper in the fiercest storm.

Jack’s inventive genius supplied a rudder, of the use of which Monday seemed profoundly ignorant.

It was rare fun for the boys when at work, singing, laughing, and talking.

They kept up their spirits in spite of the danger that surrounded them and their lonely position.

Imagine them on the skirts of the thick woods, where troops of large black monkeys kept up a perpetual hooting or trumpeting.

Their cries resembled a score of amateurs practising on trombones.

Sometimes the din they made was quite deafening, and Jack could not hear himself speak.

Then he fired his gun amongst them, and they scampered off, their chattering ceasing for a time.

But they would return, as if they took a curious interest in what was going on, and rather liked boat building than otherwise.

Both Jack and Harvey were rather sorry at the idea of leaving the island.

Their corn and potatoes were got in, and the castle had become quite a dear spot to them.

“It’s no use grumbling,” remarked Jack. “We must go some time or other, and if we don’t like Monday’s friends, we can come back here again.”

“I know what is driving you on, Jack,” exclaimed Harvey.

“What?”

“A wish to rescue Emily, if it should, indeed, be your little friend who is in the hands of the savages.”

“I don’t mind owning it,” answered Jack. “Fancy Emily in the power of the head-hunters, and the indignities she may be daily and hourly subjected to.”

“Hunston is with the savages, and he would protect her.”

“Would he?” said Jack, angrily. “That’s all you know about Master Hunston. He is much more likely to add to her worries.”

“Why?”

“Because Emmy is a pretty girl, and Hunston’s got an eye for a handsome face.”

“Well,” replied Harvey, “I am game to go anywhere with you, and if there’s any fighting to be done, old boy, I shan’t shirk my share of it, as you know.”

“Give us your fist, old fellow; you’re a trump,” said Jack.

The boys shook hands, and no more was said about Emily just then, for Jack’s eyes filled with tears, and Harvey saw that he felt deeply about the matter.

Jack had an additional reason for wishing to leave the island.

He never knew at what moment Hunston and the Tuan Biza might sweep down upon them with an overwhelming force.

That the chief would wish to revenge the death of his comrades who had perished in the attack upon the castle there was no doubt.

A second assault might be more successful.

What were three people against perhaps a hundred.

In the island of Limbi, with Monday’s friends, they would be safe.

There was just as much chance of a ship’s passing by Limbi and taking them off, as there was of one approaching Harkaway Island.

So it was resolved to abandon the castle, for a time at least.

According to Monday’s account, Limbi was only about twenty English miles off.

Not a very formidable voyage after all.

They had scoured Harkaway Island from one end to the other, by making a circuit round it, and they had satisfied themselves that Hunston and the Tuan Biza had quitted it.

The island on which the Tuan Biza and his followers lived was visible from Limbi, and had the name of Pisang.

Limbi and Pisang were always at war.

In the last battle between the rival tribes, the Limbians had been surprised, and Monday was captured.

But Monday said, “We much fight, and more win than the Pisangs. Next time, we take plenty Pisangs and cut off heads.”

“You won’t cut off heads and eat your enemies any more, will you?” asked Jack, looking crossly at him.

“Not me. Monday no cut and eat,” replied the poor fellow. “My people not know what you told me about the Bible, and that it wrong to eat man flesh. Monday tell them all and then they must change, alter.”

“We’ll wake up the Pisangs or whatever they call themselves,” observed Harvey.

“Yes,” replied Jack, “we shall have to go on the warpath, for Emily’s sake.”

“We’ll lick ’em into eternal smash,” replied Harvey, loudly. “I should like to see the half-dozen niggers that can stand against one pure-born Britisher.”

Jack laughed.

“You may laugh,” continued Harvey. “But there is something about an Englishman that scares a nigger and a Frenchman. I suppose it’s our roast beef.”

“Not much of that here,” Jack said.

“That’s the worst of this outlandish hole,” Harvey replied, “you can’t get your proper grub. If ever we are licked, I shall put it down to that.”

“So I would, Dick.”

“It’s a theory of mine that a man ought to have his proper grub,” Harvey said sagely. “Do we ever have puddings? Have we seen a cow, dead or alive, since we landed?”

“I’ve seen a calf,” remarked Jack.

“Jack, who’s your friend?” demanded Harvey.

“You are, I hope.”

“Then don’t run the risk of losing him through idle chaff. You called me a calf. Veal’s all very well in its way, but to call me a calf, and before Monday too. It’s lowering the dignity of your lieutenant.”

“I apologise, Dick. It shan’t occur again,” Jack said, anxious to soothe his friend’s wounded vanity.

“I accept the apology, but it wasn’t kind,” Harvey answered, becoming good-humoured again. “Let’s see, as the blind man said, what were we talking about?”

“Grub.”

“So we were. Now I’ll tell you what I should like to have a turn at, that’s tripe and onions. Oh, my! fancy a go in at tripe, Jack!”

“I can’t fancy anything half so beastly in this hot climate,” replied Jack; “and I am surprised at your vulgar tastes. Mark that poll parrot. There he goes—flying over our heads. Mark! mark!”

“He’s settled. I see him.”

“So do I,” answered Jack, as he fired.

“Monday will stew the bird with a clove of garlic. That will beat all the tripe in Whitechapel,” said Jack.

“Never mind,” said Harvey with a grave shake of the head. “Parrots are not bad, but I’ll stick out for stewed eels and tripe.”

“What next will you want?” asked Jack, adding—“I wish you’d be more like the sailor’s parrot.”

“What did he do?”

“He didn’t talk much, but he was a beggar to think.”

“Thank you,” said Harvey, biting his lip. “Sorry I spoke; but I’m much obliged to your majesty, and I’ll not forget you.”

The boat was nearly finished.

All that remained to be done was to step the mast, and rig a sail, the rudder being already shipped.

Monday was digging a channel in the sand to float her.

In appearance the boat was not exactly handsome, but she was very long and deep.

It was Jack’s intention to load her with all sorts of stores almost up to the gunwale, as he knew that guns, powder, and bullets, would be of the greatest use to him and the savages with whom, through Monday’s influence, he hoped to make friends.

Provisions did not matter so much, as the natives were known to be good hunters; but a case or two of spirits would not be unacceptable, he thought, to the chief and his principal advisers.

Jack turned away from Harvey, and watched Monday as he was digging.

Each spadeful he cast up glittered strangely in the sun.

Peering more curiously into the sandy mixture, he stooped down, and took up some in his hand.

Then he blew away the lighter particles, and there remained some golden dust, among which were a few large rugged lumps about the size of a small pea.

“What have you got there, Jack?” inquired Harvey.

“Gold,” replied Jack, quietly.

“Nonsense.”

“If I haven’t I’m a Dutchman,” Jack exclaimed.

Harvey approached nearer, and looked wonderingly at the auriferous particles.

“Well,” he ejaculated, “that’s the greatest lick out. Fancy finding gold here.”

“Why not?” said Jack. “We’re in the land of romance, my boy, and if I found a diamond as big as a pigeon’s egg, I shouldn’t be surprised; though, to tell you the truth, I never thought there was gold here, but I have heard the sailors say that the natives of these islands trade in gold dust.”

“I say, Monday,” cried Harvey.

“What now, Mast’ Harvey?” asked the black.

“Have you ever seen this stuff before?”

He showed him some of the glittering ore which he took from Jack’s hand.

Monday looked at it carefully before he replied.

CHAPTER XXX

THE VALLEY OF DEATH

“OH, yes,” answered Monday, after a moment’s examination. “It’s gold. We find much like this, and sell. We make things for the nose and ears.”

“Rings?”

“Yes, rings. Plenty stuff like that. We think nothing,” said Monday, in a tone of indifference.

“They wouldn’t say that in Europe,” remarked Jack.

“Not exactly,” answered Harvey. “It wants washing and sifting; but it’s my opinion one might make a very tidy little fortune out of this island.”

It is a fact that gold is found in the western and southern parts of Borneo, as well as in Luzon and the Philippines, and in the peninsula of Celebes.

The gold is bought and sold in the form of dust, as the natives do not understand the art of coining.

“We have no time to spare to collect it,” said Jack, looking wistfully at the beautiful golden grains in his hand.

“It’s all very well for you to talk like that, Jack,” exclaimed Harvey.

“Why?”

“You are rich, and your gov.’s got lots of tin, while mine is poor, and it’s a scramble at home often enough among the kids for the potato skins.”

“You can gather some if you like.”

“I do like, and if your majesty will graciously condescend to finish the boat and give me a day or two’s holiday, I’ll just roam about this island, and see if I can’t turn up a nugget.”

“You won’t do that. Gold is only deposited in the shape of dust in these islands,” Jack replied.

“All right. I’ll have a go in and chance it. I want to make a pile, and when I’ve got a belt full, I’ll cry a go, as they say at cribbage.”

“Cut along at once, then, Dick. I’ll see to the boat, and dodge that up all serene, for I want to be off at once.”

“At once?” asked Harvey, who saw that Jack’s manner was urgent.

“Oh, I don’t suppose a day or two will make much difference, but I’m anxious. It’s some time now since Hunston hooked it off with the Tuan Biza, and he’ll be back again without letting the grass grow under his feet.”

“He can’t hurt us. I wouldn’t give a rap off a common for him and his niggers,” said Harvey.

After the way in which the blackskins were beaten off in the last attack, Harvey had got into this manner of deriding them.

“You hold them too cheap,” exclaimed Jack. “But it doesn’t matter. If you must go gold-seeking, go, though you’d get more by raking this dust up.”

Harvey would have his own way, however, and, armed with a pistol, in case of accidents, he started on his journey.

He fancied that if they could find deposits of gold on the sands, they would certainly discover lumps inland.

Jack had given him his opinion upon the subject, and, muttering to himself—“I suppose he’ll be back when he’s tired of it,” went on with his work.

By evening the boat was ready for launching, and, knocking away some supports, Jack and Monday, with a good English hurrah, let her slide into the dock they had dug for her.

This dock communicated with the sea, and all they had to do, when they wanted to start, was to push her along till they got clear.

Monday said that he knew a break in the coral reef, which surrounded the island through which they could sail.

The next thing to do was to get in the cargo; but as it was growing late, Jack deferred this till the morrow.

“Where Mast’ Harvey?” asked Monday, as he shouldered some tools to take back to the castle.

“Oh! he’s up at the castle, I should think, ” answered Jack. “Perhaps he thought we should have returned before this.”

“S’pose him got much big gold lump!” cried Monday, with a smile.

“You heard my opinion, Monday. What is your experience?”

“All dust—no much good—no lump. Poor Mast’ Harvey! How him grin wrong side of him face!” replied Monday laughing.

They entered the castle, and Jack was surprised, and not a little alarmed, to see nothing of Harvey, who certainly ought to have returned before this.

Jack’s first thought was that the savages had landed again, this time under the command of Hunston. If so, Harvey would fall an easy prey to them, as he was wandering about the island.

“You stop here, Monday,” he said, shouldering his rifle, “and I will take a stroll.”

“What for you go?” asked Monday.

“I can’t make out what has come to Harvey. I must look for him. I don’t take kindly to sitting at home when a friend may want my services.”

“Me go with you?” asked Monday.

“No! Stop it home, and keep a sharp lookout. Shoot at the first darkskin you see!”

Monday was already too well trained to dispute his masters will.

Jack set out alone.

Not knowing in what direction he was likely to find Harvey, he wandered about in much perturbation of spirit.

“I’d rather have my right hand cut off,” he muttered, “than any harm should happen to Dick!”

And he was sincere in what he said.

The purest and most romantic friendship existed between the two boys, which had been strengthened by their solitary exile.

He might have walked for half-a-dozen miles in the interior of the island, when he came to a barren plain, which he had never remarked before.

The volcano mountain towered high into the clouds behind him.

Not a shrub or a blade of grass was to be seen on this desolate plain.

Sulphurous gases appeared in the moonlight to arise from fissures and holes in the earth.

The ground was of a pale grey or yellowish colour.

Avoiding the steaming gases, Jack walked a little way along the valley.

On all sides of him he saw a number of dead animals of various kinds.

Deer, tigers, birds, and even snakes spread their ghastly skeletons upon the ground.

All these had lost their lives in the fatal place. It was a veritable Valley of the Shadow of Death.

Sulphuric acid gas broke out under his feet, and he retreated, half suffocated by the noxious vapour.

This it was which had caused such certain destruction to all the animals he saw lying around him, who had wandered thither.

The soft parts of many of the dead victims, as the skin, muscles, hair, or feathers, were entire, but the bones had partially crumbled.

No fabled upas-tree could have worked more or swifter desolation.

The smell of the gas which assailed Jack’s nostrils was just like the smoke of a common lucifer match when first struck.

It may be readily imagined how dangerous and poisonous it was.

This vapour was generated under the mountain, and when the volcano was not in action, it escaped through the earth as we have described.

Just as Jack was hastily turning round to retrace his steps, a dim object on his right caught his eye.

It had the form of a man, and was stretched out on the ground.

“Can that be Dick?” was the exclamation that involuntarily escaped him.

Making a circuit to avoid a dense volume of gas which came up from a hole, he approached the singular object.

A glance sufficed to show him that it was Harvey.

He was lying on his back, and though breathing, seemed to be perfectly stupefied and insensible.

It was no time for deliberation or hesitating.

Jack himself felt dizzy, and was sure that if he remained long in that dreadful valley he would sink down like his friend, probably to rise no more.

Tightly clenched in Harvey’s hand was the end of a large lump of gold.

The glitter of this piece of precious metal had probably attracted him.

Gas might have broken out near him and caused him to fall down half suffocated, for the deadly vapour springs out at all times from all sorts of fissures, and does not steadily emanate from any particular one.

Jack put the gold in his pocket.

It was, from its appearance and weight, worth some hundreds of pounds, and quite a rarity in that region.

At all events he considered it a windfall for Harvey, which would prove most acceptable to him if he should ever return to civilised life again.

It would be hard indeed to lose it after having risked so much to obtain it.

When he had secured the lump of gold, Jack seized Harvey in his arms, and with a desperate exercise of strength, carried him away from the valley.

Several times he stopped and staggered like a drunken man, for the pestilential gas assailed him, and very nearly subdued his energy.

At length the end of the open and blighted space was reached.

Reeling a few yards further. Jack let his friend sink to the ground on the grass, which even here was sparse and stunted.

The blight of the Valley of Death had tainted it.

Now Jack could understand how animals coming into this dreadful space sank down to die.

Now he could imagine birds flying over it compelled to flutter to the earth in deadly agony.

Now he could conceive a horrid serpent, which had crawled to the fatal precinct to enjoy the promised heat, inhaling the poison rising from the earth, and twisting about in useless contortions.

He always carried a little flask of brandy in his pocket in case of an emergency like the present arising, and he poured a few drops down Harvey’s throat.

It stimulated the action of the heart, which was beating slowly.

Presently he opened his eyes, and stared wildly round him.

“Is it you, Jack?” he gasped.

“Yes, Dick. It’s all right. Do you feel better?” replied Jack.

“I’m getting better; but I’ve had a dream. I thought someone was choking me with the smoke of matches. How was it?”

“You went after some gold, didn’t you?” said Jack, trying to help his memory.

“That’s it. I was going home, as it was getting dark, and I had found nothing, when I saw something glittering in the imperfect light, on a dry-looking plain.”

“It was lucky I came up when I did. You could not have lived long there.”

“It wasn’t more than half-an-hour ago. I remember picking up the gold. Such a whopping big lump! and then this beastly smoke I tell you about came up. I tried to run, but couldn’t; and then I went to sleep, dreaming this horrid dream.”

“That is the valley of poison. It is full of deadly gases, and nothing can live long upon it.”

“I have heard of such places near the base of volcanoes. But how can I thank you, Jack, for rescuing me?”

“Perhaps you’ll have a chance some day of doing as much for me.”

“Won’t I, that’s all! Give us another pull out of the flask, and I shall be as right as a trivet,” replied Harvey who was rapidly regaining his strength.

“I couldn’t rest,” continued Jack, handing him the brandy, “when I found you did not come home. That there was something wrong, I felt positive.”

“You thought the niggers had got me.”

“I did.”

“By the way,” exclaimed Harvey. “where’s the bullion? Was it bullion, or was that part of the dream?”

“No, here it is. I collared that at the time I rescued you, and a very tidy-sized lump it is.”

Harvey clutched it eagerly.

“This is worth running a little risk for. It must be worth a lot,” he said, gazing at it with admiration.

“It may lay the foundation of your fortune if ever we get back again to England.”

“Tell you what, Jack,” said Harvey. “I’ll give it to you. After what you’ve done for me, I ought to think more of my life being saved than what good money will do for me. Take it, old fellow, and my love with it.”

Jack was much affected by this proof of his friend’s generosity of heart, and liberality.

“Keep it, Dick,” he replied, “though I thank you all the same. As you reminded me this morning, I have plenty. My father’s well enough off.”

“Won’t you have it?”

“No. It’s all your own, Dick.”

Harvey reluctantly put the gold in his pocket, and, leaning on Jack’s arm, they returned to the castle, where the faithful Monday was anxiously awaiting their coming.

From the account Harvey gave of his adventure as they went along, Jack gathered that he had not long been insensible in the valley.

The jet of gas which had assailed him had darted suddenly out of the earth, and as quickly died away again.

If it had continued, life must have been speedily extinguished.

Those fumes are for ever rising and vanishing all over the fatal spot, and sweeping hither and thither in white, dense clouds.

It was a narrow escape, and one for which the companions were both deeply grateful.

That night Harvey did not forget to say his prayers, which he uttered with rather more than his usual earnestness.

A little danger is sometimes a wholesome stimulus to our devotion, and to the proper regulation of our thoughts.

It checks our pride, and makes us remember what helpless creatures we really are.

The next day was occupied in taking stores to the boat.

She was carefully laden, and moored near the signal station, so that all the crew had to do was to jump in, and push off.

The wind being rather high, the boys deferred then departure for a few days.

This delay gave rise to a peril which, though not unexpected, came upon them with all the severity of a surprise.

CHAPTER XXXI

BURNING OF THE CASTLE

AS we have stated, all was in readiness for the voyage to Limbi.

Jack was only waiting for the wind to lull a little, as he did not deem it prudent to embark in half a gale with a roughly-made and heavily-laden boat.

The stores which they had placed on board were chiefly guns, powder, and shot.

Both Harvey and Jack were sorry to leave the castle, where they had spent some pleasant months; though Maple’s death, and Hunston’s desertion, with Mr. Mole’s sad end, had damped their enjoyment.

Trouble, however, makes people selfish.

They thought a good deal of themselves, and saw the necessity of making some move, unless they wanted to spend their remaining days on the island.

This was not an agreeable prospect to high-spirited boys, who wished to take their places in the world once more, and rise amongst their fellows.

Monday was delighted at the chance of seeing his friends and relations again.

“My father prince. Much great chief,” he said.

“Is he the king of Limbi?” asked Jack.

“Yes; him king. Tuan Biza. Great chief, we call him.”

“Will he make us welcome?”

“You save Matabella’s life. That me—Monday,” replied the black. “He much thank for saving Matabella—him only son.”

“What’s your governor’s name, Monday?” inquired Jack.

“Lanindyer, him call.”

“That’s a nice crackjaw name. I suppose you’ll be king some day?”

“No. Make Master Jack king. Monday be him servant, as he is now.”

“Oh, so you want me to be your king. All right,” replied Jack; “I’ll astonish the natives.”

“Lead them against Pisang with shotgun, and make Limbi one big, great peoples, with plenty heads,” said Monday.

“I won’t have any head-hunting. Drop that idea,” Jack said.

Monday looked contrite, and said that he had forgotten for the moment that head-hunting was wrong.

“You no fight. No war where you come from in big canoe?” queried Monday.

“Well, yes, we fight when we’re attacked,” replied Jack.

“So we do. No ‘tack, no fight. Live quiet at Limbi, if Pisang not come take head.”

Jack did not care to continue the conversation, because he knew, from what he had read of the history of his own and other countries, that the European nations had waged wars as dreadful as any fought by the savages of the Eastern Archipelago.

“Monday,” he cried, “get the guns ready. I am going to have one more ramble over the island before we leave it—perhaps for ever.”

“Happy have we been, and happy may we be,” remarked Harvey. “I like this jolly old place.”

“So do I; but it does not do to stagnate and stand still. We must push on, Dick,” said Jack.

“So we must, and I wonder where we shall push to at last.”

Harvey was in a tearful mood at the prospect of leaving the island, but Jack shouldered the rifle Monday brought him.

“Are you coming?” he said to Harvey.

“Of course I am. You don’t think I’m going to shirk behind when there is sport going on,” replied the latter. “Give me a gun, you, Monday.”

“Yes,” replied Monday, handing him one.

“What did I tell you to call me?” asked Harvey, severely.

“Sare. I forget, sare.”

“No; it wasn’t ‘sare’ either. It was sir. So don’t you forget another time or——”

He lifted his foot threateningly.

Monday grinned, and showed his white gleaming teeth.

“No kickee, sare. No kickee poor Monday,” he cried.

“Well, I won’t this time; but I will have proper respect paid to one who was until lately an officer in the British mercantile marine. That licks you, old sharpshins, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Mast’ Harvey, that one lick for me,” replied Monday, who only yet imperfectly understood the slang terms of his young masters.

“That’s what you may call a lick for the mind, and it’s better than a lick on the head,” said Harvey, laughing.

Jack now led the way into the interior of the island, but they did not see anything to shoot at.

After walking some distance, they felt tired, and lay down under a spreading palm tree, while Monday knocked down some clusters of the rich, ripe cocoanuts.

They were filled with a deliciously cool water, which was peculiarly grateful to them during the noontide heat.

“We shall get a shot or two when the sun goes down,” remarked Jack.

“Everything has gone to sleep now, and I’m going to follow everything’s example,” replied Harvey.

“You always were a lazy beggar, Dick.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I hate taking trouble, and if this climate wouldn’t make a fellow lazy, I should like to know what would.”

“Monday,” exclaimed Jack, “where’s the powder flask?”

“Is it him powdare? Monday been and forgot him,” answered the black.

“Oh, have you? then you’ll have to tramp back to the castle and get it.”

“Well, I’m blowed,” exclaimed Harvey “you’re a nice young man for a small tea-party, up Islington way, I don’t think.”

“Let him alone; walking to the castle and back will be a sufficient punishment for him without bullying,” cried Jack.

Monday did not wait to be told twice; he set off at a jog trot to the castle to repair his forgetfulness.

“How the fellow runs,” remarked Harvey, “I couldn’t cut out the pace like that if anyone paid me for it.”

Without appearing to put himself to any great exertion, Monday could run a mile in about seven or eight minutes.

Half an hour elapsed, during which time the boys remained in the shade.

Then Monday was seen coming back with the wings of the wind.

“He’s running full tilt,” said Jack. “It’s wonderful. I believe he’s going quicker now than when he started.”

Monday came up, but with his hands empty; he had no powder with him though he had been sent expressly for it.

His manner was agitated, and his breast heaved with exertion.

For some moments he was unable to speak.

“Something’s up,” observed Harvey.

“Yes, he’s had a scare,” answered Jack, “and he’s forced the running to such an extent that he is pumped out—can’t find wind enough to speak with.”

“Shall I stir him up?”

“If you like.”

Harvey gave him a dig in the ribs and a slap on his back.

“Wake up, you imp of blackness,” he exclaimed. “Have you seen your own face in a pool of water, or discovered that there is a strong family likeness between your nose and a parrot’s beak? Speak, you sable duffer, and put us out of our misery at once!”

“Oh, Mast’ Jack! oh, Mast’ Harvey!” was all he could reply.

“Oh, oh!” repeated Harvey. “If you go on like that we shall take you for a West-end swell who has got into debt and ‘Oh’s’ everybody.”

“Be quiet, Dick. There’s something serious about this,” said Jack. “Keep a lookout; he maybe pursued, or perhaps he’s wounded.”

Harvey grew grave as this view of the case was presented to him.

It was not at all unlikely that he had seen some of his old enemies, with Hunston at their head.

He waited eagerly for the black to speak, which he did as soon as he could command his voice.

“Oh, sare!” he exclaimed, addressing himself to Jack, “Oh, such a sight! Ten, twenty, hundred Pisang on island! The Tuan Biza and white man with the strange face, both near the castle.”

“He means Hunston,” said Harvey.

“No doubt,” answered Jack, turning pale, and setting his teeth together, which was a way he had when anything put him out. “Go on, Monday.”

“They take much thing out of castle and pile in heap. Many Pisang drink much strong wine, spirit. They sing; they dance.”

“Getting drunk, eh?” remarked Harvey. “They’ve not lost any time over it.”

“White man with the fancy face——” continued Monday.

“Fancy face!” repeated Harvey, laughing. “That’s not bad. Monday makes shots at his English, but he’s hit the mark this time. Hunston’s mug is of a fancy character. You might say of it, ‘He was all my fancy painted him.’ ”

“Let Monday speak!” cried Jack, in a rage at his companion’s thoughtless interruptions. “We can’t afford to lose valuable time with your confounded interruptions.”

“All right, I’ll subside. Monday, proceed,” answered Harvey, who never disputed Jack’s will.

“White man with the face,” continued Monday. “Him take stick from a fire, which some Pisangs make, and throw it into the castle. Soon it all one much large blaze.”

“They’ve burnt the castle, Dick!” said Jack.

“Blow them!” was all Harvey could say.

“White man take more fire and throw it in the corn,” Monday went on. “Soon it all one big smoke, fire. White man do everything. All Pisangs look to him as if he great chief. Oh! how all burn. The Pisangs—they dance, they laugh and drink, and the white man, he much grin like me when I cut off my first head.”

It was clear, from Monday’s confused account, that Hunston had suddenly landed on the island, with an overwhelming force of savages.

These were buoyed up by the hope of plunder, and burning, no doubt, to have revenge for the death of friends and relatives who had fallen by Jack’s rifle in the late attack.

How Hunston felt towards him, Jack knew well enough.

Hunston was sufficiently vindictive to wish that Jack had half a dozen lives, that he might take them cruelly, one after the other.

The enemy was on the island.

They were dancing even then round the burning castle.

The corn, upon which the boys had intended to subsist when the ship’s provisions were exhausted, was in flames.

All the havoc and mischief of which savages are capable was accomplished in a few brief hours.

No wonder that a sigh escaped Jack at the distressing news brought him by Monday.

CHAPTER XXXII

A GHOST FROM THE GRAVE

“THIS is bad news,” said Harvey, dolefully.

“Not so bad as it might have been had we been caught napping,” replied Jack.

“Fancy our dear old castle being burnt. But after all it does not matter so much, as we were going to cut our stick and leave it. Hunston does not know that we have our boat ready.”

“His plan is to destroy everything we have belonging to us and condemn us to starvation. He would like to see us wandering about with no powder and shot to kill our food or protect us from the wild beasts, and no roof to shelter us—that’s his game.”

“And a villainous plot it is too.”

“So long as our boat is not discovered, it is all right. If they find that, Heaven help us!” said Jack.

“What’s that?” cried Harvey.

All listened intently.

A loud noise, coming from the direction of the castle, was heard.

It resembled a clap of distant thunder.

“I think I can explain that,” said jack, with a smile.

“How?” asked Harvey.

“You remember what I called the magazine?”

“The hole in the warehouse, in which you put the kegs of powder?”

“Exactly. After stowing away as much as I could in the boat, there still remained a considerable quantity.”

“I see,” cried Harvey. “The flames have caught it, and there has been an explosion. What a jolly lark! I hope some of the noble savages have copped it hot.”

“So do I, and Hunston into the bargain. You may depend it has done some damage. But now to get off the island. We must make the attempt, wind or no wind.”

“I shan’t bother myself to sweat about till the sun goes down,” Harvey said with a yawn.

“Be firm, Dick; no foolishness,” cried Jack, in a tone of encouragement. “Every hour we stay here is fraught with peril, and though our enemies are savages, we can’t afford to despise them, more especially as they are led by Hunston.”

“I wish Hunston was afflicted with all the plagues of Egypt. What a nuisance the brute is, bothering us like this.”

Turning to Monday, Jack continued—

“What do you say?”

The black had been listening to their conversation attentively.

“Me say, go now. No wait for night. When him dark, um boat not go easy through the reef,” replied Monday.

“Your opinion and mine are alike,” answered Jack. “We will get down to the coast, going as cautiously as we can and if we meet with the Pisangs as Monday calls them, we must either show them a clean pair of heels or make the best fight we can.”

“I don’t like the idea of running away from niggers,” replied Harvey.

“Neither do I, but there is no help for it,” answered Jack.

“Let us go in Indian file. I’ll take the lead. Monday shall be in the middle, and you bring up the rear, Dick.”

They started in this order, and walked at a quick pace, in spite of the sun’s heat to the seashore.

Each kept his eyes on the alert, in case of a surprise and to avoid the castle and the savages they made a considerable circuit.

They reached the boat, which was lying in the water, concealed under some rocks, near the place where the boys had first landed and Jack had taken possession of the island in the name of the Queen.

He wished now that he had placed the little vessel in another spot, as she was too near Hunston and his savages to make her builders feel comfortable. As they passed within half a mile of the castle, a thick smoke apprised them of the truth of Monday’s story.

Desolation, wrought by fire, reigned in the once happy spot, where the boys might have dwelt peacefully had it not been for Hunston’s wicked passions.

Creeping cautiously through the forest, they reached the skirts, and a long tract of rank grass, fringed towards the sea with sand, stretched down to the shore.

Hitherto they had not had much cause for apprehension, as the trees in the woods had sheltered them.

But now the case was altered.

If the savages had spread themselves over that part of the island, as there was every reason to believe, they might observe the fugitives as they crossed the open space.

“Halt,” said Jack, in a low tone.

Harvey joined him, and Monday stood still, scouring the plain with his quick eyes.

The explosion, for such it was, had done considerable damage.

Hunston had never been allowed to go into the warehouse, and therefore did not know where the powder was kept.

He had, when the castle was taken possession of searched everywhere for it.

His hunt had been unsuccessful.

A case of spirits was found, and a cask of wine.

As is usual in such cases, the marauders had all helped themselves to some intoxicating liquors.

Not being accustomed to such strong drinks, the Pisangs became uproarious.

They danced, and sang, and went roaring and bellowing about.

Their leaders were unable to control them.

They yelled for heads, and demanded to be led against Jack and Harvey.

Of Monday’s existence they knew nothing.

Hunston’s annoyance at not finding the powder was very great.

It is true he had captured a large stand of arms, but the guns were useless without powder.

Suddenly the explosion took place.

The savages were dancing round the burning castle, unsuspicious of danger.

Several were killed when the magazine was blown up.

Hunston was thrown on his back, and much hurt.

His face was getting well, for, to his great joy, he found the dye used by the natives in tattooing him was not lasting.

The marks were gradually dying out.

Every day they grew fainter.

There was a prospect of his recovering his usual appearance in a few months.

The explosion, however, blackened his face and singed his hair, making him look hideous.

Roaring with rage, he rose to his feet, dizzy, and looking unutterably hideous and ferocious.

While Jack was on the lookout he saw some one crossing the sandy plain between himself and the sea.

“Dick,” he exclaimed, “who is that?—his face is white!”

“Blessed if I know. It isn’t Hunston; but, as you say, it is a white man,” answered Harvey.

“Cover me well with your rifle,” continued Jack; “and you, Monday, do the same. Fire if you see me in any danger. I am going to reconnoitre.”

He stepped into the open.

“Who goes there?” he exclaimed.

A well-known voice replied—

“A friend.”

Jack advanced boldly.

The next moment he was face to face with the intruder.

The latter was tall and gaunt, his hair hung down his neck in tangled locks, his clothes, which were of European cut, were tattered and torn, and his broad-brimmed straw hat had more than one rent in it.

“Why, bless me! it is—and yet it can’t be! Is it Mr. Mole?” cried Jack.

“My dear boy!” replied the voice of Mr. Mole. “It is indeed I. No wonder you do not recognize me.”’

“But I thought you fell down the mountain and perished in the eruption,” said Jack, beside himself with amazement.

“I did fall down, but only a little way. Providence was good to me. I climbed up again, but in seeking to rejoin you I lost my way, and fell into the hands of the savages.”

“It’s a wonder they did not have your head.”

“I am indebted to Hunston for my life. The savages intended me for a grand sacrifice, but Hunston, who seems to have acquired great influence with the savages, caused them to spare me,” replied Mr. Mole.

“And since then?”

“Since then they have made me their slave. I have been a hewer of wood and a drawer of water. Truly my lot was hard.”

“Where did they keep you?”

“They took me in a boat to the island of Pisang,” said Mr. Mole. “But though absent in the body, in spirit I have been with you.”

“Well this is the most out-and-out extraordinary thing I ever heard of!” cried Jack. “Dash my buttons! I can scarcely believe it. We have been mourning you as dead.”

“How are Harvey and Maple?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Dick’s all right, and is hiding in the wood. Maple is dead. But am I to regard you as a friend or an enemy?” replied Jack, with a look of distrust.

“As a friend. It is true that your castle is burnt, and that the island swarms with your enemies the Pisangs; you will be hunted, even to the death, I fear, yet will I not desert you. Isaac Mole’s heart is in the right place.”

“Things are not quite so dicky as you imagine,” Jack said, with a smile.

“Did you know the castle was burnt and that the Pisangs had landed in force?”

“I did.”

“You are on your guard?”

“Rather,” replied Jack. “I have too much regard for my head to let Hunston steal a march upon me. By the way, how is he?”

“Getting better. It was a cruel joke you played him, and his phiz looked so comical when he came to Pisang that I laughed in derision, whereupon he kicked me—me Isaac Mole—upon my seat of honour.”

“Just like him.”

“How did Maple die?”

“You heard of the attack on the castle, which failed?”

“Yes.”

“Maple betrayed us, and joined the enemy; but his treachery cost him his life.”

“He was always of a shifty disposition. I will not let fall a tear to his memory,” said Mr. Mole, “nor would I to that of Hunston, should vengeance overtake him, for he hath used me sorely and his kicks rankle in my mind.”

“Look here, Mr. Mole,” said Jack. “This is a critical time, but you have always acted like a gentleman, and I esteem you for it.”

“Thank you, Harkaway.”

“There is my hand on it.”

“I grasp it as that of an honest man,” said Mr. Mole, as they shook hands.

“I can’t tell whether you mean to betray us or not. If you try it on, I shall feel no compunction in shooting you like a dog. I am, however, disposed to trust you. You think our position desperate, yet you have offered to join us?”

“Verily I will cast in my lot with you. Hunston is an arrogant upstart. There was over much liquor found in the castle but to me he denied a drop, when I would fain have solaced myself with a gill of brandy, and he allowed his friends the savages to wallow in Martell’s best and Kinahan’s LL whisky, like the swine they are.”

“I’ve got whisky, and I’ve got powder and shot,” said Jack, “so come on.”

“Believe me or not,” continued Mr. Mole, “it was my intention in seeking you—for I did set forth to seek you— to warn you of your danger, and I thanked Heaven when I found you were not at home at the castle.”

“It is lucky, perhaps,” answered Jack.

“Hunston has promised your head and that of Harvey to the Pisangs, and you are to be killed, with great pomp and display.”

“When captured,” repeated Jack. “It is as well to catch your hare before you think of cooking it. But come on. It is not safe to stand here.”

“Lead, Harkaway. I will follow you, for you were always a brave boy. Your country shall be my country, as the Scripture hath it, for truly my spirit is much vexed with over serving,” answered Mr. Mole.

Jack, looking cautiously around him to prevent a surprise, led the way back to the wood, where he had left Harvey and the black.

CHAPTER XXXIII

MR. MOLE’S VALOUR

The singular meeting between Jack and Mr. Mole was like an incident in a romance.

His story, however, was intelligible enough.

He had struck upon a ledge in the uneven shaft of the crater of the mountain.

By dint of great energy and perseverance he succeeded in reaching the top once more.

His companions had gone away, giving him up for lost.

Losing his way in trying to retrace his steps to the castle, he had been captured by the Tuan Biza and his band.

The savages would have eventually killed him, had not Hunston interposed in his behalf.

For two days before he was captured, Mr. Mole had wandered about, lost, subsisting on such fruits as he could find.

Jack had always had a liking for his old master, and he was much pleased to meet with him again.

Harvey was as much surprised to see Mr. Mole as Jack had been.

“Is it a ghost?” he exclaimed. “Can I believe my eyes? Have you come back from the grave, sir?”

“No, my dear Harvey, I have been simply a servitor to a degraded race of negroes—I, the proprietor of a tea-garden in China have been beaten by them, and made to toil in the fields, while Hunston has amused himself by brutally kicking me,” replied Mr. Mole.

He then briefly related his adventures, to which Harvey listened breathlessly.

“What made them bring you here to join in the attack on us?” asked Jack, who could talk more at his ease while concealed in the dense foliage of the wood.

“I was to be a decoy. I am even now sent out into the woods to find you, and throw you off your guard.”

“And you accepted such a post?” cried Jack, eyeing, him suspiciously.

Harvey grasped his rifle tighter.

“I did, though in my heart I secretly determined to warn you of your danger. It is not supposed that you knew of the landing and what has followed it,” answered Mr. Mole.

“Did you see the explosion?”

“I did not. I came up at the sound, and found Hunston, who is much blackened by the powder, cursing like the Pagan he is at the disaster. He has guns in plenty, but no powder.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Jack, “I thought his lordship would be nicely done in that direction.”

“Six Pisangs were killed by the explosion and five more wounded. The Tuan Biza raves like a maniac, and his amiable fellows call loudly for heads. What, my dear boys, shall you do, to avoid the cruel death that menaces you?”

“Step it,” replied Jack.

“Whither?”

“Across the wild sea.”

“You cannot swim the distance,” said Mr. Mole, doubtingly.

“I don’t mean to try, but our name is Walker before another hour is over. We meant to hook it to-day, and all our preparations are made.”

“Indeed! may I inquire the nature of your conveyance and your destination?”

“We have a boat, and were going to Limbi, that’s the name of the crib, isn’t it, Monday?” said Jack.

“Him Limbi, safe enuf,” answered the black, who had been hidden behind a tree.

“Dear me,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, “is that a friendly black? He gave me quite a turn. I thought he was a Pisang. They all have a family likeness.”

“He is Monday.”

“And why Monday?”

“Because we found him on a Saturday,” said Jack, laughing.

“That is an absurd reason. I am, however, content to know that he is not an Amalekite, that is to say a Pisang. But I will also make a joke. When you get to Limbi, mind you don’t find yourselves in limbo.”

“Not bad for Mole, eh, Dick?” remarked Jack, with a smile.

“He’s improving,” answered Harvey.

“You may make as many bad puns as you like, sir,” exclaimed Jack; “we’re too glad to have you amongst us again to find fault with anything you do or say.”

“Harkaway, you’re a good boy,” replied Mr. Mole, much touched with his kindness; “you have placed me under several obligations to you at various times, and I shall esteem it a favour if you can give me to drink a small portion of your spirituous liquor.”

“Here’s my flask, lay hold, and don’t pitch into it too hard,” answered Jack.

Mr. Mole snatched it eagerly, and a quick gurgling sound was soon audible.

“The patriarch was right when he said that wine, whereby he meant fermented liquid generally, as well as distillations, gladdens the heart of man,” remarked Mr. Mole.

Again he raised the bottle to his lips.

A second time was the gurgling audible.

“Dash my wig,” exclaimed Jack; “you’d drink the sea dry, sir, if it was filled with gin and water.”

“No water, Harkaway. I abominate adulteration, and will take my stand on pure spirit.”

“You won’t stand at all, if you don’t watch it. Give me my flask. Well, I’ll be hanged if it isn’t empty,” exclaimed Jack, regarding the bottle.

“Now,” said Mr. Mole valiantly, “I have courage. Show me the villain Hunston, and give me a sword that I may hew him in pieces.”

“Here’s a pistol, sir,” replied Harvey, handing him a revolver, “mind you shoot straight.”

“I am incapable of a crooked action. I hope you believe that I am thoroughly incapable of a crooked action. ‘True as steel’ is my motto, and I have resolved to defend you poor helpless boys against the savages who are thirsting for your blood,” Mr. Mole rejoined.

Harvey laughed.

The late senior master at Pomona House rolled his eyes in a peculiar manner, and staggered a little bit on one side.

“How infinitely superior is the brandy of the Christian,” he observed, “to the calm spirit of the savages, in which I indulged deeply this morning on the sly. But my heart is good; lead me against the Pisangs. I burn to avenge my slavery, and to strike a blow for the liberty of my friends.”

“I wish you’d talk less and do more,” exclaimed Jack. “Look alive, sir, and just put a stopper on your tongue till we’re afloat, then you may jaw for a month if you choose.”

Thus rebuked Mr. Mole was silent.

Jack gave his orders, and soon the little party were engaged in crossing the open space, to gain the boat, which was concealed under the rock about half a mile off.

A path led down from the rocks to the seashore, and when the commencement of this was reached, Jack, who led, and was some yards in advance, looked below.

In an instant he held up his hand.

This was a signal.

Harvey halted and did the same.

Mr. Mole and Monday, who followed, imitated his example.

Each looked to his weapons.

“Monday,” observed Mr. Mole, “I perceive that you have attached yourself to the white people, and I trust you are prepared to acquit yourself like a man.”

“Monday fight till no use fight no more. Then he run ‘way,” replied the black.

“A very sage native, upon my word,” remarked Mr. Mole. “There is more wisdom in you, Monday, than I thought there was. You mean to do the very thing I had intended to do myself.”

“What good one fight twenty? What use um die? No more brandy drink,” Monday said, grinning.

“My worthy black creature,” Mr. Mole answered, gravely, “you are facetious, but you must not make jokes at my expense, or I shall, as my friend Harkaway would put it, be under the painful necessity of tanning your hide, though nature and the hot sun of the tropics have done that pretty effectually already.”

“Mast’ Mole, mind um pistol,” exclaimed Monday, as Harvey made a second signal to them to be on the alert.

“Do you think there will be any fighting, my sable friend?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Some Pisangs not far off. Much fight soon.”

“Ah, dear me! I perceive a small rocky fissure in the sand. I will step within it. Tell me, my good blackskin, when the fighting is over.”

In fact, there happened to be just in front of Mr. Mole an inequality in the ground, which he called a rocky fissure.

It was, however, nothing of the sort.

Jack had dug a hole in the sand to serve as a rifle-pit, from which he could fire at the enemy, and be concealed himself if he should be attacked.

Into this Mr. Mole crept.

He was securely hidden in the hole.

CHAPTER XXXIV

ESCAPING FROM THE ISLAND

MONDAY was much incensed at what he considered Mr. Mole’s cowardice.

“Sare!” he exclaimed; “you sare! Come out dat. Won’t you help fight? Come out dat hole, sare!”

“Not if I know it, my amiable negro,” replied Mr. Mole.

“You want this hole yourself, but I’ve been too quick for you. I shall relinquish this hole to no man breathing. Not much!”

We must now describe what had excited Jack’s alarm.

The path in the rock was about five-and-twenty yards in length.

Immediately below lay the boat.

To his surprise, he beheld six Pisangs standing near her.

They had evidently not been there long, for they were talking rapidly, and making wild gestures as if pleased with their discovery.

Two were overhauling the stores, though they did not attempt to remove anything.

If the savages took possession of the boat, Jack knew that his doom was sealed.

It was a time for action.

Retreating a few steps, he was joined by Harvey.

“What is it, old fellow?” asked the latter. “You look as if you had found sixpence and lost a shilling.”

“The Pisangs have found the boat.”

“Nonsense!”

“They have, though,” replied Jack.

“How many of them are there down there?”

“Six. Come and look.”

“Six!” repeated Harvey. “That’s three to one.”

“You forget Mole.”

“Oh! Mole’s an old woman. He don’t count. And besides, he’s been swigging the natives’ palm spirit till he’s top-heavy, and your brandy will about settle him.”

“I wish we hadn’t met him. He’ll only be in the way. Yet we must not grumble. It will be a charity to get him away from the Tuan Biza and Hunston,” said Jack.

The boys approached the edge of the cliff and looked down.

They retreated almost immediately.

One of the Pisangs was ascending the winding-path.

“He’s going to tell his friends of the find they’ve made,” said Harvey.

“That’s just my idea. Stand fast, Dick, and back me up like brick. I don’t like taking a man’s life, but it’s a case with us, if I don’t stop this cove.”

“We shall all be up a gum tree if he gets away. Shall I tackle him?” replied Harvey.

“No. Leave him to me.”

“Shall you shoot?”

Jack replied by drawing a case-knife from its sheath.

“It’ll be a rough and tumble, but I shall have the best of it, as he will be taken by surprise. If you see me getting worst off, shoot, Dick.”

“Never fear.”

Harvey laid down on his side, and Jack crawled on his hands and knees to the edge of the cliff, with the knife opened, and held between his teeth.

He did not want to shoot if he could help it, as the noise of the shot would arouse the attention of the main body of the savages.

The messenger must, however, be stopped at all hazards.

Scarcely allowing himself to breathe Jack crouched as he waited for his enemy.

The inhabitants of Pisang Island had come over under Hunston’s leadership to attack him, and were even then searching for him, to cut off his head.

Could he be blamed for taking life in self-defence?

A few moments of breathless expectation.

Then a head appeared above the summit of the cliff.

This was followed by the shoulders of the native.

Stretching out his arm, Jack threw it round the man’s neck.

He drew him forward with a hug like that of a bear.

“How do you find yourself, old boy?” he said gleefully.

The Pisang turned his eyes upon him, filled with a look of deadly terror.

Jack’s grasp tightened.

The native laid on his back.

Disengaging one hand, Jack, took the knife from his mouth and plunged it into his body, burying it up to the hilt.

The native made a convulsive spring.

Thinking that all was over, Jack had relaxed his grasp, which allowed the Spasmodic effort of the native to jerk his body over the cliff.

He rolled down a corpse.

When his body fell at the feet of his companions they crowded round him gazing at him with wonder not unmixed with terror.

This passed away, and raising a horrible war-whoop, they looked upwards for their enemies.

“I managed that badly,” said Jack, “but it can’t be helped. Call up Mole and Monday, Dick, and follow my fire.”

Selecting the most prominent of the natives, Jack discharged his rifle.

The fellow started forward and fell dead on his face.

The Pisangs began to run.

“Fire, Dick, fire,” cried Jack while he reloaded.

Harvey took a steady aim, and a native fell to the earth biting the sand in his death agony.

By this time Jack was ready to discharge his piece a second time.

A fourth native fell.

Monday came up and also fired his piece, but the two remaining Pisangs, running with incredible celerity, were out of danger.

“Now for it, Dick,” exclaimed Jack, “it’s no use following those two skunks. We could couldn’t catch them if we did.”

“What shall we do?”

“Get down to the boat and make a start; the wind is still blowing stiffly from the shore, though not so roughly as it did this morning; now then, Monday, down with you; look slippery, Dick. I’ll bring up the rear.”

“Where’s Mole?” asked Harvey.

“Mr. Mole, where are you, sir!” cried Jack. “We’re off, come along.”

A head appeared above the sand.

“I—I felt a little faint, Harkaway,” said Mr. Mole in a confused voice. “But I’m all right now.”

“Come on then,” exclaimed Jack.

Harvey and Monday were already half-way down the cliff, slipping along like wild-cats.

Jack followed them.

They knew that their lives depended upon their speed.

The Pisangs had come over in boats, and they could follow them, and perhaps there would be a battle on the sea.

A hundred Pisangs, in perhaps ten boats, would be a formidable fleet to attack or resist.

Mr. Mole emerged from his place of concealment, and looking round him, saw nobody.

“Oh! Jack, good Jack, don’t leave me,” he exclaimed, “I’m taken very bad all at once; don’t leave me, Jack.”

There was no answer.

“Harkaway, my dear boy, this is wrong, ” he continued. “I am one of you. I have joined you, and yet you desert me. Why, where the deuce have they gone? Have they found a hole as well as I?”

He ran to the edge of the cliff, and looking down, saw them already in the boat.

Harvey was in the middle, setting the sail; Monday stood at the bow, with a paddle in his hand; and Jack manfully grasped the tiller.

“Whoa!” cried Mr. Mole. “I say, hold hard. I’m coming. Whoa, there! Whoa!”

In his hurry to get down the cliff, he missed his footing after he had gone a few yards.

This caused him to roll down very gracefully until he reached the bottom.

He was bruised and breathless.

Picking himself up with a naughty exclamation, he ran to the boat, and stepping into the water, crawled on board, and lay down exhausted at Jack’s feet.

“Away we go. Bravo! Mole, you’ve done it. Off we are, Dick,” cried Jack, in a loud voice.

“Right,” replied Harvey, allowing the little sail to belly to the breeze.

“We’ve got the start of the wretches. Hurrah! Steady, Dick, steady,” added Jack, as the heavily-laden craft heeled over a little.

“Steady she is,” answered Harvey, slackening the sail.

“She’ll weather it, sir. Bravo!” continued Jack.

“We’ve got our ballast on board,” remarked Harvey, pointing to Mr. Mole.

The late senior master heard the observation.

“Ballast, Harvey, is not a fitting noun substantive to apply to me,” he said.

“Got your wind again, sir, have you?”

“I thank Heaven for all its mercies, and that is one of them.”

“You came down that hill with a fine run. It was a proper come down, sir,” Harvey said, with a laugh.

“You may jeer, my young friend, but should the savages overtake you, I trust that my influence with them may be sufficient to save your lives. Ballast, indeed! A nice term to apply to one in my position. Ballast! Well, it isn’t worth talking about; but I never was called ballast before—no, not even by the Pisangs,” said Mr. Mole, in high dudgeon.

“I didn’t mean any offence, sir.”

“When none is meant, none is taken. I accept your apology, Harvey, and will you be good enough to ask your friend Harkaway for some stimulating beverage? I bore myself bravely during the scrimmage, and I have reason to believe that one, at least, of the savages fell before my unerring aim.”

“Not now, Mr. Mole,” replied Jack, smiling in spite of his preoccupation; “wait a bit, please, till we get clear of the reef.”

“As you please, Harkaway. Can I make myself of any further use?” said Mr. Mole with a sigh of resignation.

“Lie still where you are, that’s all you can do.”

“I should like Mr. Crawcour and all our old friends, if any of us reach England again, to know that I bore myself bravely, and did not shrink in the hour of danger.”

“I’ll see to that, sir. It shall be put down in my diary.”

“With that promise I am content. Call upon me, Harkaway, when peril is pressing; Mole will be to the fore.”

“Right you are, sir. Steady, Monday; mind the reef!” replied Jack.

The boat was laden nearly to the water’s edge.

She was now nearing the passage in the reef through which Monday intended to conduct her.

He lifted his paddle first one side, then the other, as he wanted Jack to steer.

It was evident that he had been in a boat before, and knew well how to handle one.

In five minutes she would be floating fairly on the open sea.

“I wonder,” said Harvey, “where the boats of the Pisangs are?”

Scarcely had he spoken when loud cries assailed his ears.

Turning round to look from whence they proceeded he saw a confused mass of men, about three hundred yards from the spot at which they had embarked.

Several boats, which he had not before noticed, were lying on the beach.

“What is it, Dick?” asked Jack, who could not turn his head round.

“Pisangs,” answered Harvey, “and a jolly good heap of them too. They swarm like flies!”

“What are they doing?”

“Getting into their boats. They have unfortunately landed close to the castle, and, will be after us in a twinkling.”

“Never mind; we shall be through the reef in a brace of shakes, and perhaps they don’t know this opening.”

“What a pity they don’t! they must have come through it.”

“Perhaps so,” said Jack, thoughtfully; “at any rate we have one advantage over them. They have no guns, or, at least, if they have stolen ours, they have no powder; so we shall beat them that way.”

“Keep um boat straight, Mast’ Jack,” replied Monday.

The opening in the reef was reached.

As it was a very narrow channel and the wind was high, the utmost caution was necessary to steer clear.

Monday used his paddle in the water with great dexterity.

The surf ran up in a dangerous manner, but Jack did not allow the boat at any time to get broadside on, and so she did not ship a sea.

She rode gallantly upon the waves, and showed herself thoroughly seaworthy under good management.

Jack kept her well before the wind and she met the surf with her bows, stemming the tide beautifully.

“Well done, Mast’ Jack,” cried Monday, “that your sort, all ri’ soon.”

In the meantime the cries of the Pisangs redoubled.

They were rapidly taking to their boats.

The chase threatened to be a hot one.

Hunston’s blackened figure was discernible in their midst, and from his frantic motions he appeared to be dreadfully annoyed at the escape of his former friends.

“There’s Hunston,” said Harvey, “I‘d swear to his ugly mug in a thousand.”

“If there’s any mischief brewing he’s sure to be in it,” replied Jack.

“Don’t he look wild that’s all,” continued Harvey.

“Perhaps he’ll be wilder, when he sees us scudding before the wind, and finds that we’ve slipped our cable just in time to put him in the hole. Steady, Monday, that’s it, my man; another moment, and we shall be clear,” Jack exclaimed, in his usual tone of command.

They were half through the dangerous passage.

The enemy were in pursuit of them and a short time would decide their fate.

Several boats, manned by the enraged Pisangs, started in pursuit of Jack and his companions.

Their fury knew no bounds when they saw their prey escaping.

The explosion which had killed and disabled several of their number, had first of all put them out of temper.

Loss of the powder they had expected to capture, and without which their guns were of no use, made them worse.

The death of the larger part of the party who had discovered the boat did not tend to increase their good humour.

And the escape from the island of those whom they had regarded as their sure victims, put the finishing touch to their rage.

Hunston and Keyali were in the first two boats that went after the fugitives.

The Tuan Biza, and others, followed quickly.

Hunston had promised Keyali Jack’s head, and as Keyali could not marry until he got a head belonging to somebody, he was very anxious to have it.

He had made sure of catching Jack on the island, and in his anger at being disappointed, he danced about in the boat at the risk of upsetting it.

Hunston had to remonstrate with him and make him sit down.

His loud cries and exclamations were heard by Jack and Harvey, who had learnt a good deal of the native language from Monday.

This was a natural consequence of teaching Monday English.

Mr. Mole also understood the language spoken by the Pisangs and Limbians owing to his having been a captive amongst the former.

The same tongue was common to both the tribes.

“I’ll have your head!” shouted Jack, in derision, as his boat shot through the narrow opening in the reef.

He had heard Keyali’s ravings, and meant to chaff him and Hunston.

But he spoke in the native language, so that he might be comprehended by both, as Hunston was by this time thoroughly well able to converse in the dialect.

“Take care we don’t have yours,” replied Hunston, shouting in the same loud tone.

“No fear, old boy,” replied Jack.

“I don’t know that,” said Hunston.

“Take a fool’s advice,” continued Jack, “and don’t come too near us. We’ve got guns and you haven’t.”

“What of that? We’ve got bows and arrows and spears, and our arrows can fly as straight as your shots.”

“Perhaps, but they can’t carry as far, and we shan’t let you get within shot of us.”

Hunston was silent.

He saw the force of the argument.

“Give me his head; you promised me his head, and Tecona, my beloved, will not be my wife till I get ahead. I must, I will have his head?” Keyali continued to shout.

“Keep that great calf quiet, can’t you?” cried Jack.

“He wants his rights.”

“Then he’ll have to want.”

Harvey was hard at work setting the sails, and he had surprised Jack by rigging up a flying jib, which gave them an advantage over their pursuers, who only had a mainsail.

“Bravo, Dick!” exclaimed Jack, as the breeze caught her and she sped onward like a thing of life.

Monday stood at the bows till the boat was clear of the rocks.

Then he sat down and looked contentedly at their pursuers.

“They plenty of them, Mast’ Jack,” he said, with a long face.

“We shall be a match for them, Monday,” replied Jack.

“Hope so, sare; no want lose head. I hear Keyali cry for you. He do same for me once; but I ’scape and you save me. Keyali have mine ’fore yours,” said the good hearted fellow.

“I’ll take precious good care he don’t have either,” returned Jack, drily. “If he does, I’ll forgive him. Which way shall I steer, Monday?”

Monday made a gesture which indicated west by north.

And following the direction of his arm, Jack put the boat about.

“Wire in, Jack, and get your name up. That’s your sort,” said Harvey.

“You shut up, and mind that flying jib of yours,” replied Jack, laughing.

“You look fine, standing there, and coaching the canoe. Hunston’s also standing up, but he isn’t a patch upon you,” continued Harvey.

“Stow it, Dick,” answered Jack. “I don’t want any buttering, and it isn’t a time for humbug.”

In fact it was not a time for chaffing.

But the boys kept their spirits up wonderfully well, and were delighted at getting away from the enemy.

They were showing them what sailors call a “clean pair of heels.”

Mr. Mole was with them too.

They had every reason to believe him loyal and true.

If so, he was an addition to their strength.

The boat ran splendidly before the freshening breeze.

The gale had lulled, but began to get up again, though Jack did not anticipate much more of it.

Wind in those latitudes often sinks as rapidly as it rises.

“There will be a fine sunset,” remarked Monday.

“So I think,” replied Jack, “and worse luck for us.”

Everyone looked, as he spoke at the pursuing boats.

It was true that they were distancing them, and that every moment left them farther behind.

But in the event of a sudden calm, they could strike their sails and use their oars.

Jack had no oars.

He had not thought of being chased on the ocean, and for that reason did not make any.

Harvey attended to the sails with great skill, and obtained praise from Jack, who said—

“Bravo, Dick! A better fellow than you never loosened a topsail.”

“We only want a flag to make us perfect,” replied Harvey.

“Run up Mr. Mole’s tile. It won’t look bad, and I see its owner has gone to sleep.”

“Right you are,” said Harvey.

He took Mr. Mole’s hat, and, without much exertion, secured it at the head of their small mast.

“We can’t call it the British standard waving at the topmast,” he observed. “But it will show them that we have got Mole on board, and they will know there is one more of us to fight.”

“Hurrah for the blue sea!” said Jack, as they shot ahead, and the cries of their enemies grew fainter behind them.

At this exclamation, Mr. Mole was aroused, and looked languidly around him.

“Harvey,” he said, “I will thank you for my hat. You imagined me asleep, but I was only revolving mighty ideas in my mind, and I saw you make free with my Panama straw.”

Harvey pointed upwards.

“The wind’s caught it, sir, and it’s stuck up aloft,” he replied.

“Now, that’s a curious thing,” remarked Mr. Mole. “Stop your ship, Harkaway, and get down my hat.”

“Strike our flag’? Not if I know it. That’s the banner of independence, and meant as a defiance to the Pisangs,” responded Jack.

“Oh, if it’s meant as a defiance to the Pisangs, all right,” replied Mr. Mole, wrapping a handkerchief of the bandana species round his head.

“Mast’ Jack,” said Monday, “give um Monday a drink of rum.”

“Certainly,” answered Jack, taking out a bottle and handing it him. “You’ve had some hot work, and you deserve it.”

The bottle was given to Monday, who took a pull, and seemed much relieved.

Mr. Mole eyed it wistfully, and said in a low voice—

“My faithful savage, hand me that bottle. I will replace it in a secure position.”

Monday gave it him, and he pretended to stow it away, but, when no one was looking, he solaced himself with a secret draught, which did not tend to improve his usefulness to the party.

In fact, he soon fell into such a deep sleep, that he did not wake, although important events were passing around him.

As Jack had anticipated, the wind fell towards evening.

Their pursuers were out of sight, but they could not be far off.

The boat made slow progress, and such advance as she did make grew less every five minutes.

In the tropics, when the sun sets, it is high time for everyone to hurry home.

There is no fading twilight.

Darkness presses closely on the footsteps of retreating day, and at once it is night.

In addition to the coming darkness a thick mist began to rise.

This might serve to conceal the runaways from the prying eyes of their pursuers.

In the absence of wind it was necessary to remain quiet till morning.

There was no current that would run the boat back to the rocks.

She might drift a little with the motion of the waves, but that was all.

Furling the sails, a watch was set.

Harvey and Monday lay down in the bottom of the boat and sought that sleep of which they were in need.

Jack sat on one of the thwarts and kept his ears open, for his eyes were not of much use in the thick mist and darkness.

Hours passed and nothing was heard but the rolling of the waves.

The boat was some miles from the shore and Jack could not distinguish the rolling of the surf upon the rocks.

A speck of light appeared in the east.

Day was about to break.

Jack, who was nearly worn out, touched Harvey on the shoulder.

The latter sprang up.

“What is it?” he exclaimed, “are the Pisangs upon us?”

“No. I can see no signs of them, but I want to have a pitch, and as I’ve been on duty for so many hours, I thought you might take a turn.”

“Of course,” replied Harvey, “why didn’t you wake me before?”

“It’s time enough. I wonder how long the calm is going to last?” said Jack; “we must look out, as I expect the beggars will be upon us as the mist rises.”

He was about to lie down in the boat, when his practised ears detected the sound of oars in the distance.

“Hark!” he said, “do you hear that, Dick?”

“Oars,” replied Harvey; “they are cruising about for us, knowing that we are stuck somewhere in this infernal mist.”

“If it’s only one boat, I don’t mind,” Jack continued, “or we might tackle two, but if the whole fleet are together, it’s a case of Jack’s up the orchard with us!”

“I should think they have been separated in the night, and that the one we hear is a solitary vessel which will be as much astonished at seeing us, as we are at meeting her,” observed Harvey.

“I’d give something if the wind would blow, if it was only a capful, it would show what’s behind, and we’d soon let them know what stuff our craft is made of.”

The sound of the oars, which fell into, and were recovered regularly from the water, grew more distinct.

“Stand close, but don’t fire till I give the order,” exclaimed Jack.

Harvey nodded, and his companion woke Monday and Mr. Mole, whispering to them not to speak above their breath, as the enemy were not far off.

Monday grasped his rifle tighter, and looked to his pistols. Mr. Mole handled a revolver, which was his only weapon, with a carelessness that suggested danger to those around him, rather than to the enemy.

His contempt for the latter may perhaps be accounted for, from the fact that they were up to this time invisible.

“Don’t let a shot be fired till I give the signal,” Jack again said. “Let them run alongside of us nearly, so that we can make sure of our men.”

“Four of us,” remarked Monday under his breath, “um Pisang boat generally carry six to row, and one to steer.”

“That’s seven. It’s odds against us, but we have powder and shot, and they have none, so we’re equal.”

“Mr. Mole must get um head,” said Monday, “and then him marry black princess at Limbi.”

“Thank you, my worthy friend,” replied Mr. Mole in a tone of disgust, “I don’t care about dusky beauties.”

“With us a great chief can have three wife. Mr. Mole great chief. He cut off Pisang head, and then he have three wife,” continued Monday with a grin.

“The Lord deliver me from such a fate!” said Mr. Mole, inwardly shuddering at the prospect.

Monday was about to speak again, when Jack said, “Hush!”

The dim outline of the proa hove in sight.

All held their breath, and nerved themselves for the coming encounter.

The battle would be short, sharp, and decisive.

CHAPTER XXXVI

FIGHT UNDER THE SEA

Presently a shout from the occupants of the boat showed Jack that he was perceived.

It was useless to remain on the defensive any longer.

“Let them have it. Pour in a volley,” he exclaimed. “Aim low, and hurrah for old England!”

There was no white man in the boat, but Jack recognized as the one who was steering, Keyali, who had evinced such a longing for a white man’s head.

Keyali was evidently in command.

He had no idea that he was so near those of whom he was in pursuit, and would have put back out of harm’s way, had it not been too late.

The Pisangs ceased rowing, and seized their spears. With such force had the boat been propelled, that its momentum threatened to carry it alongside of the boys.

As soon as Jack had given the word there was a report of firearms.

At the same moment, the wind began to lift.

A faint breeze was springing up.

Four of the Pisangs fell under the well-directed shots.

The remaining three sprang from their boat into Jack’s, and a hand-to-hand fight ensued.

Keyali, with an eye like a hawk, singled out Jack, whom he caught round the neck and waist, with such a determined grip that he could not use his firearms.

Harvey was wounded in the thigh by a spear, and lay at the bottom of the boat helpless.

Monday tackled one Pisang, and Mr. Mole, in self-defence, grappled with another.

Jack and Keyali rocked to and fro in a deadly embrace.

Suddenly they lost their balance, and fell into the sea.

Down, down, they sank, as if they were so much lead.

Jack feared they would both be drowned, as it was impossible to live long under water.

Mr. Mole saw them disappear and was so alarmed that he forgot to go on fighting, and the Pisang with whom he had been battling was about to stab him with a murderous-looking knife, when Harvey crawled up.

He seized the savage’s leg, and made his teeth meet in the flesh.

This caused him such pain, that he dropped his knife, and fell on his knees, howling loudly.

Mr. Mole had begun to say his prayers, thinking it was all over with him.

He regained his courage, however, and fired a pistol close to his ear.

The Pisang fell forward with a groan.

Taking up the knife, Mr. Mole prodded him with it in various parts of the body.

“That will do, sir. He’s dead as mutton, ” said Harvey.

“I like to make sure,” replied Mr. Mole, inflicting more savage thrusts with the knife.

At the same time, Monday settled accounts with his antagonist; and, cutting off his head, held up the bleeding trophy in triumph.

“You all right, Mist’ Mole? You much hurt, Mast’ Harvey?” exclaimed Monday, adding, with a look of bewilderment, “Oh, de debbel! Where Mast’ Jack? Him gone!”

“Gone!” said Harvey. “Isn’t Harkaway here?”

“I saw him fall overboard not long ago,” replied Mr. Mole, “locked in the arms of one Keyali, whom I know to be a very truculent ruffian.”

Monday and Harvey looked blankly at one another.

In the meantime, Jack had continued to descend into the bosom of the deep.

He managed to keep his senses about him.

Keyali would not let go, but suddenly Jack felt one arm relax, which allowed him to make use of his right hand.

He remembered that he had a sheath knife in his belt.

If he could draw this he might deal his adversary a blow which would save his life.

Apparently the same idea occurred to Keyali, for he began to feel for his knife.

Luckily for Jack it had fallen out in the struggle, being only slenderly secured with a string round his waist.

It did not take more than a second to assure Keyali of this fact.

He now struggled to regain his hold of Jack, and endeavoured to move one hand to his throat, so as to strangle him.

Being the stronger of the two, the Pisang might have succeeded in this effort, had he not given Jack an opportunity when he first loosened his grasp to feel for his knife.

This was a fortunate chance for Harkaway.

Had it not been for this he would probably have soon floated, a blackened and swollen corpse, before the eyes of his friends.

As soon as he had drawn the knife, he stabbed Keyali repeatedly about the legs.

The water was soon crimsoned with blood.

Keyali tightened his grip, and Jack, whose strength began to fail him, and whose head grew dizzy with the pressure of the water, made frantic efforts to reach a vital part of the Pisang’s body.

This fight under the sea was terrible.

They had been beneath the waves nearly three-quarters of a minute.

Short as the time in reality was, it seemed a lifetime to Jack.

Maddened with pain, Keyali succeeded in grasping his opponent’s throat.

The stifling sensation that had attacked Jack increased.

A mist swam before his eyes.

Making one last effort, he plunged his knife up to the hilt in the Pisang’s body.

Gradually his hold relaxed.

The arms fell down, and the man was dead.

Raising his feet, Jack struck the lifeless body, sending it down into the sea.

At the same time he began to ascend.

It was time.

A very short period more, and he would have gone to the bottom, locked in that death-grip.

Suddenly he appeared above the surface close to the boat.

Monday stretched out his arms, and dragged him on board, breathless, panting and exhausted.

It was some time before he could speak.

When he was able to use his voice, he gave an account of the fight beneath the waves.

“Thank goodness I am none the worse for it,” he added. “But I hope never again to have such a tussle. Here, you Kafoozlum—what’s your name, Monday—give me some brandy to wash the salt-water out of my mouth.”

Monday did as he was requested, and Jack began to revive sensibly.

“I need not ask how you got on,” he continued, “for I see you have disposed of your enemies. Are you hurt, Dick?”

Harvey was tying a bandage round his leg, and he replied—

“I’ve got an ugly thrust in the leg from a spear, but it’s not much.”

“Throw the carrion overboard,” Jack said, pointing to the two dead Pisangs.

Monday proceeded to do so.

“I think you will all bear witness to my bravery,” observed Mr. Mole. “I dispatched that wretched creature whom Monday is about to consign to the deep. I, Isaac Mole, dispatched him with my own hand.”

“If I hadn’t bit him in the leg with my teeth,” said Harvey, “you would have gone to the mole country, sir.”

“No jokes, Harvey; you may have distracted the poor fellow’s attention, but I had him well in hand throughout, and was never for one moment afraid of him. Harkaway, pass the bottle in a friendly spirit, and let us drink to our noble selves. ”

Jack granted his request, and Mr. Mole took a deep draught.

“Drink deep, the poet says,” remarked Mr. Mole. “And truly he was right, for this spirit comforteth the inner man and keepeth out the rawness of the fog, which, I perceive, is disappearing.”

In fact, as he spoke, the sail which had been lying idly by the mast began to flap to and fro.

“Hurrah,” cried Jack, “the wind is coming.”

“I’m sorry I can’t lend a hand,” said Harvey.

“You be still,” replied Jack, who put some boating jackets under Harvey to make his position more comfortable.

“You want rest as much as I, for you were on the watch all night.”

“Never mind me. I can’t sleep when there is anything to do, but I make up for it afterwards. If the wind lasts, and Monday is right in his steering, we shall make Limbi in four or five hours.”

Jack set the sails, and the little craft, as the wind caught her, ran before it in splendid style.

The sails bellied to the breeze, and Monday took the helm.

“Harkaway,” said Mr. Mole, “take the rest, of which you stand so much in need and leave the management of the boat to this trusty savage and myself.”

“Very well,” said Jack, who thought he might safely do so, as there was nothing of consequence to attend to.

Accordingly he threw himself down, wet as he was, knowing that the hot sun would soon dry him, and fell fast asleep.

Mr. Mole applied his lips frequently to the bottle, much to Monday’s delight.

“Mist’ Mole got um best friend,” he observed, as Mole hugged the bottle tightly.

“If that observation is intended to apply to this case-bottle,” replied Mr. Mole, “all I can say is that you are a very rude and impertinent negro.”

“No offence, sare; beg um pardon,” said Monday, “Me ’fraid of you, sare, you, fight, so well.”

This compliment mollified the object of it.

“You are right,” he said; “by my bravery I have saved you all from a dreadful fate. I hewed mine adversary in pieces; but you must not repeat your remarks. In this climate the European requires stimulants to protect himself from the trying effects of the weather. What I take is taken with reluctance, and strictly as medicine.”

“Monday not mind a drop of same sort of medsum.”

“Not a drop. It is not good for you who are young and strong, and accustomed to the climate.”

“Very well, Mist’ Mole know best. Monday get him three wife.”

“If you suggest such a thing again,” cried Mr. Mole, in a rage, “I’ll—I’ll wring your neck like—like a sparrow’s.”

“No wring um poor Monday neck. Monday do what him like in Limbi. His name Matabella, and his father, Lanindyer. Great chief. King of Island. All obey Monday. If Monday say Mole great chief, him cut off all Pisangs’ heads, the woman all love him and he be ‘bliged to have one, two, three wife.”

“Is your father really the Tuan Biza of Limbi?” asked Mr. Mole.

Monday nodded his head vehemently.

“It’s quite right,” exclaimed Harvey, who could not sleep through pain, and had been an amused listener to this conversation.

“Is he not joking? I have found him of a facetious tendency.”

“No, Monday’s a howling swell in his own diggings, ain’t you, Mon?” said Harvey.

“Matabella, him show Mist’ Mole,” answered the black, drawing himself up proudly as he stood in the stern, rudder-lines in hand.

“Take the bottle and help yourself, my young and intelligent friend,” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

Monday did so with a grin.

“I hope nothing I have said has given you offence,” continued Mr. Mole, “I had no idea you were a prince in your own country. But for Heaven’s sake, say no more about the wives.”

The conversation dropped, and the boat went on her course, the wind continuing to rise, as if impatient at having been still during the night.

No more boats belonging to the Pisang fleet were visible.

The sun rose high in the heavens, and the heavily-laden craft which carried the boys and their fortunes slowly ploughed her way along the deep.

Harvey and Mr. Mole covered themselves with a tarpaulin, and sought forgetfulness in slumber.

Monday was alone in command of the boat.

He could not steer and see to the sails as well, and when the force of the wind increased, and the sea rose, he thought it advisable to wake Jack.

Nearly five hours had passed since the dispersion of the Pisangs.

Jack had had time to recruit his wasted energies.

The boat made one or two dangerous lurches over, and Monday was afraid she might capsize. Jack started up with alacrity.

“What is it?” he asked.

Monday explained to him, and pointing to a dark ridge visible on the verge of the horizon, added—

“That Limbi.”

“Oh, is that Limbi?” asked Jack. “You know your way about in these waters. How shall we land?”

“No land in the surf—not in this boat,” answered Monday. “They send out boat when see us, and then we land in our fashion.”

“Very well. I leave it all to you,” replied Jack, well pleased at the prospect of reaching their journey’s end without further danger.

The land was not more than five or six miles distant.

Their voyage would soon be over.

CHAPTER XXXVII

RECEPTION AT LIMBI

THE first sight of Limbi was not a reassuring one.

A straight open beach descended abruptly beneath the sea, so that the high swell never once broke before finding itself suddenly stopped in its rapid course.

The water rose up in one huge wall that rolled forward and fell on the steep shore with a roar like thunder.

Every few moments the water would rebound from the sand until it rose twice and a half as high as the natives standing near it, for several of the islanders had collected at the novel sight of a vessel standing in for their shore.

“My dear Harkaway,” said Mr. Mole, who was roused from his sleep by the breaking of the surf, “you surely do not intend to run the risk of landing on such a coast?”

“Monday says he will make it all right,” replied Jack.

“We near ‘nuff now,” exclaimed Monday, “please take in sail, Mast’ Jack.”

Jack did so, and the boat ceased her onward career, merely drifting a little with the tide.

Monday put his hands to his mouth, and gave utterance to a peculiarly shrill and piercing cry which he repeated three times.

“That to let them know me come, sare,” he observed.

The noise awoke Harvey, who looking round him in astonishment, said—

“What’s that beastly row?”

“It’s only Monday,” answered Jack.

“I thought it was um Pisangs, as he calls them. I never heard such a din in my life. It was like a baked ’tater boy on a cold night in winter, singing out, ‘all ‘ot, all ’ot!’ ”

“That our war cry,” explained Monday; “all my people know my voice; they say ‘That Matabella,’ and my father come out to me in a proa and take us all on shore.”

“Your father! Is he on the beach?”

“Yes. Monday see him. Look, look; he telling them it me, and they shake head. Now he order boat, because they all think me dead—killed, eat up by Pisang. See! father, how um run, Mast’ Jack; how um skip, Mast’ Harvey, how um talk, sare.”

The black grew quite excited at the prospect of meeting with his father.

In fact, Jack saw that the few natives whom he had at first distinguished on the beach had grown into a crowd, which numbered upwards of two hundred.

An elderly man moved in their midst, and to him they paid the strictest attention, as if he were entitled to command.

His manner was that of a prince or chief, and it was clear that Monday’s peculiar cry had produced a singular effect upon the inhabitants of the island.

For a few minutes it was not evident what the Limbians were about.

They ran to and fro carrying pieces of wood, and all seemed confusion.

“What are the beggars trying to do?” asked Harvey.

“Blest if I know,” replied Jack. “They are like bees in a hive, when they’re going to swarm.”

The natives did not keep them long in suspense.

They soon made a rude skid or wide ladder with large poles on the sides and small green ones with the bark torn off for the rounds.

This was laid down on the beach while the wave was forming, and a heavy boat, with a sort of awning in the middle to keep off the spray, was pushed on to it as the wave broke and a broad sheet of surge partially buoyed her up.

As this wave receded she was successfully launched.

The boat, guided by native hands, reached Jack’s boat, and an affectionate greeting passed between Monday and his friends.

His father, the Tuan Biza of Limbi, was a man of commanding stature, but his self-possession was great.

He had given up his son as lost.

When a prisoner falls into the hands of his enemies, he rarely, if ever, escapes.

To see Matabella again, was to Lanindyer a resurrection of his son.

Monday threw himself on his neck and kissed him affectionately, but the old man displayed no emotion.

It was evident, though, that he was affected, for teardrops trembled in his eyes.

When Monday recovered himself, he pointed to Jack, Harvey, and Mr. Mole and told them in the native language who they were, and what they had done for him.

In teaching Monday English, Jack and Harvey had, of necessity, learnt his language.

So that the conversation between the father and son was intelligible to them.

Mr. Mole also knew the native dialect, which was common to all the tribes about these islands, for he had picked it up during his captivity.

Turning to Jack, the aged chief said—

“Saviour of my child, you are welcome to Limbi, and you shall live like a prince among our people.”

“Thank you,” replied Jack. “It is my pride to be the friend of so great a chief as Lanindyer, who is alike renowned in war and peace.”

The Tuan Biza now set his men to work, and all the stores were moved out of Jack’s boat into the proa, and in the latter they all embarked, leaving their own craft to ride at anchor in charge of a native.

Harvey was lifted carefully from one boat to the other, being unable to walk as his wound was painful in the extreme, and his leg much swollen.

When all was ready, they ran into the shore over the heavy rollers.

Other natives appeared on the shore with a huge coil of rattan an inch or more in diameter.

Two or three of them seized an end, ran down and plunged into a huge wave as coolly and unhesitatingly as a diver would leap from the side of a boat into a quiet bay.

The end of the cord was fastened to the front part of the boat.

The other was carried up a long way on the beach, and the natives ranged themselves in two rows, each grasping it with one hand ready to haul in when the signal was given. A number of heavy seas now rolled in and broke, but the natives on board kept the boat from being swept forward or backward.

A smaller swell now came on.

Every native gave a wild yell, and those on shore hauled in the rattan with all their might.

Away darted the boat on the crest of a wave with the swiftness of an arrow.

Soon the boat was in the midst of the surf.

The next instant it was on the skid, and away it glided with the speed of a locomotive.

Before Jack could realize the fact, they were high and dry upon the bank before the next wave came in.

In this way was their landing in Limbi effected.

Monday had not exaggerated his influence with the natives of Limbi.

There were about a thousand in number, living in a town called Tompano, which was built on a hill.

This made it healthy, and afforded some security from attack.

Monday’s father had ruled over the inhabitants for some years, as his father had done before him.

He was, in fact, descended from a long line of princes.

The people who lived in the neighbouring island of Pisang were the hereditary enemies of the Limbians.

War was almost always going on between them, and with varying success.

The town in which the Pisangs lived was called Palembarg.

A few years ago the Limbians had invaded Pisang, and being victorious, burnt Palembarg to the ground.

This made the Pisangs very angry and vindictive.

They had vowed vengeance ever since, and threatened an invasion of Limbi.

Jack’s supply of powder, shot, and guns was exhibited to the Limbians, and their use explained to them.

They hailed Jack and his friends at once as great chiefs.

A house was given them to live in near the king’s palace.

They were delighted at the restoration of Matabella, or Monday, who was much beloved.

These simple people, savage though they were in their habits, were not wanting in gratitude.

Jack got all their fighting men together, and instructed them in the use of firearms.

But he was very sparing with the powder and shot, because when his supply was gone, he could get no more.

He knew of what advantage it would be to him and his friends in the event of an invasion of Limbi.

That Hunston would carry on the war he did not doubt.

If, indeed, the Pisangs should be afraid to invade Limbi, he determined to land an army on their island.

For some time everything went on quietly.

The Pisangs did not show themselves.

Monday would not leave Jack.

He might have lived in his father’s palace, but his attachment to the boys was so great that he lived in their house and was Jack’s body-guard.

He never allowed him to stir out unless he accompanied him.

“You save my life, and you teach me do what right,”

he said. “I spend my life with you. It is your life, and Monday still your servant.”

“My friend, you mean, Monday,” replied Jack.

“You do as you like with me, Mast’ Jack,” continued the grateful fellow. “You ask me die for you, I do it, because I then give back the life you save.”

Both Jack and Harvey were much attached to Monday, and liked to have him near them.

Harvey’s leg got well in about six weeks, and he could walk again.

They had plenty of servants, and did not allow Monday to do any menial work, though he was always ready to lend a hand when necessary.

As the Pisangs did not show themselves, Jack planned an invasion of their country on a large scale.

A fleet was provided, and the army, which numbered four hundred men, was drilled every day.

The inhabitants of Pisang and Limbi were about equal in number.

Making an allowance for the women and children, the aged and the infirm, they could put four hundred, or a few more, in the field.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

MONDAY’S NEWS

THE white men were an object of attraction to the ladies of Limbi.

Every chief was entitled to have three wives.

It was reported that the strangers had killed their enemies, and, therefore, were, by the laws of the land, able to marry.

Jack and Harvey were too young to indulge in any idea of the sort.

If they had not been, they would not have fallen in love with the Limbian women, who were far from being attractive.

Besides which, Jack was in love with Emily, and his principal reason for wishing the Limbians to attack the Pisangs, was to find if she really was on their island, and if so, rescue her.

Jack found his new friends very idle.

They would fight, hunt, and fish, but nothing more.

The women were made to do the principal part of the work on the island.

All were very fond of dancing.

The principal dance was called the minari.

It consisted of men and women arranging themselves in two rows.

They slowly twisted their bodies to the right and left, at the same time moving the extended arms and open hands in circles in opposite directions.

The only motions of the naked feet were to change the weight of the body from the heel to the toe, and reverse it.

Monday had two cousins, Alfura and Ambonia.

They expressed a wish to marry the white men, as a mode of showing their gratitude for their having saved Monday’s life.

The king summoned a council to discuss the idea.

Monday heard of it.

Alfura and Ambonia were his near relations, and he hastened to tell his masters the news.

Jack and Harvey were together, talking about Emily.

Mr. Mole had gone out for a walk, to think alone about his tea-garden in China.

“Mast’ Jack,” exclaimed Monday, coming into the house, “what you think?”

“I don’t know,” replied Jack. “Have the Pisangs come after us?”

“No; not them, but the Tuan Biza and all the chiefs met in council to-day.”

“What about?”

“Alfura and Ambonia—you know them. They are my father’s brother’s daughters.”

“That’s a roundabout way of describing them; but no matter. Go ahead,” remarked Harvey.

“They have said they want to marry a white man, and the chiefs are to decide whether they shall or not.”

“Scissors!” exclaimed Jack. “Suppose the white man don’t see it!”

“Then he must leave the island,” replied Monday. “If one of the Tuan Biza’s family want to marry and choose a man, and he not have her, then he go.”

“Oh, that’s it, is it? I wish I’d got a return ticket,” Jack remarked.

“If the chiefs say yes, they send for you, and it is our custom to place sometimes seven, eight, nine women together.”

“Yes.”

“Then you go and pick out one, two, three, if you like; but of course you take those who have asked for you.”

“I see; you pick out the ones who have honoured you by their preference,” replied Jack.

“That is a dodge to spare their blushes if they have any,” observed Harvey.

“Yes,” said Monday, quickly. “You not supposed to know they ask for you.”

“But I don’t want to marry,” exclaimed Jack.

“Nor I,” said Harvey.

“You should have kept us out of this, Monday. It’s not kind of you,” Jack continued.

Monday grinned.

“What do you stand grinning there for like the ugly baboon you are?” said Jack in a rage.

“ ’Scuse me, Mast’ Jack. I not grin at you,” replied Monday.

“Then you’re indulging at my expense,” said Harvey. “Where’s my crutch? I’ll lamn into you, Master Monday, if you were twenty king’s sons.”

“No lamn in, sare,” Monday cried in alarm. “You say you too young to marry. You wait a year and let Mr. Mole marry Alfura and Ambonia; that my idea—that why I grin, sare.”

Jack smiled, and Harvey put down the crutch with which he had walked while his leg was bad.

“That’s a rattling good idea, too,” said Jack. “It will be a rare spree to see Mole with—how many did you say, Monday?”

“Two at first.”

“Oh, yes, two to start with, Alfura and Ambonia. Two beauties they are, too—aren’t they, Dick?”

“Stunners,” replied Harvey. “Alfura’s got a nose like a squashed pumpkin, and her ears stick out like a cow’s, while her mouth would enable her to eat mince pies whole.”

“And Ambonia’s fat and pudgy, with a temper like a wild hyena. I saw her chivey a cove down the street the other day,” said Jack.

“What for?”

“Because he bagged something out of her father’s garden. She did give it him and no mistake.”

“Monday’s a genius,” said Harvey.

“If they send for me to the council,” continued Jack, “I shall treat them to a little ventriloquism, and say that the great spirit does not wish us to marry for a year, as we are too young.”

“And that Mole is to have Alfura and Ambonia, or be cast adrift in a boat without oars, sails, rudder or grub,” put in Harvey.

“Exactly.”

“That’s the ticket,” Harvey went on. “You’ll fog them beautifully with your ventriloquism.”

“Monday,” exclaimed Jack.

“Yes, Mast’ Jack,” replied the black with his usual respectful manner.

“Don’t you let on to anyone about my gift.”

“About you talkee in the air?”

“That’s it.”

“Monday never say nothing.”

“Then you say something. ‘Never say nothing’ isn’t grammar, Monday. You ought to go to Crawcour’s if ever you reach England with us,” observed Harvey.

Monday shook his head.

This speech was beyond him.

But he protested that he never mentioned anything that the boys told him to keep secret.

He had heard Jack ventriloquise once or twice, and the mystery had been explained to him.

Jack and Harvey felt perfectly happy when they saw a way out of the new difficulty which now presented itself.

It was nothing unusual in the archipelago for girls of thirteen to marry boys of sixteen.

The natives arrive at maturity so much earlier in warm climates than we do in our colder latitudes.

To plead that they were too young would have been a poor excuse.

“Mole shall be the victim,” said Jack.

“How many wives shall he have?” asked Harvey.

“Monday says he can’t have more than three by the law of the land. I’d give him a dozen if I could work it.”

“Let him have Alfura and Ambonia to begin with. Mole hates women, I think. He was never very kind to them, and if he doesn’t care about marrying English beauties, he’ll faint at the idea of two full-blown niggers,” observed Harvey.

“As brave a fo’castle man as ever broke biscuit would steer clear of them.”

“And naturally a loblolly-boy like Mole will fight shy.”

“He’s in a narrow channel, and he’d better take soundings,” said Jack; “for, if I’m not mistaken, here’s a messenger coming up the street to tell me to come to the council.”

“That right, sare,” replied Monday. “Him de message, sure enuff.”

“Then it’s all ‘u-p’ with Mole; for, to get myself out, I must get him into the mess.”

It was as Monday had predicted.

Alfura and Ambonia, ladies of high rank, had, in accordance with the custom of the country, expressed themselves willing to bestow their hands and hearts upon the adventurous stranger.

This proposal, owing to their high position, had to be considered by the chiefs in council.

They had come to the determination that the ladies’ wish should be granted.

In the event of non-compliance with the desire of the fair ones, expulsion from the island would be the result.

The council consisted of twenty-five members, who sat on mats in a sort of barn.

Room was made for Jack.

The Tuan Biza himself informed Jack that he might have his choice of his relatives, or take them both for his wives if he liked.

Jack coughed, and replied that he was, indeed a fortunate man to be so highly honoured.

He shouldn’t mind one of the ladies.

With one, however, he would be content, and his friend, Harvey, might have the other.

A murmur of applause arose.

Then Jack, throwing his voice into the centre of the apartment, near the ceiling, changed the tone, which became serious, if not awful.

“Forbear,” he said. “I, the spirit of the white men, speak.”

A general consternation seized the chiefs in council.

They looked at one another terror-stricken, for, as we have said, they were all very superstitious, and believed in witchcraft.

“Jack and Harvey are your guests,” he continued. “They are about to lead you against your enemies, the Pisangs, over whom you shall be victorious. “Their customs are not your customs, and they must not marry until one year has passed, for they are too young to have wives.”

A murmur of approbation, mingled with astonishment, ran through the council.

“But,” continued Jack, “I, the spirit of the white men, do not wish the ladies Alfura and Ambonia to remain single.”

As Jack spoke in the native dialect, his words were perfectly intelligible.

“Who, then, O spirit!” asked the king, “is worthy to have their matchless charms?”

“Who but the Tuan Biza of the white men—who but the great chief Mole, who has qualified himself for marriage by cutting off a head?”

“Good, good,” broke from the assembly. “The spirit of the white men speaks the words of wisdom. It is very good.”

“Let the Tuan Biza Mole be united to both ladies at once,” Jack went on.

“It shall be done, O spirit!” said the council, as with one voice, and bowing their heads.

Jack pretended to be disappointed at this interruption, and said that he had taken a fancy to Alfura.

“We have other beauties,” replied the king, “and you shall marry when the year has run, O friend of my soul!”

“I was afraid the spirit would interfere,” continued Jack.

“Does he often do so?”

“Always, when we do anything against the laws of our priests.”

“And is it unlawful to marry before a certain age?” asked the king.

“Of course it is; that’s at the bottom of the mischief,” answered Jack.

“Rest easy, O son of my adoption!” replied the king. “You shall do no wrong through us.”

Rising, the chief said a few words to his friends, and they dispatched a messenger to fetch Mr. Mole.

“Shall I go, O Tuan Biza, and acquaint my countryman with his good fortune?” asked Jack.

The proposal was accepted, and Jack went in search of Mole.

He left the chiefs in council, holding Jack in higher veneration than ever.

They had not the slightest idea that they had been imposed upon.

To their simple minds the great spirit of the whites had spoken.

His dictates must be obeyed.

Though Jack and Harvey were for a time lost as husbands to their princesses, they had Mole to fall back upon.

For him there was no escape.

Little did he suspect what news was in store for him, as he wended his way back to the town of Tompano.

CHAPTER XXXIX

MR. MOLE’S DESPAIR

WHEN Jack returned to Harvey, who was waiting for him with impatience, he began to laugh heartily.

“I’ve done it, Dick,” he said, when his merriment was over. “We’re under the protection of the spirit. Has Mole turned up?”

“Not yet. It’s feeding-time, though, and Mole is generally pretty punctual at knife-and-fork time. How did you do it?”

“I told the council that you and I were highly honoured, and would marry the ladies. There was applause at this. Then I changed my voice, and you should have seen the beggars stare.”

“Of course the spirit forbade the banns, and suggested Mole as the bridegroom. Which is he to have?”

“Both of them.”

“Both?” repeated Harvey. “My eye, Jack! it will give him fits. He’s always going on about women, and saying he shall die as he has lived—a bachelor.”

“Will he? We shall see him with a couple of young papooses on his knee. I wonder what colour they’ll be.”

“Chocolate and cream—half and half.”

“Piebald, perhaps. What a lark!” said Jack.

“It’s all a spree,” remarked Harvey.

At this juncture Mr. Mole entered, looking hot and tired.

He had been botanizing, and carried in his hand some rare specimens of the flora of the island.

“Something more for my collection,” he remarked. “I shall have quite a cabinet of curiosities soon.”

“I think you will, sir,” replied Jack.

“What do you mean? Your observations have a doubtful tendency in them sometimes, Harkaway.”

“No doubt about this last start, sir.”

“What on earth are you talking of?”

“The council is waiting for you,” replied Jack, “and you are destined to a high honour.”

“Ah! I suppose they want to make me prime minister or chancellor of the exchequer; very good! I will give these savages a constitution, and bring in an education-bill. We must have a school here.”

“It isn’t that, sir, though that may come afterwards.”

“What is it, then?”

“You’re to be married, sir.”

Mr. Mole gave a high bound.

Harvey sang—

“For I’m mar-ry-ed to a mer-may-ed,

At the bottom of the deep, blue sea.”

“You are joking, Harkaway. Do not indulge in merriment at my expense. Explain this to me. No foolishness?” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

“It’s quite true, sir. Two ladies have chosen you, and by the law of the land you must marry them, or——”

“Or what?”

“Leave the island in an empty boat—no provisions, no oars, no anything.”

“Why, that’s certain death!” replied Mole, with a groan, adding—

“Who are the—ahem? the females?”

“Miss Alfura and Ambonia, relatives of the royal family.”

“What, those she-dragons? I know them,” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “Alfura’s forty if she’s a day, and has lost all her front teeth. Ambonia’s got a temper of the old gentleman himself, and squints awfully.”

“Consider the honour, sir.”

“Honour be—— but no, I will not give way. I will command myself. I shall proceed to the council chamber, and remonstrate with those savages.”

Jack laughed.

“What is fun to you is death to me, and if I find that you have got this up for me, I’ll—I’ll——”

Mr. Mole could not find words dreadful enough for what he would do.

“Go on, sir,” said Jack. “Who’s afraid.”

“I didn’t mean anything,” Mole replied. “Come, Harkaway, stand my friend in this matter, and get me out of the mess.”

“Can’t be done.”

“Why not?”

“If you don’t at once marry those ladies, you’ll be put in the boat.”

“I don’t know which is the worst prospect,” Mr. Mole said. “Confound the natives! Confound everything.”

He began to tear his hair, and danced about like a madman.

When he stopped with a handful of hair in each hand, Jack said—

“That’s lively, sir. Can’t you favour us again?”

“He’s as good as a dancing dervish,” cried Harvey.

“Jack, dear Jack,” said Mr. Mole, “you always were my friend, and a generous fellow; tell me you’re only chaffing.”

“I’m not indeed.”

“Then I’m a lost man. Two wives! Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!”

“In a month’s time you’ll be entitled to take a third.”

“A third!” cried the wretched Mole. “Tell me, Harkaway—tell me, if you love me, if there are any lunatic asylums in this beastly country?”

“Not that I know of.”

“If not, I shall wander about the island a raving maniac. Oh, Isaac Mole, why were you ever born? Wretched man, what have you done to deserve such a fate?”

Monday, who had been down to the council-room again, now came back.

“The council has broke up,” he said. “They all gone to bring Alfura and Ambonia here.”

“Here! Are the furies coming here?” asked Mr. Mole.

“They not long first.”

“But they can’t take me until the ceremony is performed.”

“We no ceremony. They say they have you, and the council decide. Then it all over. No ceremony, sare. They come take you home.”

“Now? Do you mean this instant.”

“In one, two short minutes,” replied Monday.

Mr. Mole began to dance again.

“This how it done, Mist’ Mole,” continued Monday. “They bring p’raps ten women. All stand in a row. You look at them. One by one they come to you and you shake your head to all but Alfura and Ambonia, to whom you kneel. That all the ceremony.”

“Never! I’ll die first,” replied Mr. Mole.

“They put you in boat else,” said Monday, grinning.

“Dick, give him some whisky,” said Jack.

Harvey poured some brandy into half a cocoanut shell, and Mole quaffed it eagerly.

“You’re a gone coon, sir. Better make the best of it,” he observed.

Mr. Mole shook his fist in Monday’s face, saying—

“You confounded black lump of ugliness, you have done this for me! But I’ll have your life!”

Harvey forced him into a seat.

“Let me get at him! I’ll do him an injury ! I’ll have his——”

“Life,” he was about to say, when Harvey gravely put in “head,” which made Jack burst out laughing.

“Harvey,” said Mr. Mole, in a faint tone, “you are low and vulgar. You are raised but little above those poor, benighted savages in the social scale.”

“I wouldn’t bullyrag them if I were you,” replied Harvey. “Remember you are going to marry a couple of the poor benighteds.”

“Come, sir, don’t give way. I’m sure Alfura’s got beautiful shiny skin,” said Jack.

“And Ambonia’s hair is curly and oily,” exclaimed Harvey.

“Better not say much,” remarked Monday. “They beat you, sare; they scratch, they kick.”

“Well, it’s only for life, that’s one comfort; and I shan’t live long under the infliction,” answered Mr Mole, with a moan.

As he spoke, a loud noise was heard in the street.

The procession was approaching.

First came the band, which consisted of a score of men carrying gongs.

The gongs increased regularly in size from one of five or six inches to one of a foot or fifteen inches in diameter.

Each had a round knob or boss in the middle, which was struck with a small stick.

When made to reverberate in this manner, their music was very agreeable.

It resembled closely that made by small bells.

This instrument was called the bonang.

After the bonangs came the chiefs of the town.

Behind these were the nine virgins, Ambonia and Alfura being in the centre.

The rear was brought up by a guard of soldiers, and behind these again came the rabble of the town of Tompano, who, like crowds all over the world, had collected to witness what they could of the unusual ceremony.

CHAPTER XL

TAKING HIM HOME

WHEN Harvey heard the bonangs, he exclaimed—

“Chingarings and chopsticks! hongs and gongs! That’s your sort! Go it, ye cripples! Have some more whisky, sir!”

Mr. Mole began to recover his composure a little.

“I think I will even follow your advice,” he answered. “If only to nerve myself for the dreadful ordeal. I want a little something.”

“Nothing like a drop of whisky for a nerver,” replied Jack.

“That’s right, Mist’ Mole. Show um pluck, sare,” chimed in Monday.

“Very well, my black friend,” replied Mr. Mole, “I owe you one—yes, sir, I owe you one—and we’ll square accounts some day.”

“Keep up your pecker. Let them see what stuff you’re made of. Don’t funk, sir.”

“I hope an Englishman never shows the white feather, Harkaway. Nor will I. No, not even under the most trying circumstances.”

“Good again,” cried Harvey, who was in an ecstasy of delight at the anticipated fun.

“I will bear myself bravely, like one advancing to the sacrifice. I have before my eyes the gladiators of ancient Rome.”

“Who were they, sir?”

“Have you so soon forgotten the lessons of your early youth, Harkaway? I cry shame upon you.”

“Set of coves who fought in the arena,” observed Harvey.

“You are right,” continued Mr. Mole. “But I object to the word ‘coves.’ However, let it pass. They had their ‘Ave Caesar,’ or ‘Hail Caesar!’ and they added ‘Morituri te salutamus,’ which, being translated, means ‘Being about to die, we salute you.’ My fate is worse than death; but I will be brave.”

“I have remarked, sir,” said Harvey, “that these Limbi ladies have a peculiar scent or odour of their own.”

“Smell—odour, Don’t be delicate, Harvey. Call it a smell, which is highly suggestive of polecats.”

“All right, sir; anything to please you.”

“However agreeable it may be to native noses, my English nasal organ revolts at it. They are rank, Harvey, very rank; and all the perfumes in Rimmel’s shop would not convince me to the contrary.”

“You’ll like it, sir, when you’re used to it,” exclaimed Jack.

Mr. Mole darted a ferocious look at him.

The noise of the bonangs increased, and the hoarse shouts of the multitude grew nearer.

Again the wretched man applied himself to the whisky bottle.

“Go it, sir; nip away,” exclaimed Harvey, singing—

“Whisky killed my poor dad;

Whisky drove my mother mad.

Whisky, whisky,

Whisky for my Johnny!”

Fortified with a sort of Dutch courage, Mr. Mole awaited the coming of the procession with the resignation of a lamb going to the slaughter.

“How do you find yourself now, sir?” asked Jack.

“Agonized, my young friend.”

“Pity the sorrows of poor old Mole,” said Harvey.

Mr. Mole was about to reply when the band halted outside, and ceasing playing, allowed the members of the deputation to enter.

First came the chiefs of the council chamber, and these were closely followed by the nine virgins.

The soldiers kept guard at the door.

Ranging themselves in a row, the young ladies cast down their eyes and prepared themselves for the ceremony.

The king, addressing Monday, exclaimed—

“Matabella, does the Tuan Biza of the white men know what is required of him by our customs?”

“He does, O king, live for ever,” answered Monday.

“Is he aware of the high honour the alliance will confer upon him?”

“He is; and feels deeply gratified, O king; may thy victories increase,” replied Monday.

“Let the rites commence.”

“At once, O king. May you always be victorious in war,” said Monday.

He then filled a calabash with whisky, of which spirit the Limbians had learnt to be very fond, and handed it round to the company.

All partook of it but the women.

“Now, then, sir,” said Jack to Mr. Mole, “go in and win. All eyes are upon you.”

“Faint heart never won fair lady,” exclaimed Harvey. “Keep up the honour of old England.”

The nine virgins stood apart, and Mr. Mole staggered rather than walked towards them.

Deep groans broke from him.

The perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead.

At a signal from Monday, the band again struck up a quick, jig-like sort of tune.

The nine virgins looked up.

First one left the rank, and walking past Mr. Mole, he shook his head at her, and she took up a position at the other end of the row.

The second did the same with a like result.

The third was Alfura.

As soon as Mr. Mole saw Alfura, he sank gracefully on one knee before her.

This was the signal of acceptance.

She took a place on his left side.

A loud shout of applause from the assembled spectators rent the air, which was taken up by the mob outside.

Number four now passed Mr. Mole, and was rejected.

The fifth shared a similar fate.

So did six, seven, and eight.

Ambonia was the ninth and before her Mr. Mole bowed as before.

Again the shouts arose as she placed herself on his right side.

Each wife seized an arm, and held him in a tight grip, as if afraid that he was going to run away from them.

The calabash was refilled, and the health of the bridegroom drunk heartily.

“Long live the Tuan Biza of the whites!” exclaimed the king, “and may his children people the land.”

The chiefs now filed out of the room, and the seven virgins, surrounding Mr. Mole and his wives, followed them.

He was dragged from the apartment, and the procession, led by the band, proceeded down the principal street of Tompano, at the end of which was the house of Alfura and Ambonia.

Mole cast an appealing glance at Jack who was looking out of a window.

“Never say die, sir,” cried Jack.

“They’ll comb your hair for you, sir,” exclaimed Harvey.

A curse not loud but deep burst from the unhappy man, who was soon lost to sight by a bend in the street.

The ceremony was over.

Mr. Mole was a married man, very much married indeed, and his wives were taking him home to the nuptial board.

It was not until two days had passed that the boys beheld their old friend and instructor.

On the morning of the third day, Mr. Mole paid them a visit.

He looked wistfully around him as he entered, and seemed afraid of being followed.

“Hullo, sir!” exclaimed Jack. “How goes it with you?”

“Badly, my dear boy, very badly,” replied Mr. Mole.

“How’s that? We call you the Great Pasha, the Grand Turk.”

“Brigham Young is nearer the mark,” said Harvey. “Mole’s a Mormonite.”

“Bring ’em young, you should say,” returned Mr. Mole. “Tempers grow with age, and Ambonia’s a perfect fiend. It’s too late in life now to correct either of them.”

“What’s happened, sir? We thought you’d have looked us up before now?”

“So I should have done, but I’ve been locked in, bolted in, barred, and had the liberty of the subject painfully infringed.”

“Bottled up, eh, sir? That’s nothing extraordinary in married life, is it?” replied Jack.

“I don’t know. It’s all new to me.”

“You ought to be an authority in these matters. Perhaps it’s a custom of the country.”

“When you’re in Turkey, you must do as the Turkeys do,” remarked Harvey.

“Oh, the life I’ve led!” continued Mr. Mole, with a sigh. “Alfura’s not so bad but Ambonia is an incarnate fiend. She has boxed my ears, and has threatened me with a bamboo cane.”

“So you have come out on the loose, sir?”

“I escaped through the window, and, thinking you would comfort me with some spirituous liquor, I have sought you.”

“It’s very wrong to encourage a married man in staying away from his home; but for the sake of old times, you shall have what you like,” said Jack, gravely.

“Spoken like yourself, Harkaway. Whisky, if you please, and plenty of it.”

Monday supplied his wants, coming in as Harvey clapped his hands, as a signal for him to appear.

He could not help laughing at Mr. Mole, but a sign from Jack caused him to withdraw.

“It’s very hard to be jeered and gibed at by a miserable savage like that,” observed Mole, “and I think you ought not to encourage him, Harkaway.”

“What did he do, sir?” asked Jack.

“Never mind, he is gone; and the memory of his offence shall go with him.”

“Have you put your marriage in the paper, sir?” asked Harvey, innocently.

“How could I do so when there are no journals in the island, and the natives are unable to read?”

“Oh, I forgot that.”

“I think, sir,” Jack remarked, “you might have been content with one wife at a time. It is bad form to have two.”

“You know as well as I, Harkaway, that I had no voice in the matter.”

“You must have liked the girls in your heart, sir.”

“Harkaway,” said Mr. Mole, very gravely, “did you ever see a snake?”

“I’m sorry to say I have seen a good many since I have been in this part of the world,” replied Jack.

“Did you ever take a fancy to one?”

“I’ve admired them at a distance, but I can’t say I ever thought of cuddling one up in my arms.”

“Then don’t ask me if I like the Limbi women. Let us talk of something else. I am degraded in my own eyes. Harvey, you keep that bottle too much on your own side. I am afraid you have taken to drinking lately.”

“I, sir!” cried Harvey. “No, sir. A sailor always likes his allowance. I don’t go beyond it.”

Mr. Mole helped himself, and his temper improved.

CHAPTER XLI

STARTLING NEWS

“HAVE you heard the news, sir?” asked Jack, after a pause.

“News,” repeated Mr. Mole. “I was not aware that in this wretched country they had anything of the sort.”

“You ought to take an interest in anything that is moving, because you have a stake in the country.”

“If it will gratify you, Harkaway, I will say that I have a feeling of intense interest in anything that may befall this unhappy land,” continued Mr. Mole, adding, “Harvey, oblige me by letting the bottle alone. I am quite capable of taking care of it.”

“Right, sir,” replied Harvey.

“There’s going to be a war,” continued Jack.

“Going to be. There always is a war, isn’t there? The beasts are always fighting.”

“He’s thinking of his wives,” said Harvey.

“Harvey,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, in a tone of rebuke, “it is unkind of you to remind me of my misery—let the bottle alone, if you please.”

Repeated applications to the bottle of whisky made Mr. Mole’s eyes swim in his head.

“A war,” he said to himself. “What do I care for a dozen wars?”

“We are to start to invade Pisang this day week, sir, and you shall have an independent command,” said Jack.

“An independent humbug,” answered Mr. Mole.

“What, sir?”

“Humbug, I said,” repeated Mr. Mole, who, in spite of his growing inebriety, grew alarmed at the prospect of war. “I said humbug, and I’ll stick to it. What have I got to do with war?”

“We are going to fight Hunston.”

“Fight him and welcome. Kill him if you like. It is fitting and proper for you to do so. You and Harvey are young. I am—ahem!—I am a married man, settled down, you know, Harkaway, and it would not be right to take me away from my wife.”

“Wives, sir.”

“I stand corrected,” continued Mr. Mole with a bland smile. “Go, by all means, Harkaway, and fight those despicable Pisangs. I will stop at home and organise the militia, or whatever the reserve forces may be.”

“Won’t you come with us?”

“No. My place is here in Tompano. I am a family man, Harkaway. No fighting for me, unless it is for hearths and home; then Isaac Mole will be to the fore, and woe to the foe.”

“That’s a rhyme, sir. You should wish——” said Harvey.

“I do wish. I wish most devotedly that—that there will be an earthquake which will swallow up Ambonia,” replied Mole.

“Then you don’t mind Alfura?”

“She’s ugly, but she’s not vicious,” said Mr. Mole. “I can put up with Alfura; that is to say, for a time.”

“Until you can get to your tea-garden in China, sir?” hazarded Jack.

“Precisely, my dear boy.”

“You can sing, sir, ‘Happy could I be with either, were t’other dear charmer away,’ ” said Harvey.

“With your usual impulsiveness, you have jumped to a wrong conclusion, Harvey,” answered Mr. Mole. “I could not be happy with either, and my only time of peace is when they are fighting amongst themselves.”

“Fighting!”

“Yes, like bull-dogs. When they are not throwing stones and vegetable refuse at me, they are engaged in the mild amusement of tearing each other’s cheeks, which is a pleasing pastime for a husband to stand and look on at.”

“Sorry for you, sir. Knock ’em down and jump on’ em,” said Harvey.

“You are a brute,” replied Mr. Mole. “A little while ago you exhorted me to keep up the honour of my country, and behave like an Englishman.”

“Dick, shut up,” said Jack.

“No,” Mr. Mole went on, “I will not reduce myself to the level of a Whitechapel costermonger. I will not even floor them. What though Alfura punches me on the nose, and Ambonia hurls a dead cat in my eye.”

“That’s nothing, sir,” exclaimed Jack.

“Nothing? Isn’t it? Did you ever have a dead cat settle on your left eye?” cried Mr. Mole sharply.

“No, sir, and don’t want to. But let me tell you the news. It’s rather startling.”

“What is it, Harkaway?” said Mr. Mole, handling the bottle with an unsteady hand.

“Excuse me a minute, and then I’ll tell you,” replied Jack, as Harvey came over and whispered to him. “Make Mole tight, and carry him home to his wives.”

Jack nodded, and went on—

“Help yourself, sir, don’t be afraid of it. There’s more where that came from.”

“I wish you’d come to your news,” said Mr. Mole snappishly.

“We are going to invade Pisang at once. Harvey and I take the lead. Our fleet is ready; our soldiers number four hundred, and it’s either to be victory or Westminster Abbey.”

“You told me that before, and I persist in my resolve to patrol the town. I will be governor of Tompano,” answered Mr. Mole.

“I thought you imagined I was joking, sir, and did not believe what I said,” Jack rejoined.

Mr. Mole got up, and staggered towards the door.

“Is your floor straight?” he asked.

“Lie down and try it, sir.”

Mr. Mole sat down with an imbecile chuckle, and said—

“Tell Ambonia I’m very jolly. Say we’re jol’ good f’low’s, ev’ry one. I don’t care Ambonia. I’ll let ’bonia know if she givesh me any of her nonshensh.”

“Here’s your health, sir, and death to Hunston and the Pisangs. You’ll drink that toast, won’t you?” said Harvey.

He tendered him a glass, which Mole tossed off.

It was the finishing stroke, for he rolled backwards, laughing heartily, as if it was a good joke.

“He’s a settled member,” exclaimed Harvey.

“Collar his legs, Dick; I’ll take his nut, and we’ll cart him off home.”

“I pity him when Ambonia gets her fingers nicely twisted in his hair,” replied Harvey.

They took him up, and were not long in conveying him into the presence of his wives.

The ladies had wondered what had become of their husband, and had been indulging in a little quarrel on their own account.

Various articles of domestic use lay about the room in some confusion.

There were all the signs of a free fight.

When Mr. Mole was deposited on the floor, the wives guessed what had brought him into that state.

Each abused him in the choicest and most flowery terms which their language allowed them to employ.

The boys turned round and went away leaving them at it lest they might fall in for their share.

“Ambonia’s a caution,” said Harvey. “Didn’t she slip in a good un?”

Jack made no answer.

“You might have the civility to answer me when I speak to you,” continued Harvey.

“Excuse me, Dick. I was thinking of something else. Shall we find the king in, do you think, if we call at the palace?” replied Jack.

“Sure to, I should fancy.”

“Step up with me, will you? We must arrange all the details of our invasion, and see how the guns are to be given out.”

“Every man in Limbi wants a gun, and two-thirds of them would only shoot their nearest neighbors or pot themselves.”

“I think I shall give two guns to every five-and-twenty men, and select the best shots.”

Harvey agreed with him, and talking of military matters they strolled along.

Suddenly an old woman fantastically dressed, stepped in front of the boys.

“Who is this?” said Jack.

“Hush!” said Harvey, “Don’t anger her.”

“Why not?”

“It’s Nuratella,” said Harvey, under his breath.

“Who is she?” returned Jack, as much in the dark as ever.

“Nuratella is a sort of sorceress, witch, prophetess—what you like. All I know is that the people here think a lot of her,” replied Harvey.

Nuratella raised her arms, as if commanding silence.

She did not understand the English they were speaking, but she saw from their faces that they knew who she was, and that her appearance had produced some impression upon them.

CHAPTER XLII

NURATELLA, THE WITCH

WE have already hinted that all the inhabitants of the numerous islands in the East Indian Archipelago were strong believers in witchcraft.

Nuratella was regarded as a prophetess of the highest order.

She professed to have the power of divining future events, and had been known to still the wind when raging at its highest fury.

Perhaps her knowledge of the weather was superior to that of those around her, and she did not attempt the hazardous task of commanding the storm until she saw some indication of a cessation of the tempest.

At all events she imposed upon the ignorant beings amongst whom her lot was cast.

Her influence over them was remarkable.

Strange, weird, thrilling stories were told about her.

It was said that in her youth she had met with, and dared to love, an illustrious chief of the Pisangs.

For this offence she was condemned to death by her own countryman.

It was treason of the worst sort for a woman of Limbi to look favourably upon a Pisang warrior.

On a man, in fact, whose hands were red with the blood of her kindred.

She was led forth to die.

At the moment when the executioner had uplifted the fatal sword, a volume of light shot out from the sky.

The lightning, for such it was, struck the executioner, and killed him on the spot.

This was considered an interposition of Providence on her behalf.

She had called down fire from heaven.

The lurid flame was supposed to be of her own conjuring, and she was liberated in all haste.

Ever after she lived a secluded and wild life, but her influence as a witch was established.

All feared her, if none loved her.

It was suspected by some of the shrewdest among the Limbians that she was still in correspondence with the Pisangs.

That she could not forget her early love.

Sometimes the Pisangs obtained information of the movements of the people of Limbi in a mysterious manner.

Nuratella was known to set sail in a frail canoe, and be absent for several days.

Who so likely as she to visit Pisang and inform the chiefs there of the plans of their enemies?

She was allowed to attend the councils of her own people, .and her advice was much valued.

Yet no one liked to denounce her, nor, had they done so, was there any proof of her guilt?

The boys had often heard of her strange and mysterious power.

They did not believe in her magical gifts, but they did not at the same time think it advisable to slight or offend her.

Far better would it have been for Jack if he had never listened to her.

“Well, mother, what do you want?” exclaimed Jack, addressing Nuratella in her own language.

“Follow me, and you shall quickly learn,” she replied.

“Shall I come?” asked Harvey.

“Perhaps I had better ask the old girl,” said Jack.

He put the question to Nuratella.

“No,” she answered, decisively. “It is you I want. Let your friend return to his home.”

“She says no,” said Jack, addressing Harvey.

“So I heard. I suppose the old cat means you no harm,” replied Harvey. “They don’t speak too well of her, though they all funk her.”

“She won’t hurt me. What does it matter if she is a witch, and rides on broomsticks? I don’t think she’d find me a light weight if I ride behind.”

“All right; you know best. Good-bye, old fellow.”

Harvey shook his head as if he did not half like his friend to go away with Nuratella.

But Jack was not to be interfered with when he had made up his mind.

There were few things that frightened him, and as he said to himself, he was not going to be afraid of an old woman.

Nuratella led the way into the country, and walked for about a mile, keeping ahead of Jack, to whom she did not address a word.

Occasionally she turned her head to see if he was following her.

The road, was simply a rough path, a few large stones having been removed.

The ragged coral rock everywhere projected so completely through the thin soil that it was a wonder to Jack how his conductor could travel barefoot with such apparent ease.

They soon came to a circular hut, enclosed by a low stone wall.

It was the most wretched abode for a human being that could possibly be imagined.

The walls, instead of being made of boards or flattened bamboos, as in the town of Tompano, were composed of small sticks, about three feet high, driven into the ground.

These supported a conical roof, thatched with palm leaves.

An ugly-looking pig, with long bristles on his back, was raking about this detestable hovel.

Near the hut was a burial place.

A low wall enclosed a small angular plot that was filled with earth.

This contained one or more graves, each of which had for its foot and head-stones, small, square, pyramidal blocks of wood, with the apex fixed in the ground.

A pack of wolf-like dogs saluted Jack with a fierce yelping and barking as he approached the miserable dwelling.

A word from Nuratella calmed them.

Sitting down upon a rude block of stone outside her dwelling, she motioned Jack to stand before her, which he did.

Perhaps if she had been talking to any of her countrymen, she would have had recourse to some mystic rites.

She rightly judged, however, that on one of Jack’s education and sense such conduct would not make much impression.

Nevertheless there was something weird if not awful about the hag.

“They say she was good-looking once,” thought Jack; “if so, it must have been a precious long while ago, and no mistake.”

“Young man from the great kingdom over the sea, where the lightning owns the power of your wise men, and machines carry you faster than the bird can fly, listen to the words of Nuratella, the sorceress of Limbi,” she exclaimed.

The speech showed that she had enjoyed some intercourse with white men, and had gained an insight into their civilization.

But when, where, or how it was difficult to say.

“At your service, mother,” answered Jack. “Ease her! stop her! go ahead!” he added in English, as he was unable to put the latter into what he called “understandable” Limbian.

“You are going to place yourself at the head of my people and invade Pisang,” she continued.

“It didn’t require a witch to tell me that, when all the island knows it,” Jack answered.

“And the Pisangs, too. They are prepared for your coming.”

“Are they?” Jack replied. “Have you been kind enough to give them information?”

Nuratella raised her arm threateningly.

“What have I to do with the enemies of my country?” she exclaimed. “To me it is given to pierce the future and to know what has happened in the past, as well as what is taking place in the present.”

“Do you mean to sit there calmly, old girl,” said Jack, “and tell me that you can prophecy?”

“Put me to the test,” she answered. “Ask me anything you like, and as I reply to you, so will I be judged.”

Jack thought a moment.

“I’ll ask her about Emily,” he thought.

Nuratella regarded him with her wild-looking eyes, which seemed to possess the fire of insanity, tempered at times by gleams of reason.

“Can you tell me if there is a white captive in Pisang?” he said.

“There are two,” she replied.

“Two! Men or women?”

“One a man, the other a fair-haired girl, barely seventeen.”

“Perhaps you’ve been there and seen them,” cried Jack, who guessed at once that she referred to Mr. Scratchley and his daughter Emily.

Again Nuratella threatened him with her upraised arm.

“Boy,” she said, “to whom do you speak? Many leagues divide Limbi from Pisang.”

“But you’ve got a boat of your own.”

“I tell you that I know them not. The Pisangs and I never meet.”

“Well,” said Jack, impatiently; “cut along. What have you brought me here for?”

There was a certain bluntness about Jack which would not be checked by any amount of murmuring.

Nuratella had thought to impress, but she found that she had signally failed.

“You love this fair-haired girl,” she exclaimed.

“You’re not far out there,” replied Jack.

“And she loves you.”

“That’s stale news,” replied Jack imperturbably, “though how you got to know it is a puzzler.”

“You must meet again. Emily—that is your darling’s name—is in peril,” continued Nuratella.

“Of what nature?”

“The persecution of a wicked and bad man.”

“Hunston.”

The name escaped Jack involuntarily.

“That is he,” continued Nuratella. “Hunston wishes to make Emily his wife. She, mindful of you, will not consent.”

“Of course not.”

“But Hunston is the chief adviser of the Pisangs,” Nuratella proceeded “He is their great chief. What he orders, they do.”

“I feared this,” said Jack, almost tearfully. “I have been wrong to delay so long. We should have attacked the Pisang brutes long ago, but I’ll give them a lesson.”

His tone was bitter, and his manner almost ferocious.

“Will you not try to save your Emily?” asked the witch, watching his growing anger with a smile.

“What’s the use of asking such a stupid question?” he replied sharply.

“Would you like to see her?”

“When?” he cried.

“At once. This very night. My power will suffice to bring her here.”

“Here? On this island?”

“Yes, here; at this very spot. I will ask the spirits with whom I deal to transport her hither.”

“Spirits be blowed!” Jack said in English. Adding immediately afterwards, “I don’t care how you do it, so long as you get Emily.”

“It shall be done. I swear it to you. I, Nuratella, say that you shall meet the girl with the flaxen hair here, when the darkness falls upon the earth.”

“I will reward you for it,” said Jack.

“No reward does Nuratella want. You will lead their victorious army against the Pisangs, and Limbi will enjoy the blessings of peace.”

“I’ll do my best for it,” Jack answered.

“Come hither at sundown, and you shall clasp your Emily in your arms.”

“If you can do this, I shall say you are a very clever old woman, and our fortune-tellers are not a patch upon you, but——”

He hesitated.

She interrogated him with her eyes.

“If you trifle with me,” he continued, regarding her with a savage look, “I will shoot you with as little compunction as I would knock that bird off his perch.”

As he spoke, he raised his gun and fired at a bright-plumaged bird in a thicket.

The creature fell dead almost at his feet.

Nuratella saw that she had made an impression upon her listener by the mention of Emily’s name.

She followed up her advantage.

“If I, by my arts, contrive that you shall see Emily,” she continued, “you must promise me one thing.”

“What is it?” asked Jack.

“Do not mention the circumstance to anyone.”

“I generally tell my friend Harvey everything,” he exclaimed hesitatingly.

“This time you must not do so.”

“I should like him to come with me.”

“No, no!” said the witch imperiously. “You will break the charm, if you do not come unattended.”

“What’s the odds?” Jack replied.

“You must trust me. Are you afraid of a poor old woman?” said Nuratella with a scornful smile.

“I’m afraid of nothing and nobody, if it comes to that. You shall have your way. I’ll come alone.”

“And you will keep your purpose a secret?”

“I will.”

“Can I depend on you?” she asked.

“I am not in the habit of breaking my word,” replied Jack. “If I say a thing, I mean it; so good-bye, mother, for the present. I shall be here at dark.”

“For your own sake and that of Emily, mind you do not fail,” she answered, impressively.

Jack turned on his heel, and walked back to the town of Tompano.

His mind was filled with conflicting emotions.

At one moment he was delighted with the expectation of meeting Emily, whom he had believed to be on one of the islands ever since he read the message from the sea; and the next he feared treachery.

Though what shape this danger would take he could not say.

It was a great fact to have ascertained that Emily had really been wrecked, and that he was near her.

His heart warmed towards the little playfellow of his youth.

With the romantic passion of a young man he loved her dearly.

His blood boiled when he thought that she was in the power of Hunston and his associates.

To liberate her he would sacrifice everything.

CHAPTER LXIII

MRS. MOLE NUMBER TWO

JACK was very thoughtful when he reached his house in Tompano.

His native servant told him that Harvey had gone to Mr. Mole’s habitation.

Having nothing better to do, he strolled down in that direction.

When he neared the house, he heard the sound of crockery being smashed.

An earthenware pan flew through the window near his head.

“That’s a close shave,” he muttered. “I suppose Ambonia’s showing her nasty temper.”

Harvey met him at the door.

“Look out Jack,” he said; “Mrs. Mole Number Two is going it in fine style.”

“What’s the row?” asked Jack.

“Ambonia slipped into Alfura, who has gone to an aunt’s somewhere near here, and now Mole’s catching it hot.”

Jack stepped inside.

Every article of furniture in the room was upset, and Mr. Mole was standing in a corner, in vain striving to stem the storm.

A bucket of water had been thrown over him, which had brought him to his senses, and the effect of the spirit he had drunk was going off.

Ambonia, looking like a fury, held a handful of her husband’s hair in her hand, and occasionally amused herself by throwing about in various directions anything she could lay her hands on.

“My dear sir,” said Jack, “what is the meaning of this scene? Is Mrs. Mole mad?”

“You may well ask that question, Harkaway,” replied Mr. Mole. “I was a little overcome when you brought me home. Alfura took my part, and she has been obliged to fly the house. Mrs. Mole secundus, as we used to say at school, is behaving very strangely, but now there is not much more left to break, she will probably calm down soon.”

Ambonia was doing a war dance, and she chattered all the time like a monkey in her native language.

Presently the leg of a chair caught Jack on the side of the head.

“Draw it mild,” he observed, rubbing the injured part “Don’t stand it, Harkaway. Resent it,” cried Mr. Mole. “I would if I were you.”

“It’s for you, sir,” replied Jack, “to keep order in your own household.”

“I can’t do it. It’s beyond me.”

“Shall I put her in the water-butt?” asked Jack.

“We haven’t got one. That article of civilization is minus in this establishment——”

Mr. Mole would have said more, but a bunch of ripe cocoanuts hit him on the nose, and he held the injured organ with both hands while he capered about with the pain.

“That’s a flop—if you like,” said Harvey grinning. “Never laugh at a fellow-creature in distress, Harvey,” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “I wish you had my nose. Oh! my nose, my poor illused nose!”

Ambonia advanced with a long light bamboo, and hit her angry spouse on the head with it.

“One for his nob,” remarked Harvey.

Jack advanced, thinking Mr. Mole would be seriously injured, and caught Ambonia in his arms.

He drew her to the window and gave her a kiss.

“Now, my little beauty,” said Jack, holding her tightly, “what are you going to do?”

“I shall do nothing. I am calm now,” Ambonia replied. “If he would only treat me with kindness, I should not behave like that. He likes Alfura best, and—and——”

“And you’re jealous, eh?”

She nodded her head while she lay passively in Jack’s arms.

“Will you promise me not to kick up any more row?” asked Jack.

“It is over now,” she sighed.

“Bravo!” cried Harvey. “The way to manage a woman all the world over is to be kind to her.”

Mr. Mole emerged from his corner.

He looked very grave.

“Harkaway,” he exclaimed, “what are you doing with my wife?”

“Doing, sir?”

“Yes; you have her in your arms.”

“You may take her, sir. I am not ambitious of the honour,” replied Jack.

Mr. Mole ventured to embrace his spouse, but she no sooner felt him touch her than she began to scream and kick.

He laid her down on the floor, and the screaming and kicking continued.

She was in a fit of violent hysterics.

“Oh, Lord! what shall I do?” cried Mr. Mole.

He stood with his hands upraised, the picture of despair.

Ambonia went on with her hysterical symptoms.

“Holler, boys!” said Harvey; “here’s another guy!”

“A pair of ’em,” remarked Jack, drily.

“Ambonia’s in high strikes,” continued Harvey, “and Mr. Mole’s——”

“Silence, Harvey,” in anger, cried Mole. “When you speak of my wife, mention her as Mrs. Mole. To me only is she Ambonia.”

“All right, sir. Sit down, and take it easy for a spell,” replied Harvey. “She’ll be a good ten minutes before she comes round, and she’ll have worn herself out then and want to go to bed.”

“It’s a mercy,” said Mr. Mole, “for which I am devoutly thankful. Make fast the window, Harvey. I will fasten the door, and we’ll adjourn to another apartment. Be sure you fasten the window. I should not like Mrs. Mole to be interrupted.”

“No fear, sir; only isn’t it rather heartless, not to say brutal, to leave her like this?”

“Harvey,” replied Mr. Mole, “I have no hesitation in saying that you’re a humbug.”

“Say it again, sir,” answered Harvey. “We’re old friends, and I shan’t punch your head.”

They left Ambonia in her hysterical fit, and locked the room up.

On a table in another apartment were some very fine shell fish, resembling enormously large oysters.

They had just been brought up from the seashore, and laid open in their shells for Ambonia’s refreshment.

“Ah! oysters! Big ones, though,” remarked Mr Mole. “Try one, Harkaway.”

Jack looked at the shell fish and took one up.

It was about fifty times the size of one English oyster, and he did not know how to get it into his mouth.

“How am I to do it, sir?” he asked.

“Bolt it,” suggested Harvey.

Jack made an effort, and the oyster disappeared.

He gasped for breath, and Harvey patted him on the back with a large board.

“How do you feel?”

“Very thankful it’s down ; and even now I can’t help thinking I’ve swallowed a small baby,” answered Jack.

Harvey laughed, and Jack continued, “Ta, ta, sir; I must toddle.”

“Don’t leave me, Harkaway. Why go so soon?” said Mr. Mole.

“Urgent private affairs, sir.”

“You have rendered me a service. You have soothed the savage breast, Harkaway, and it is the only gleam of sunshine I have yet had in my married life.”

“Sorry I can’t stay, sir,” answered Jack. “You must knock under.”

“There she is again,” cried Harvey.

As he spoke a furious yelling was heard, and a desperate kicking at the door of the room in which Ambonia was shut.

“I’ll leave you to it, sir,” exclaimed Jack, with a laugh.

In vain Mr. Mole tried to stop him.

Taking Harvey’s arm, he left the house, and the happy couple within it.

CHAPTER XLIV

JACK WON’T TAKE ADVICE

AS Jack and Harvey proceeded to wards their own house in Tompano, the latter could not fail to perceive that his friend was full of thought and care.

“Has anything happened?” he asked.

“No,” replied Jack, rather more sharply than Harvey liked. “What should happen?”

“You need not snap me up like that. I only asked kindly, but I forgot for the moment that you went away with that old witch hag, and I daresay that has upset your royal highness.”

“Suppose it has, what then?”

“You are more of an ass than I took you to be. She is a rank impostor, and is said to be friendly to the Pisangs. Has she advised you not to undertake the invasion, warning you that you would be beaten?”

Jack made no answer.

“Oh! if you have lost your tongue, and don’t like to speak, please yourself,” said Harvey. “I’ll talk to Monday.”

“Don’t be annoyed, Dick,” exclaimed Jack, at last. “I can’t tell you what passed between Nuratella and myself.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised I wouldn’t.”

“That is a pity. Two heads are better than one,” said Harvey; “and I might have been able to advise you. Not that I want to know anything out of idle curiosity.”

“No; you never did, Dick,” said Jack with a smile.

“That’s what I call a nasty snack,” replied Harvey.

“Well, you know you were a nice cup of tea at Crawcour’s, Dick; and if you could get to the far end of anything, you always did.”

“You mean to say that I was a regular old washerwoman. That’s not kind, Jack; and I did not expect it from you. If we are to be really friends, there ought to be perfect confidence between us.”

“So there should be; and so there shall be. Only wait for tonight,” rejoined Jack. “I’ll tell you all then.”

He shook Harvey cordially by the hand, and the latter’s wounded dignity got better.

“I don’t think you meant to worry me,” he said. “Still I wish you would take my advice.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t listen to anything that old hag says.”

“Too late. I have made her a distinct promise,” replied Jack.

“Are you going to meet her again?”

“Don’t ask me any questions, Dick, there’s a good fellow, because I can’t answer them.”

“Very well. I’ll dry up,” was Harvey’s response.

When they reached the house, they found Monday, whose eager face denoted that he had important news to communicate.

“Oh! Mast’ Jack,” he exclaimed, “there have been um fight; um sea-fight.”

“Where?” asked Jack.

“Off the island. Two boats Pisangs meet one boat Limbians. They fight quite close here.”

“Which licked?” questioned Harvey.

“Um Pisang lick, ’cos they more number; though we kill one, two, three, four.”

He counted on his fingers as he spoke.

“Killed four, eh? And the others got off. What did they want cruising round our coast?” said Jack.

“There’s mischief brewing,” remarked Harvey.

“We’ll double the guards round the city tonight,” said Jack. “It won’t do to be surprised.”

“I don’t like those fellows being so near us. It doesn’t look healthy,” observed Harvey.

“Nor I. It isn’t rosy, and it is like their cheek to risk it.”

“They kill three our men; others come back with news,” Monday went on.

“Did they see Hunston with them?” asked Jack.

Monday nodded his head violently, as he always did when excited.

“Yes, they say white man chief—Tuan Biza white face with them,” he answered.

Jack walked up and down the room impatiently.

“I don’t half like it,” he exclaimed, as if talking to himself. “There is something in all this.”

After a time, feeling fatigued with the heat, he threw himself down upon a rude bed, telling Harvey that he should be obliged if he would rouse him at sunset.

He was soon asleep.

In a couple of hours the sun sank to rest, and Harvey touched him on the shoulder.

He jumped up, uttering the name “Emily.”

“You’re dreaming,” said Harvey.

“I believe I was,” replied Jack, rubbing his eyes. “I thought Emily was by my side.”

“Are you going out?” asked Harvey, as he saw him put on his cap.

“Yes; I shan’t be long. Don’t funk about me.”

“I can’t help it. You’re going to see that witch Nuratella. It’s no use denying it.”

“You’re welcome to your own opinion, Dick,” replied Jack.

“Well,” answered Harvey, “God bless you, Jack. I wish you would take my advice, that’s all, or——”

“What?”

“You might let me come with you, if there is any danger.”

“But there isn’t.”

“I’m not so sure of that. Nuratella has been suspected before now of playing her own people false. The Pisangs have been seen off the island this very day. Hunston was with them; and, hang it all, if there is any danger, you might let me share it with you.”

“You’ve got a good heart, Dick, and I am very grateful to you. However, don’t fret on my account. I shall be all right,” replied Jack.

Squeezing his friend’s hand, he rushed out of the house, leaving Harvey gazing with pity after him.

He took the direction of the witch’s dwelling, and was soon out of sight.

CHAPTER XLV

THE MEETING

NURATELLA was anxiously awaiting his appearance.

Still sitting on the rugged stone, she did not seem to have changed her position since he left her.

“Well, mother,” exclaimed Jack, “here I am, like Regulus returning to Carthage—though, as that is a little beyond your comprehension, I will say that I resemble the bad penny which is sure to turn up, whether it’s wanted or no.”

“Are you alone?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

“You have no one within call?”

“Not a soul.”

“Good!” exclaimed the old woman, over whose forbidden countenance stole an expression of satisfaction.

The shades of night had fallen with the rapidity peculiar to the tropics after sunset.

It was difficult to discern objects at a few yards, distance.

Nuratella clapped her hands.

Once, twice, three times.

At the third signal a fairylike form stepped out of a thicket of trees to Jack’s right, and though the light, airy European garments were torn and travel-stained, he knew that a countrywoman of his own was near.

How his heart throbbed at that moment.

“Emily,” he ejaculated.

The form halted when close to him, and then as if obedient to an irresistible impulse, she threw herself into his arms.

“Oh, Jack,” she exclaimed, “under what circumstances do we meet again!”

“They’re not very lively, certainly,” he said. “But I am so delighted at seeing you that hardships vanish, and I seem to be treading on enchanted ground.”

“I have so much to tell you,” she continued, “though I am afraid I ought not to waste precious time.”

“Tell me, at least, how you came here.”

“It was decided by the Pisang council that I should be given up to the Limbians, where a man named Hunston informed me that I should meet you.”

“That is unlike Hunston. He’s not usually so generous,” said Jack musingly.

“And it is unlike the treatment I have received all along from the Pisangs. My father is dying, I fear, from their ill-usage.”

“Mr. Scratchley?”

“Yes; and my poor mother went down in the wreck.”

“Have you any reason to think there is a plot hatching against us?” asked Jack.

“Indeed, I fear so,” returned Emily; “for we came over to Limbi, as they call this island, in two boats, full of armed men.”

“And you encountered a hostile boat, which you drove off.”

“We did.”

“How were you conducted hither?” asked Jack.

“By Hunston, and one they called Tuan Biza. They brought me here, and left me with this old woman, who told me to remain in the thicket till she clapped her hands.”

“What became of your guides?”

“They said good-bye, and left me. I cannot understand their generosity; it seems too good to be true. But had we not better fly at once?” said Emily.

“At once. We will talk at our ease. Take my arm, dear Emily. We shall soon be in Tompano. It is not far off. I know every inch of the way; and once amongst friends, we can enjoy our newly-found happiness.”

Emily placed a trembling hand on Jack’s arm, and without taking any further notice of Nuratella, who, by the way, had disappeared, they turned to make their escape.

Suddenly dark forms appeared behind them.

A voice exclaimed, “Not so fast, my fine fellow. You and I have a score to settle.”

Jack’s heart leaped in his bosom.

“Betrayed, by Heaven!” he cried.

He faced the foe, but ere he had time to draw weapon in his defence, a heavy blow on the head felled him to the ground where he fell insensible.

Emily uttered shriek upon shriek.

Her misery was complete when she saw Jack borne off by the Pisangs through the darkness.

It was for her sweet sake that he had ventured into this ambuscade.

The Pisangs, with serpentine cunning, had made her a decoy.

“Stop that noise!” exclaimed the harsh voice of Hunston, as he seized her brutally by the arm.

“Oh, do not kill him,” she replied.

“Not yet. I’ll make him feel his position and suffer a little first. Come along; you’ve done your work, and we must get back to Pisang.”

Again Emily uttered piercing shrieks.

“Hold that row, miss,” exclaimed Hunston again, “or I shall have to hit you on the head as I did King Harkaway. Be quiet, for your own sake; you will neither do yourself nor your friend any good.”

Emily remained silent, and was hurried along a narrow path which led to the coast.

“Did you think,” continued Hunston, “that I was such a very innocent baby as to give you up to the only man I hate like poison?”

“I did not know what amount of villainy you were capable of,” she answered.

“You’ll know in time. You’ll find it all out when you’re my wife.”

“Heaven defend me from such a fate, I would die sooner,” she cried, horror-stricken.

“You’ll have to do one or the other. Death or marriage. Take your choice when the time comes.”

Emily shuddered.

“It was not a bad dodge of mine to get Harkaway into our power,” he went on with a loud laugh.

“It was mean and cowardly to use me as a means of entrapping him.”

“All’s fair in love and war. I knew he’d nibble at the hook if you were the bait at the end of it.”

“What will be his fate?” she ventured to ask.

“Death? A cruel, horrible and lingering death, unless——”

“Unless?” she repeated under her breath, as her companion broke off abruptly.

“Unless you consent to be mine.”

His fierce grey eyes seemed to pierce her soul in the darkness.

“Then he must die, and I will perish with him,” she murmured.

As the words left her lips a feeling of faintness came over her, and she would have fallen had not Hunston caught her.

She lay like a log in his arms.

He carried her insensible form for the remainder of the distance.

The Pisangs were waiting for him.

Springing into the boat which was nearest to him, he gave the word and the sails were set.

One boat contained Harkaway, the other his beloved Emily.

They were both in the power of Hunston, from whose tender mercies they had as much gentleness to expect as the dove receives from the cruel hawk.

It was an infamous stratagem.

But at the same time it was a clever and important capture.

CHAPTER XLVI

HARVEY GETS UNEASY

THE hours glided by and nothing was seen of Jack.

Harvey began to grow uneasy, as did Monday.

“Something happen to Mast’ Jack. What um be?” asked the black.

“I more than half suspect that treachery has been at work,” replied Harvey.

“Where him go?”

“I am nearly sure that he went to see Nuratella.”

“She bad woman, sare,” said Monday. “We all much ’fraid Nuratella, because she um witch-prophetess.”

“Wasn’t she a friend of the Pisangs once?”

“Yes, one very great friend Tuan Biza, and now she go to their island in um boat.”

“Do you know where she hangs out—where she lives I mean?” asked Harvey.

“Yes, Monday him know.”

“All right. Let’s lie down till daybreak, and we’ll go and look after him. Poor Jack! I shall never forgive myself if anything has befallen him. I ought to have followed with half a dozen rifles, whether he liked it or no.”

In spite of Harvey’s impatience, nothing could be done in the dark.

He slept little, and he was up as soon as the first rays of light streamed in through the mat-covered windows.

“Now, Mon, look alive!” he said.

“Alive him is, sare,” replied Monday, yawning.

They ate a piece of rough bread and drank some water, then they were ready for the start.

It did not take them long to reach the witch’s dwelling.

She was nowhere about, and they supposed had not yet arisen.

“What’s this?” cried Harvey, casting his eyes on the ground.

The object that attracted his attention was a piece of paper, such as might be tom from the pocket-book of a European.

On it was something written in pencil.

“English, by Jove!” he said, “and in a lady’s handwriting too.”

He did not hesitate to read its contents, which ran thus:—

“I, Emily Scratchley, having fallen into the hands of the Pisangs, have been liberated by them to-day, and left in concealment in this thicket, until an old woman shall give me a signal that my old friend Jack Harkaway, who I hear is on this island, comes to take me to the chief town of Limbi.

“Feeling doubtful about the good faith of the Pisangs, whom I have since my captivity found cruel and treacherous, I fear some villainy is intended, and write these hurried lines in the hope that some friend may find them, in the event of any foul play taking place.”

Harvey set his teeth tightly together.

“I see it all now, Monday,” said he.

“What him all ’bout, sare?” asked the black.

“Nuratella has helped the Pisangs to take Jack a prisoner.”

“Mast’ Jack taken! That bad news. But we go after him and lib’rate him, or we kill and burn all Pisangs.”

“Of course we will; but they may kill him before we get there.”

“Look here, sare! Mast’ Harvey, come here, quick ! See ’um blood on the ground!” cried Monday, excited at the red-looking spots he saw.

Harvey came to his side, and regarded them mournfully.

“It’s as clear as daylight,” he observed. “Jack’s been taken by surprise, and they’ve tapped his claret for him. Well, it can’t be helped.”

“Matabella go to King Lanindyer, and he make Nuratella say all she know,” said Monday. “No one like her. All glad her die.”

“I’d roast her over a slow fire. Does she live in that kennel?”

He pointed to the hovel as he spoke.

“That where she lives.”

“Have her out, Monday. We’ll take her back with us to the town, lest she gives us the slip, and goes to join her precious friends the Pisangs.”

Monday hung back.

He could not forget the superstitions of his youth, and the prejudices of his nation.

“What are you afraid of?” asked Harvey contemptuously.

“She put some charm on me. Nuratella very great witch. She make and un-make storms. She hold the lightning in her hand,” replied Monday trembling.

“Go on, you great cake!” said Harvey. “I’ll dig her out, witch or no witch, or I’ll burn her den about her ears.”

Putting his shoulder against one side of the hut, Harvey gave it a shove, which made it rock like a poplar in a storm.

“Come out, you old cat!” he said in the native language.

There was no answer.

Not being in a humour to be trifled with, Harvey gave the hovel another shove, and down it went in a heap.

Presently the form of Nuratella appeared from a thicket a few yards off, the same in which Emily had been concealed, and from whence she had watched the destruction of her house with rising wrath.

“Why do you come to my dwelling and scatter ruin around?” she asked.

“I am quite ready to answer for what I have done to the Tuan Biza of this island and his chiefs assembled in council,” replied Harvey.

“Do you not fear my power?” asked Nuratella, still more threateningly.

“No more than that,” said Harvey, snapping his fingers.

“I could make the earth open and swallow you up. I could call down the lightning from the sky, and summon wild beasts from the forest, together with venomous serpents, to destroy your life.”

“Go ahead, then. Let the music strike up and the show begin,” exclaimed Harvey.

Nuratella glared at him with the savageness of a tiger.

“The fact is you are an impostor,” continued Harvey. “I repeat that I am ready to answer for what I have done and mean to do, though I don’t think you will get off so easily.”

“Go, rash boy,” she exclaimed. “I have no quarrel with you.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Harvey said, derisively. “You find that you can’t frighten me, so you slacken sail. Now it’s my turn. I don’t boast of what I can do; you’ll see in time. So come along with me.”

He seized her by the arm, and attempted to draw her along.

But she threw herself on the ground, and refused to stir. Like most sailors, Harvey generally had some cord in his pocket.

This he produced, and quickly tied her hands and legs together.

Then he ordered Monday to lift up her head while he took her feet.

In this way they carried her to Tompano, in spite of her cries, struggles, and protestations.

They proceeded at once to the king’s palace, where the king and his chiefs were assembled in council.

A large crowd followed them, hearing that Nuratella was a prisoner, and that the white chief had mysteriously disappeared.

Harvey demanded an audience, which was granted him.

Leaving the witch in a passage guarded by Monday, he entered the great hall.

All eyes were instantly turned upon him, for alarming rumours had already reached the council.

CHAPTER XLVII

THE WITCH’S DOOM

BOTH Harvey and Jack possessed great influence over the savages of Limbi.

Cruel and vindictive as they were to their enemies, they nevertheless possessed the invaluable properties of gratitude.

The boys had saved and treated kindly Matabella, the heir apparent, the son of their Tuan Biza, the Prince of Wales of Limbi.

This was in itself sufficient to make them popular.

In addition to this, they had given them powder and shot; they were going to lead them against their old, old enemies, the Pisangs.

We can fancy the English in the days of their hatred to France, when war was waging, hailing an ally in a similar manner.

Besides this, the boys were not at all haughty in their manner.

They did not show or boast of their superiority in cultivation, and the arts of civilization.

On the contrary.

They made friends with the simple islanders, and endeared themselves to one and all.

Mr. Mole, who, no one knew exactly why, was accounted a great chief, had married two princesses.

It was gravely debated whether or not he should have a third wife.

The Limbians thought they could not have afforded him a greater honour.

Mr. Mole thought otherwise.

He had certain domestic reasons of his own for thinking so.

But he had not yet found out the secret of governing a wife.

The Limbians did not hesitate to lay a bamboo cane across the shoulders of their refractory spouses.

Mr. Mole had yet to make that important discovery.

Unlike the chiefs of the Red Indians, about whom we have read so much, the inhabitants of the great Indian Archipelago were fond of talking.

They did not confine themselves to the utterance of grunts and the guttural “yah yah!” with which we have been nauseated.

They were genial, and, what is more, they possessed a good deal of sound common sense.

Harvey told his tale as clearly and shortly as he could.

He had to straggle with and keep down his very natural indignation at the outrage to which his friend Jack had been subjected through a Limbian woman.

He translated the letter that Emily had written, alluded to the meeting with Nuratella, and ended by declaring his conviction that she was the authoress of the mischief.

After some consultation the chiefs were of the same opinion.

The religious men or priests who were members of the council had long been patrons of Nuratella.

It was their barbarous custom once a year to sacrifice a human being to the evil spirits.

The time was at hand.

They were searching for a victim.

The custom was, after the harvest of corn and fruits, to carry a certain quantity of sugar-cane, rice, fowls, eggs, pigs, dogs, and a living being to the southeast point of the island.

The wretched creature selected for these rites was left on the shore, bound hand and foot, for the crocodiles to devour.

After the consultation of the council, Nuratella was ordered to be brought in.

She was unbound and surrounded with a strong guard, which rendered her escape impossible.

Some of the chiefs feared her fabled power, but the majority did not evince any emotion.

When the case was stated to her she made no reply.

Harvey stood up and said: “The silence of Nuratella is proof of her guilt. I demand her life shall be taken, as in all probability my poor friend by this time has ceased to exist.”

“Confess,” exclaimed the king Lanindyer.

“Of what use would it be for me to make any confession, when you are all hungering for my blood like a pack of wild beasts,” she replied.

“Do you deny the charge which has been brought against you?” asked another chief.

“I do,” she replied.

“Let her be put to the torture,” said the king.

“No,” cried Harvey. “Let her suffer the penalty of her crime, but torture would be barbarous.”

“I have said it,” answered the king calmly. “Let the officers do their duty.”

Nuratella was dragged into another apartment, and her cries were soon heard at intervals.

She was beaten with bamboos.

Fire was placed under her feet.

Red-hot stones were applied to various parts of her body, and a band of twisted reeds was tied so tightly round her forehead that her eyes threatened to burst from their sockets.

At length her fortitude, great though it was, gave way.

She confessed her intrigue with the Pisangs.

She admitted that she had beguiled Jack to her house on purpose to betray him, and she declared that she alone was to blame in the matter.

When this was made known, the indignant council clamoured loudly for her instant death. The cry was taken up by the populace out of doors.

Protected by the soldiers, she was led, accompanied by almost all the inhabitants of Tompano, to the seashore.

Near this fatal spot was the mouth of a small river, where the crocodiles were wont to assemble in large numbers.

She was securely bound, and laid upon the beach.

When the procession, started, Harvey ran to Mr. Mole’s house, and found him looking out at the doorway, while Alfura and Ambonia, who had made friends again, were anxiously looking at the crowd.

Mr. Mole had succeeded in restoring peace, for a time, to his distracted household, and he listened to the alarming rumours with impatience.

He hailed Harvey’s arrival with delight.

“I say, sir,” cried Harvey, “come along.”

“Come where? What is all this ? Why fret the angry crowd, as I think my friend Horace has it?” replied Mr. Mole.

“Haven’t you heard the news?”

“Not I.”

“At least if I can’t save Harkaway, I will avenge his death!” exclaimed Harvey.

“Dear me! Is Harkaway in danger? Don’t say that. With all his faults he was a fine fellow. Don’t tell me, Harvey, that he is——”

A tear sprang to Mr. Mole’s eyes.

He could not pronounce the word “dead.”

“Come with me, sir,” said Harvey, “and I will tell you all about it as we go along.”

Harvey quickly told Mr. Mole the distressing news.

“The wretch!” exclaimed the latter, when he heard of Nuratella’s treachery, “she deserves to die, but I wish they wouldn’t do the thing in this cruel way. I think I shall interfere and stop it.”

“Stop your grandmother!” replied Harvey.

“But an execution ought to be properly conducted.”

Mr. Mole walked along thoughtfully.

They were in the rear of the crowd, but the shouts of the people were distinctly audible.

The doom of the witch had been decreed. Execution was to follow soon upon judgment.

CHAPTER XLVIII

THE PREY OF THE CROCODILES

PRESENTLY Mr. Mole said—

“Hunston is with these Pisangs, is he not?”

“Yes, and directs all their councils,” replied Harvey.

“I thought so. Well, surely Harkaway’s life will be safe in his hands.”

“Will it?—over the left,” answered Harvey.

“Do you mean to tell me that he will not spare an old friend?”

“You know all about the tattooing and how we had to kick him out after he tried to murder us, and how he made an attack on the castle?”

“Yes, I have heard of those things.”

“Is it likely, then, that he’ll show Jack any mercy?” answered Harvey. “I believe Hunston has become as ferocious a brute as any one of the Pisangs he is amongst.”

“Do you, indeed?” said Mr. Mole.

“I do, and I think he would not hesitate to eat Jack if the others did.”

“That’s going a little too far, Harvey,” said Mr. Mole with a half-smile.

“By mixing with savages may not a man get savage himself?”

“I hope we are not so.”

“I mean a vicious man,” replied Harvey.

“Let us hope that Harkaway is in no danger, and that he will soon be restored to us.”

“I wish I could think so. I fear, however, we shall only find his head in the house of some chief. At all events I shall hurry on the expedition for the invasion of Pisang.”

“Do so, by all means,” rejoined Mr. Mole; “and now I recollect that a short time ago I elected to remain here as governor of the island in the absence of the fighting men.”

“That was your wish, sir.”

“It is so no longer,” continued Mr. Mole. “When one of my companions, one of my dearest friends, I may say, is in danger in a foreign country; a boy whose mind was educated under my own personal supervision, I can not remain idle.”

“Bravo, sir ! You’re a trump!” cried Harvey.

“Harvey, do you know my motto?”

“No, sir. What is it?”

“It is,” replied Mr. Mole, “ ‘death before dishonour.’ I may not be a fighting man, but I will hurl spear and draw trigger for Harkaway.”

“Good again, sir! You’re made of the right stuff!”

“And I shall get away from my wives,” continued Mr. Mole, as if speaking to himself.

“Oh! that’s it, sir!” said Harvey laughing.

“What did I say?” asked Mr. Mole in some confusion.

“Nothing, sir,” replied Harvey. “Here we are.”

Mr. Mole looked up, and beheld a vast concourse of people on the seashore.

They pushed their way through the crowd, the soldiers making room for the Tuan Biza of the white men.

A ring of armed men kept the throng back from a certain point.

Nuratella was already lying bound on the sand, the hot tropical sun streaming down mercilessly on her upturned face.

Her youth had been a guilty love.

Her life had been an imposition and a cheat.

Her death was to be an atonement.

The people were at such a distance from the shore, that they could only see the dim outlines of the wretched victim.

The chiefs were assembled in a group somewhat nearer.

To these Harvey and Mr. Mole attached themselves.

As the tide rose, the bodies of the crocodiles could be seen rolling sluggishly up and down.

Presently they would scent their victim.

Then her end would draw near.

Not far off was the river of which we have spoken, and which drew the rainfall down from the hills.

As the water began to circle in riplets round Nuratella, the excitement of the onlookers was intense.

Scarcely a word was spoken by the vast assembly.

Occasionally the priests uttered a low, monotonous chant.

At length two crocodiles saw the body and advanced towards it.

There was a snap of the huge jaws, and a dreadful shriek.

This was repeated.

Nuratella’s cries redoubled as first an arm and then a teg was torn away.

Other crocodiles, attracted by the smell of blood, approached.

Soon the cries ceased.

The witch was still, and though the cruel fangs of the monsters tore her flesh, she felt them not.

Nuratella was dead.

Turning to Harvey, the king said—

“Are you satisfied?”

Harvey had turned his head away from the sickening sight.

“Yes,” he muttered, feebly.

A gong was loudly beaten as a signal that justice had been done.

Loud shouts rent the air, and the crowd, who had just before thrilled to the marrow of their bones, experienced a sense of relief.

“Let us get out of this,” said Mr. Mole.

He and Harvey retreated along the shore, and tried to forget what they had seen by listening to the ripple of the waves as they broke on the beach.

“At least she deserved it,” remarked Harvey.

“No doubt; but it was horrible for all that. I thought I should have fainted when that first crocodile took off her leg with as much ease as a surgeon at an hospital would amputate a limb.”

“I’ve no pity for her,” said Harvey. “I’ve only got to think of Jack, and I shouldn’t care if she had got to die over again.”

“Remember, Harvey, what you said about people living amongst savages and becoming like them,” said Mr. Mole warningly.

“But isn’t it enough to make a fellow wild?” began Harvey impatiently.

“No, it is not enough,” interrupted Mr. Mole. “We are told to forgive our enemies seventy times seven.”

“Then you’d better forgive Mrs. Ambonia Mole the next time she goes into her tantrums and tears your hair.”

Mr. Mole was silent.

“That’s a closer,” thought Harvey.

As they neared the city they were met by Monday, who had come out to look for them.

“Well, Monday, old man,” exclaimed Harvey, what’s your opinion of things in general?”

“Not up to much, sare. Me miss Mast’ Jack. Me grieve much. Monday very bad.”

“So am I, and that’s the truth.”

“The king has decided to start tonight with all men for Pisang. That good news,” continued Monday.

“Has he, though? Then your governor’s a brick, Monday,” cried Harvey joyfully.

“Yes,” said Mr. Mole; “that is indeed cheerful intelligence, and I will solace myself with a drink of that rum I see sticking out of your pocket, my worthy but somewhat dusky friend.”

Monday had a flask in his pocket, for he had thrown an old jacket of Harvey’s over his shoulders, the sun being very hot, and Monday not being disinclined to clothing when he could get it.

“Me not know, sare,” he replied; “it Mast’ Harvey’s old jacket, Monday take him.”

Mr. Mole received the flask, drank once, and then took another dip, and sighed deeply, while he put the flask in his own pocket.

“Circulate the liquor, sir!” exclaimed Harvey.

“Ah, pardon me! It was a fit of abstraction,” replied Mr. Mole, being detected in his base attempt to appropriate it all to himself.

The spirit was afterwards handed to Monday, and they all felt exhilarated by it.

“I begin to think,” said Harvey, “that Jack won’t be a croaker just yet. I’ll bet a new hat!”

“Which you want badly, Harvey, that I must say,” interposed Mr. Mole.

“Ditto, the same to you, sir,” said Harvey laughing; “not to make any unkind remarks about your continuations.”

“What’s the matter with my trousers? I hope nothing has gone amiss with them,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, in alarm.

“There is only a hole as big as a besom, sir, in the rear.”

“Dear me, what an unfortunate thing! Do my coattails cover it?”

“When the wind doesn’t blow. As you’re a householder since your marriage, sir, it doesn’t matter, because you’ve got your ‘rent’ ready!” exclaimed Harvey.

“Ah! well. I suppose we shall have to resort to the garments of our first ancestors, which we have authority for believing were chiefly fig-leaves,” replied Mr. Mole with a sigh.

“You interrupted my observation, sir,” continued Harvey, “which was, that I’d make a bet Jack fogged the niggers somehow. He’s clever.”

“I hope sincerely he may. However, we will haste to the rescue. Monday!”

“Yes, Mist’ Mole; what up now, sare?”

“See to my pistols, will you? And first take care that my rifle is not overloaded; I have a great horror of a gun that bursts.”

“All right, sare! Monday, him see to that.”

“You may leave it all to Mon,” exclaimed Harvey. “He’ll put you straight, and send you out to the fight like a warrior of old, up to the knocker.”

“I wish we had armour in these days. It would be a great protection,” Mr. Mole observed, wistfully.

“A bold spirit is the only armour a brave man requires,” replied Harvey.

“By the way, did your spear-wound hurt much?”

“Didn’t it?” said Harvey. “I should think it did, just.”

“What was it like?”

“Like? Oh! like having all your muscles pulled out one by one by machinery, and then having them put in again.”

“Ah! war is a dreadful thing; nevertheless, I will rescue our somewhat rash and foolhardy friend, Harkaway. You shall receive an example from me, Richard.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Harvey, dryly.

When they reached the town they were sent for to the council.

The chiefs had decided upon an immediate attack.

After some discussion, it was found that the men could not be got ready, embarked, and disembarked on the island of Pisang for a few days.

There was much to be prepared, and it was not advisable to risk defeat by indulging in too much haste.

Even Harvey, impatient to be up and doing, and to strike a blow for his friend, was obliged to admit that.

Mr. Mole accompanied Harvey to his house, and a fresh bottle was produced, for, though the store of liquor was running short, Harvey carefully concealed and took care of what they had left.

In a short time Mr. Mole got what Harvey called “jolly,” with his frequent attentions to the bottle, and was only prevented from singing a song by being reminded that Harkaway was in danger.

At length Harvey rose, and said—

“I won’t say your room is better than your company, sir, but I must make myself scarce.”

“Why break up our little party?” asked Mr. Mole.

“I don’t like keeping a married man out, that’s one reason; and another is, I have to drill an awkward squad of our soldiers before sunset.”

“Ah, duty before all things. I will not detain you, Harvey.”

“And, as I don’t want my castle stormed, I think you’d better be stepping it, sir, or you’ll have the rival beauties after you.”

“Mist’ Mole should use um stick,” observed Monday.

“What’s that, my valiant black?” asked Mr. Mole.

Monday brandished a stout bamboo, and replied—

“All Limbi men beat their wives. You beat Ambonia, sare, and then you see.”

“Is it so? A good suggestion. I’ll follow your advice, Monday, and apply the rod.”

Mr. Mole took the stick which Monday offered him, and went away.

“I say, Monday, are you up to your larks with Mole?” asked Harvey, when he was gone.

“Yes. Monday have um lark with him,” was the reply.

“Do the Limbians beat their wives?”

“No; only sometimes. Ambonia never beat in her life. Won’t Mist’ Mole catch it?” said Monday grinning.

“Hot and strong, I expect,” replied Harvey who could not help laughing at the prospect which awaited the proprietor of a tea-garden in China.

When Mr. Mole reached his house, he found his wives sullenly awaiting him.

Alfura said nothing.

But Ambonia asked him where he had been, and why he stopped away from them.

Mole was just sufficiently tipsy to be valiant, and he replied—

“To see the execution, my dear. Fine thing an execution! Crocodiles fine; Nuratella fine.”

“We went also, but we have been back some time,” answered Ambonia. “You have been somewhere else.”

“Only stayed to crack a bottle with a friend. English custom my dear.”

“And what is that stick for?”

“For you, my pet,” replied Mr. Mole.

Ambohia made a dash at him, and attempted to seize the stick.

Mr. Mole brought it down sharply over her naked and unprotected shoulders.

“Must be firm,” he muttered. “Monday told me to be firm. I will be firm.”

With a wild kind of howl, Ambonia sprang upon him, and grasping the stick broke it in two pieces.

“Playful creature!” exclaimed Mr. Mole, with an imbecile smile.

Ambonia seemed to be determined to let him know whether she was in play or not, for she began to beat him unmercifully with the biggest end of the bamboo which remained in her hand.

Mr. Mole fell on his knees before her, unable to withstand the torrent of blows.

“Ambonia,” he said, “be merciful as you are strong; that stick hurts!”

“You have hit a princess of Limbi,” she replied.

“It shall not occur again.”

Thwack, thwack, descended the stick on his head and back.

“Behold me, Ambonia, on my knees,” he said “I repeat, behold me, for it is a sad sight! I am a great chief who has cut off heads in battle.”

Ambonia danced before him in derision.

“And moreover,” he added, “I am going to the wars with the Pisangs. You may never see me again.”

This declaration altered the complexion of affairs.

Alfura’s tender heart melted, and she endeavoured to calm Ambonia.

The Limbian women had a great respect for warriors.

When they were satisfied that their husband was going to fight, they lifted him up, put him on a seat, and sat round him.

“Ambonia will sing the white chief the deeds of her ancestors,” she exclaimed.

“Yes, do; that’s sensible! By all means let us hear the song,” said Mr. Mole, glad to escape so easily.

While Mrs. Mole No. 2 sang to him in a tone of voice, not altogether unpleasing, her husband pillowed his head in Alfura’s lap and soon slept the sleep of the just.

CHAPTER XLIX

MONDAY’S NEW CLOTHES

THOUGH Harvey was gratified at the just punishment which Nuratella had received at the hands of the Tuan Biza, he was ill at ease.

In vain he tried to sleep.

The night was warm and sultry, but towards morning a heavy storm of rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning, occurred.

This lasted about an hour with all the violence peculiar to such tempests in the tropics.

After this, the wind rose and blew in fitful gusts.

Harvey thought he heard the sound of big guns being fired.

From the direction of the sound, he imagined that they came from the sea.

They were discharged at intervals of a minute.

Nothing is more exciting than to hear a ship in distress fire the minute gun at sea.

As soon as day broke, he went into an adjoining apartment and roused Monday.

The black was soon on his feet.

“What um up to, Mast’ Harvey?” exclaimed Monday, as Harvey gave him a poke in the ribs to wake him.

“I want you to go down to the shore,” replied Harvey.

“What for? Mast’ Jack come back?”

“I wish to goodness, he had; no such luck. But I fancy some ship has been driven on the rocks. Guns have been firing.”

“P’r’aps you dreaming, sare,” said Monday.

“No; I haven’t been dreaming either, so you’re out there,” replied Harvey, who had been like a wasp ever since Jack disappeared. “If I didn’t go to sleep, I couldn’t dream, could I?”

This argument was convincing.

“Monday be off like um shot,” cried the black.

“Don’t be long! If I am right,” said Harvey, “we will take a boat and go to the wreck, before your countrymen can know anything about it. Some lives may be saved.”

Fortunately Monday did not require much dressing, and was ready to start in less than no time.

An hour passed, during which Harvey paced the room impatiently.

He reproached himself with being inactive while Jack was in danger.

The Limbians were too slow in their movements to please him.

It appeared that, before they started for the invasion of Pisang, the priests had to go through certain forms and ceremonies, to bless the expedition.

During this delay, Jack might be killed by his enemies.

“I shouldn’t care,” thought Harvey, “if I could die with him.”

It was a relief to his oppressed mind when Monday came back.

The black danced up and down in an extraordinary manner.

“Stop that hanky panky,” said Harvey. “What are you cutting all these capers for, just for all the world like a bear on hot bricks?”

“Him one big ship, sare,” said Monday; “not far from land, and him stuck on um rock.”

“Is there a boat anywhere near?”

“One boat, the one we come from our island in, not far off.”

“That will do. Just stay your dancing performance, and come with me. When a ship is wrecked, and people may be dead or dying, it is no time for larking,” said Harvey.

“Monday him dance, because him think him get things.”

“If you touch so much as a ship’s biscuit without my permission, I’ll skin you. Now then, lead the way; trot,” replied Harvey.

Monday said no more, and they were quickly on the way to the shore.

The firing was over now, and the fate of the crew most likely decided.

With the utmost impatience Harvey hurried on, and getting into the boat, set the sail, steering directly for the wreck of a merchantman, which seemed to be fast lodged in between the rocks about half a mile or more from the beach.

As he cast his eyes back, he saw two dead bodies stretched out upon the sand, looking ghastly white in the reddening sun.

“I’m afraid we’re loo late, Monday. They’re all dead as mutton, I expect,” remarked Harvey.

“What’s mutton, sare?” asked Monday.

“Sheep.”

“If um sheep, why call him mutton?” asked Monday, puzzled.

“I can’t explain now! I’ve something else to think of. You’ve no sheep in your forsaken country, but if you ever come to England with us, you’ll know all about it.”

Monday was silent for a while.

Then he said—

“Great, much wonderful place England, Mast’ Harvey?”

“Rather! You’ll say so, when you get there. But would you really like to come with us, if we get a passing ship to take us off?”

“Yes, Monday him come.”

“And leave all your friends here?”

“Monday come back some time, and lay him bones in Limbi. Not like die out of his own country,” he replied, thoughtfully.

They now reached the wreck, which was a China clipper of moderate tonnage.

The storm had done her fearful damage, and from her appearance she seemed to have been drifting waterlogged for some days, so that she must have encountered more than one tempest, and have made bad weather before she was driven out of her track to Limbi.

Making the painter fast, Harvey sprang on board, followed by Monday.

Three corpses lay on the deck, and not a single living soul was to be seen above or below.

Perhaps the majority of the crew had taken to the boats before she struck and had been carried away in an opposite direction, for there were some obstinate currents in the seas.

When Harvey satisfied himself that the crew were beyond his help, he went below and found that the cargo was chiefly tea and silk.

She was the “ Johnny Sands ” of London, and he could only deplore the fate of the brave fellows who had manned her.

“We may as well load our boat,” said Harvey, “with such things as we want. Tea and coffee are luxuries we haven’t had for a long time; powder and shot, if we can find any, will be useful, and a case of spirits will not be a bad present for Mole. Lend a hand, Monday, and let’s overhaul the wreck.”

Monday willingly complied, and in about an hour a couple of chests of tea, a case of spirits, some wine, a bag of coffee, a keg of powder and some shot, and various other little articles, none the worse for water, were handed on deck.

Harvey packed the boat as full as it would hold, and made free with some seamen’s chests containing clothes, as his own were becoming rather ragged.

When all was ready for a start, he looked round for Monday, who was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s the beggar got to?” he muttered.

Going to the companion-ladder, he shouted—“Monday!”

“Coming, sare,” replied Monday. “Give him um moment.”

“I’ll give you a hiding, if you keep me waiting,” replied Harvey. “What are you doing below there? It I catch you swigging——”

“Monday no swig, sare,” replied a voice from the depths of the ship. “Him only rig himself up!”

“Do what?” said Harvey, in surprise.

“Him all right, Mast’ Harvey; him right boot not fit. Never mind; one will do. Blow him right boot!”

“What on earth is he talking about?” thought Harvey.

Presently Monday made his appearance, and Harvey could not help laughing at the singular spectacle he presented.

He had seen his young master overhauling the seamen’s chests, and the idea occurred to him that he ought to do the same thing.

“Mast’Harvey him dress; why not Monday? Him dress also,” said Monday to himself.

He tried to put on a pair of white trousers, but tore them in the attempt, and got his left foot into a top boot, which he found in the captain’s cabin.

The right one was wet, and wouldn’t go on, so he managed to put one with side-springs on.

Upon his head he put a white hat with a black band round it, and this was perched a little on one side.

A white shirt was thrown over his shoulders, and tied round his neck by the sleeves.

Finding a paper collar, he had stuck that on with a pin, and tied a black ribbon round it.

“Monday, old man, this won’t do,” said Harvey, as soon as he could check his laughter at his ridiculous appearance; “you are a regular swell.”

“Sare!” exclaimed the black, drawing himself up.

“You’re going it,” replied Harvey.

“Monday go to England. When him go him dress. Why not Monday dress now?”

“I don’t see any particular reason. You’re all the cheese; ‘quite up to the knocker,’ as we say.”

At this compliment Monday grinned as if he was intensely gratified.

“Monday him what you call um swell,” he said, regarding his only boot with complacency.

“I should think you were a swell,” replied Harvey. “Niggers can do it.”

“Why you call me nigger, Mast’ Harvey?”

“Because you are not white, and you’re rather more greasy than you might be, only that’s your misfortune and not your fault. You’d do well to sit over the wheel of an engine; it wouldn’t want much train oil.”

“Have him dress right?” asked Monday, not understanding Harvey’s chaff.

“Slap up!”

“Monday, him feel rather funny.”

At this Harvey burst out laughing again.

“You’re all right,” he said, “don’t flurry your fat. You might as well have started two boots while you were about it.”

“Him cuss boot not go on,” said Monday, in a tone of vexation.

“Don’t swear, Monday. Where did you learn that?”

“Mist’ Mole, him swar when Ambonia go on at him. He say, ‘cuss the women.’ ”

“Does he? That’s very wrong of him,” replied Harvey; “and don’t you follow a bad example. Jump into the boat; never mind the other boot. You’ll do. You’re up to the nines, and would make a sensation in Hyde Park.”

“Monday, good Englishmans.”

“Stunning. I never saw a better,” answered Harvey, wishing to gratify his harmless vanity.

“That all right,” said Monday, smiling from ear to ear.

“I’ll have you presented at court some day. It would read well in the papers. His royal highness Prince Matabella Monday of Limbi, present on the happy occasion of his finding a top boot and white hat, both rather the worse for wear.”

Monday did not understand all this.

“But,” he said, “now, Mast’ Harvey, you chaff poor Monday.”

“Chaff? I’m not chaffing. Ain’t you a prince? And haven’t you found a top boot and a white hat?”

“Yes, that all right.”

“Dry up then, and steer the boat while I look after the sail.”

They embarked with their cargo, Harvey congratulating himself upon being first in the field.

Had the natives discovered the wreck first, they would soon have carried away everything that was worth having.

As Harvey looked at Monday the more absurd his appearance seemed.

“Why you laugh, Mast’ Harvey?” asked Monday.

“Because I can’t help myself, and shall burst if I don’t,” replied Dick.

“Anything wrong with Monday?”

“I’ve told you there isn’t; you’re a toff?”

“Why um laugh then? Monday think him better dress than you, sare. Him got no tear in him——”

But not knowing the name for shirt, or forgetting it in his excitement, he pointed to his covering.

“Oh! Your shirt’s fine,” replied Harvey.

“No holes in him?”

“I know mine is more holy than righteous; never mind, Monday, I’ve got something in those chests, and I’ll cut you out. You shan’t take the shine out of me like this.”

Monday laughed, and was evidently much pleased with himself.

“Him Englishmans now,” he said.

“You’ve done the trick, Monday,” answered Harvey; “they’ll take you for the British consul at least if we get to Singapore.”

They ran their boat into a sheltered nook, and left the contents within it, intending to send down for them when they reached Tompano.

At a short distance from the city they saw a female sitting under a tree.

In her hand she held a bottle of spirits, which Harvey recognised as one he had given Mr. Mole.

She had twined some flowers in her hair, which hung down her back in untidy masses.

“Look, sare!” said Monday, “that Missy Mole.”

“So it is. What is she doing, I wonder?” replied Harvey.

Monday put his hand to his mouth, as if to signify that she had been drinking.

Her wild appearance seemed to bear out the truth of his suggestion.

“If she has been imitating her husband we’d better give her a wide berth,” Harvey said.

Mrs. Mole Number Two, however, was too quick for them.

Jumping up, she ran with unsteady steps to Harvey and seized his arm.

“You make my husband drink,” she exclaimed. “When he comes to you, he goes home and beat me.”

“My dear lady,” replied Harvey, “I assure you I do all I can to stop him.”

“No, no!” cried Ambonia, raising her voice to a high pitch; “you send him to me with a bamboo and then he beat me.”

“I’ll swear I didn’t.”

“To-day,” she continued, “I have taken away his spirit, and I have tasted it.”

“Is it good?”

Ambonia raised the bottle to her lips and took a deep draught.

“It goes like fire through the blood,” she answered; “but it has not taken away my senses. You are my husband’s enemy, and thus will I punish you.”

As she spoke she aimed a blow at him with the bottle.

He jumped on one side, and narrowly escaped having his head broken.

“I say!” exclaimed Harvey, “stash it. Here, Monday, speak to your amiable countrywoman. This won’t do at all.”

Ambonia danced round Harvey, and made a snatch at his hair.

She grasped it, and tugged away at it till Harvey danced too.

“Pull her off, Monday!” he exclaimed. “Look sharp, or I shan’t have a hair left.”

“Monday come, sare.”

Monday seized Ambonia by the waist and dragged her to the ground.

Harvey fell with her.

She loosened her grip, and turned her attention to Monday, whom she abused in fine style.

Harvey soon tied Ambonia’s hands behind her.

She kicked and screamed, but was unable to help herself.

“I’ll be revenged,” she cried with a hysterical sob. “I’ll kill him.”

“What we do with her?” asked Monday.

“I’ll be hanged if I know.”

“I s’pose we carry her home, sare.”

“She’s heavy,” said Harvey.

“Never mind, sare. I take her head, you take her legs; we carry her like that.”

If they had not decided to do this, it is doubtful whether Ambonia would have got home.

The whisky she had been taking had got into her head, and she staggered about in a ludicrous manner.

First she ran to Monday, and tried to bite him; then she ran towards Harvey, and tried to kick him, then lost her balance, and fell gracefully on her back.

“Now’s your time, Monday; lay hold!” exclaimed Harvey.

“Me got her, sare,” replied Monday.

“Lay still, mum. It’s all right,” continued Harvey; “we don’t wish to hurt you.”

She was a good weight, and it was lucky they had not far to go. It was a ludicrous procession.

Ambonia screeching, struggling, and making horrible faces.

Monday fantastically dressed, and grinning like a baboon.

Harvey enjoying the fun, but rather wishing he was out of it.

At length they got her home, and gave her into the charge of Alfura.

Then they made their way to their own home, to which Mr. Mole had previously gone.

The news of the wreck had spread.

Mr. Mole had heard of the wreck, and was looking for Harvey, to know if he would go with him to the stranded vessel.

The Tuan Biza, and many chiefs, had already started.

A wreck was a great event in those islands, and everyone, from the highest to the lowest, strove to get as much plunder as he could.

Suddenly Harvey and Monday met Mr. Mole.

“Hullo, sir!” cried Harvey. “Where are you pelting off to?”

“There is a wreck, Harvey,” answered Mr. Mole; “and I am going to see what good I can do for the poor creatures. Won’t you come?”

“We’ve been there, sir.”

“Been there!” said Mr. Mole, stopping and drawing his breath quickly. “Are there not some casks of spirit on board?”

“We got a few, sir. You’d better make haste, or you’ll be too late for your share.”

“I’ll stick up for my rights. Share and share alike is English, or at least, Yorkshire. I’ll have my rights, or my name is not Isaac Mole; but who in the name of wonder, is this strange-looking animal? Is he some one saved from the wreck?”

He pointed to Monday as he spoke whom he did not recognise in his strange attire.

“That’s the King of the Cannibal Islands,” replied Harvey.

“Indeed!”

“Yes; he’s eaten more men, considering his size and weight than any other of his nation in existence.”

“What a dreadful creature?”

“Dance, you uncultivated beast!” cried Harvey. “Show the gentleman what you can do.”

And he began to sing—

“Hoky poky, wanky fum,

How do you like your taters done?

The King of the Cannibal Islands.”

Monday stood still and obstinately refused to move.

“Dear me!” said Mr. Mole, “he looks, to my imagination, like a wandering Christy minstrel out of work. Fancy his being an anthropophagos, or man-eater, as we should say at school.”

“Don’t irritate him by looking at him in that way, sir; he might do you an injury,” said Harvey. “He’s subject to fits.”

“Fits! Bless me! Keep him off. I wonder at your fondness for such savage pets, Harvey. There is that wretched Monday, now——”

Monday showed his teeth.

He advanced to Mr. Mole with an angry look, fully entering into Harvey’s joke.

“Keep him off, Harvey,” cried Mr. Mole in an agony of apprehension; “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Prop him, sir!” said Harvey, delighted. “Don’t funk him; prop him in the eye! Give him a domino! I’ll see fair play!”

“Perhaps he bites!” exclaimed Mr. Mole, drawing back.

Again Monday showed his teeth in a vicious manner.

Mr. Mole got behind Harvey saying—

“Protect me, Harvey. It is hard to be stopped in this way when I am hastening to the wreck to do Christian work.”

“You needn’t hurry, sir; the poor fellows are beyond human aid.”

“Say you so? Then their belongings are lawful spoil, and that confounded Tuan Biza will——”

“Collar the lot, eh, sir?”

“Just so, Harvey; but I entreat you to protect me from that truculent-looking savage.”

Harvey glided away, and Monday approached Mr. Mole threateningly.

Mole fell on knees, and lifting up his hands, said—

“Good, kind Mr. Cannibal, don’t do anything desperate. I’m only a poor schoolmaster. Don’t eat me!”

“He’ll only take a mouthful; he’s not hungry,” exclaimed Harvey, who was exploding with laughter.

Mr. Mole’s distress was ludicrous in the extreme.

CHAPTER L

HARVEY’S RESOLVE

SUDDENLY a gust of wind blew off Monday’s white hat, which disconcerted him greatly.

“You’ve lost your tile,” cried Harvey.

“Monday, him soon catch um tile,” exclaimed the black, forgetting his assumed part of the King of the Cannibal Islands.

Mr. Mole’s eyes were opened.

As soon as he saw Monday without his hat, he recognised him, and rising to his feet, said—

“Why, what sort of a trick is this, Harvey? Such deception is shameful. The poor creature is Monday.”

“I could have told you that, sir,” replied Harvey.

“Come here, you black thief,” continued Mr. Mole, as Monday approached, having captured his runaway hat. “I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life. What do you mean by rigging yourself out like that, and making fun of me?”

“Monday king; him eat um up, sare,” answered Monday, who, however, kept at a respectful distance.

“I’ll attend to you afterwards, my jocose friend; at present I am engaged. I shall be late at the wreck.”

“There is no occasion to go, sir,” said Harvey. “I have secured all that is worth having. She is only a merchantman, laden with tea chiefly, and if you want a cask or two of rum or Hollands, you are welcome to them.”

Mr. Mole shook him cordially by the hand.

“My dear Harvey,” he replied; “my greatest consolation in this, my exile, is that I have a friend like you so near me. Your words go straight to my heart. Where are the casks?”

“In our boat, sir.”

“Is it safe? Will not the Limbian thieves deprive us of our lawful spoil?”

“They’ve got to find it first.”

“Their noses are keen, and their scent sure. I wouldn’t trust the descendants of Ham.”

“Gammon!” replied Harvey, by way of a joke. “The Tuan Biza would notice anything his people took. First come, first served, that’s the law here, and I will say this for them, if their laws are few, they respect what they have got.”

“With that assurance I will rest contented. I have over-exerted myself already in the morning sun, for no sooner did I hear the news, than I hastened away—not for what I could get, Harvey, but to do good! Don’t think for a moment I went for what I could get.”

“Not you, sir. You’d put whisky in a bottle, and throw stones at it.”

“Well, I don’t know that, exactly,” replied Mr. Mole; “but I would not make capital out of the misfortunes of my fellow-creatures.”

“Monday,” cried Harvey, “cut on to the little village, and get some fellows to bring the stores out of the boat to our house; and look sharp, or I pity you.”

“All right, Mast’ Harvey,” said Monday, adding, “no eat Mr. Mole this time.”

“You impudent black slave, begone; or I shall lose my temper, and be tempted to play the part of Moses in Egypt,” answered Mr. Mole.

“What that, sare?”

“What that, sir? Why this, sir,” Mr. Mole answered, bringing a bamboo he carried in his hand with some force down upon Monday’s posteriors.

Monday uttered a yell, and put his hands behind him, as if to conceal the injured part, and then he started off at a run.

“Must be firm with those fellows, Harvey,” said Mr. Mole, complacently. “Give them an inch, they’ll take an ell. No foolishness. You see that I have tamed that savage, who, by the way, wouldn’t be half so cheeky if you didn’t encourage him.”

“His hide’s tough enough, sir. You didn’t hurt him.”

“Never mind. I did not wish to inflict any brutalising punishment. All I wanted was to assert my authority; that done, I am satisfied.”

“Walk back with me, sir, will you? I want to have a talk with you,” said Harvey.

“Certainly, my boy.”

Side by side they retraced their steps towards Tompano.

“You see, sir,” began Harvey “I’m what the sailors call flummoxed.”

“And what may that be?”

“Knocked out of time, upset, worried, bothered. I didn’t sleep a wink all last night.”

“Why is that?” demanded Mr. Mole.

“Because I am so anxious on Jack’s account. If I was with him, and could share his danger, I shouldn’t care half so much.”

“I too am deeply grieved at Harkaway’s disappearance, but I make bold to hope that no harm has befallen him,” replied Mr. Mole, gravely.

“He’s in Hunston’s power.”

“Well! So much the better!”

“So much the worse you mean, sir. He’d have ten times more chance, if he had to deal with the natives only,” answered Harvey.

“I know Hunston to be bad and vindictive. He has little or no feeling. See how he kicked me, Isaac Mole, the proprietor of a tea-garden in China.”

“And also proprietor of two wives in Limbi.”

“Don’t, Harvey. If you love me, don’t joke on that subject. It is a sore one,” said Mr. Mole with a groan.

“Very well, sir; I won’t,” replied Harvey. “Something ought to be done to help Jack at once.”

“Are we not going in force to rescue him.”

“We are; but by the time we get to Pisang we may only find his dead body.”

“Nonsense, Harvey; I cannot believe that Hunston would be such an abandoned wretch as to murder an old schoolfellow in cold blood.”

“Wouldn’t he? I know the beast better than you do,” said Harvey. “That is just why I am funking.”

“The Tuan Biza will be ready to sail in two days from this time.”

“Not now.”

“Why not now?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Because there is a lot of drink on board the wreck, and the Limbians are not above temptation. They’ll be on the spree till it’s all gone?”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m sure of it. Savages are awful beggars to lush, when they get the chance, and the chiefs will be as drunk as flies for a week. I can see that.”

“Perhaps you are right,” replied Mr. Mole, moodily.

“They respect us, and they like us,” continued Harvey; “the prompt way in which they put Nuratella out of the way is a proof that they want to conciliate us; but, after all, Jack is not one of them, and it does not much matter to them whether he lives or dies.”

“Your reasoning is cogent, very cogent. What then do you propose to do?”

“This. I am determined to strike a blow for Jack at once, even if I lose my own life in the attempt.”

“I commend your pluck, Harvey. Shall I accompany you? Harkaway is a dear fellow, and I will cast in my lot with you, even to the death, as you say,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, animated with sudden and unusual valour.

“No; that won’t do!” replied Harvey.

“You won’t have me?” said Mr. Mole, secretly rejoiced; “and why not? Am I not worthy to fight in a good cause?”

“I want you to stay here, sir!” answered Harvey. “You shall do your share of fighting when the time comes, but the Limbians want some one to keep them bang up to the mark.”

“Ah! I perceive.”

“They have been badly beaten once or twice lately by the Pisangs, and they don’t like attacking them without a white leader.”

“Quite so.”

“It may be a month,” Harvey continued, “before they would invade Pisang of their own accord.”

“Very possible.”

“You are accounted a great chief,” Harvey went on, “and have influence amongst them. They respect you, sir.”

“And do I not deserve it, Harvey? Have I not always borne myself bravely when there was any fighting to be done?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Certainly, sir. You’re a second Agamemnon. You can do it when you like; and I want you to stop here and organise the forces.”

“That is just within the scope of my administrative ability. You could not have given me a more congenial task.”

“See that they take proper supplies, keep their powder dry, and that every five-and-twenty men have their proper officers.”

“And you?”

“I shall leave Limbi, with Monday, in a couple of hours.”

“How?”

In our boat?” replied Harvey. “I can’t stop here. Pisang is only a few hours’ sail, and I may be of some use to dear old Jack.”

“The odds are against you.”

“Have they not always been against the man who has attempted a daring enterprise, sir?” asked Harvey.

“That is true. History abounds with instances of successful daring.”

“Pat me on the back, sir, and tell me to go in and win,” said Harvey.

“Of course I will. But here we are at your house. Let us have a glass—a parting glass, to drink success to your expedition!” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

“You are welcome to what you like, sir. As for me, I shall not touch a drop. I never drink when I have anything to do, and keep my head cool. A glass or two when you’re ashore and on the spree is another thing, ” answered Harvey.

“As you please, my boy. My blood is colder than yours, and wants warming. I’ll drink your share and my own too,” said Mr. Mole.

Harvey placed a bottle before him, and said—

“Polish it off, sir; there’s more where that came from. It’s a pure spirit.”

“So it is, Harvey, and there isn’t a headache in a gallon of pure spirit,” replied Mr. Mole, who soon made himself at home.

Harvey went away to look for Monday, and apprise him of the determination he had come to.

He knew that the faithful fellow would follow him to the end of the world if he asked him, and he was also sure that he could not propose any expedition to him which he would like so well as one to rescue Jack.

Monday loved Jack with all his heart.

It would have comforted Jack in his captivity, if he had known how wildly two true hearts were beating on his account.

CHAPTER LI

AT HUNSTON’S MERCY

FOR some time after he was knocked down, Jack did not recover his senses, and when he did, an acute pain at the back of the head informed him that he had received a severe blow.

Gradually the fresh sea air revived him, and the dizziness consequent on his hurt passed away.

The ripple of the waves against the sides of the boat, and the swarthy faces of the Pisangs, visible by the pale moonlight, sufficed to tell him that he was being carried into captivity.

He was furious at the thought of it.

Up to the present time he had been singularly successful in defeating Hunston’s designs.

To be in his power and at his mercy, was a reflection akin to madness.

However, Jack liked danger.

At school he always said that the fun of being in a scrape was the getting out of it.

“As long as they don’t knock me on the head entirely, I don’t care,” he said to himself.

Thinking that when the landing was effected, he would be taken to some prison, he determined to give them as much trouble as possible.

If he pretended to be worse than he really was, and did not appear able to walk, they would have to carry him.

It was as he expected.

When they reached the coast of Pisang, he was lifted out of the boat, and placed upon a couple of planks tied together with reeds, and carried by four men.

The town called Palembang was reached before daybreak, and Jack found himself deposited in a square-built bamboo house, thatched with palm leaves.

It was strongly built, and no doubt guarded outside.

As soon as he was left to himself, Jack took the bearings of his prison.

He tied his bandana handkerchief round his head to keep the air and the flies from his wound.

“I don’t feel much the worse,” he said. “Wonder what they’re going to do with me.”

He could see through chinks in the wall that daylight had appeared.

“We used to sing,” he remarked, “ ‘I shan’t go home till morning.’ It doesn’t look like going home at all. Suppose we have a look round.”

Getting into a corner, he climbed up the bamboos till he reached the roof of his prison, which was made of sticks, covered with palm leaves.

It did not take him more than five minutes to push a hole through these big enough to get his body through.

Then he climbed on to the roof, and, sitting down, took a survey of the city.

There were few people about, though numbers of houses stretched away in all directions.

At the door of the house, if the one-storied bamboo hut was worthy of the designation, paced two sentries, armed with spears, and bows and arrows.

“It’s no good trying to escape,” thought Jack. “Not just yet at least. I should be seen and there would be a hue and cry. Don’t see why I shouldn’t have a game though with one of those niggers.”

Some pieces of rock were laid over a weak part of the thatch, to prevent the wind blowing it away.

Taking up a little bit, he threw it at the head of a drowsy-Iooking Pisang.

“Morning, old fellow. It’s nice and airy up here,” he exclaimed.

The soldier rubbed his eyes with astonishment when he saw Jack.

“Go down again,” he said.

“I’m in no hurry, thank you,” replied Jack.

“You’re a prisoner, and it’s against the rules.”

“Is it? Blow me, I shouldn’t have thought it. What time do you breakfast in these parts?”

“You will have something when the other guard comes; but go down. You’ve no business up there,” said the soldier, who wondered at Jack’s speaking his language so well.

“Come and fetch me!”

“I’ll call the white Tuan Biza,” threatened the guard.

“Call him a thundering scoundrel, and you won’t be far out,” answered Jack.

Giving some orders in a low tone to his fellow-soldier, the Pisang went to a house at a little distance, and presently returned with Hunston.

The latter looked very sleepy and very cross; his face, however, was not now disfigured by a single tattoo mark.

The stain was not lasting.

It had faded away.

“Come down off there!” exclaimed Hunston savagely.

“Shan’t!” Jack replied coolly.

“Won’t you, by George? Then I shall have to make you.”

“Try it on, old son; you’re welcome.”

“Give me that spear,” exclaimed Hunston to the soldier.

He took it and cast it at Jack, who bobbed on one side, and very cleverly caught it in his hand, as it was whizzing by over the thatch.

“That’s one to me,” he exclaimed. “Now, look here, if you try to knock me off my perch, I’ll give you one for yourself, Mister Hunston.”

The latter looked amazed at this cool effrontery.

“Don’t you know you’re a prisoner?” he replied.

“What of that? It may be your turn soon. By the way, I’m glad to see that ugly mug of yours has improved a little since we last had the pleasure of meeting.”

Hunston stifled a curse.

“You shall have an ornamental phiz before I’ve done with you, and one you’ll never get rid of,” he said.

“How’s that?” asked Jack, unconcernedly.

“Because you’ll carry it down to the grave with you in a brace of shakes.”

“Thank you; much obliged, I’m sure,” replied Jack. “How’s your mother?”

“Come down off there,” thundered Hunston.

“Not if I know it. I shall stay here until breakfast’s ready, and then I’ll descend. Pray give me something nice; I’m rather hungry.”

Hunston foamed at the mouth with rage.

“Fine city this!” cried Jack, surveying the town with a critical air. “But not a patch on Tompano. Pity we shall have to burn it about your ears.”

“We?” repeated Hunston. “I don’t think you’ll have much to do with it.”

“Don’t you? Well, it’s only a difference of opinion, and yours isn’t worth much. I say, how’s the Tuan Biza?”

“He’s right enough. Come down!”

“Not by any manner of means. Can’t afford it. Can’t be done at the price. Lovely prospect. How’s Keyali?”

“You know deuced well he’s wiped out. We found his body stuck through and through with knives.”

“His own fault. He was a plucky fellow, but, like you, a little too headstrong,” said Jack.

“Will you come down?” shouted Hunston, who was beside himself with rage.

“Not much; unless you behave like a gentleman, and take my parol.”

“What’s that?”

“There,” said Jack, in a tone of mock compassion, “you see the necessity for learning when one’s young. I always thought your education was neglected. You should have made better use of your time. Didicisse artes—I forget the rest, but I will ask Mole for your edification: I’ll make a note of it.”

He took out his pocket-book, and coolly wrote, reading as he put it down—

“Mem. Ask Mole as to quotation—something—artes—to coach up Hunston.”

“However,” he continued, putting away his book, “I’ll explain parol. It means that I will give you my word of honour not to hook it if you will let me walk about the city.”

“You haven’t got such a thing as honour.”

“Don’t judge others by yourself, old boy. Never mind; it don’t much matter, I’m very jolly where I am. Best part of the day, morning. Nice cool air—breeze—not much sun.”

Jack played with the captured spear.

“Fool!” hissed Hunston, through his teeth. “Don’t you know you’re at my mercy.”

“No, I wasn’t aware of the fact,” replied Jack, innocently.

Hunston gave the guard some additional orders, and stalked away to his house, unable to contain himself any longer.

CHAPTER LII

TRUE TO HIS COLOURS

HAVING succeeded in annoying Hunston, which was all he wanted to do, Jack crept through the hole and sat down on the floor of his prison.

Presently the guard was changed, and something to eat and drink was brought him.

“Only a loaf of bread and some water!” he muttered. “Well, that’s better than nothing; and there is one comfort in it—they don’t mean to eat me, or they’d fatten me up a bit first.”

A few hours glided by, and he began to feel very miserable.

Suddenly the door opened, and Emily came in.

“This is a gleam of sunshine,” he exclaimed. “Emily, you are as welcome as the flowers in May.”

“Oh, Jack,” she replied tearfully, “can you ever forgive me for getting you into this trouble?”

“It was my fault. I ought to have been more wideawake. Why, I haven’t thought about it since last night.”

“But they will kill you!” she answered.

“Will they? When?”

“Tomorrow morning. It’s all settled. A council has been held.”

“How are they going to do it?” asked Jack, feeling curious as to the mode to be adopted in putting him out of the world.

“You are to be hanged at daybreak. I can hardly find courage to utter the dreadful words,” said Emily with a shudder.

Jack put his head on one side, and let his tongue hang out of his mouth, as a pantomimic way of describing the tragedy.

“Oh, don’t joke, Jack dear,” she replied. “It’s too horrible; and to think it is all my fault!”

“All through my love for you, eh, Emmy? Never mind, darling; they won’t find me show the white feather,” Jack exclaimed firmly.

“I don’t think there is much chance,” she said.

“Is there any?” he inquired, regarding her earnestly.

“Ye—es.”

“What is it?”

“Hunston says he will spare you, if I—I will marry him,” replied the girl, blushing.

“Hang his impudence, Emmy,” answered Jack, indignantly. “You marry a sweep like him. Don’t you do it. I won’t accept my life on those terms. I thought you cared for me.”

“So I do, dear Jack. I love you, very, very much indeed!”

She threw herself on his breast, and wept bitterly.

“I have no one to think of but you now, since father died,” she went on.

“Is Mr. Scratchley dead?”

“Yes; he died yesterday, while I was taken to Limbi; all through Hunston’s violence. He struck him, and he never got over it.”

“Did he? That’s another chalk to Hunston,” said Jack savagely.

“I didn’t expect to meet you in these islands, and when l heard you were also wrecked, I thought what a pleasant meeting we should have, but how bitterly I have been deceived.”

“I knew you were here, Emmy,” said Jack.

“How did you find it out?” she asked, checking her tears and looking up.

He told her about the message from the sea.

“How wonderfully things happen,” she exclaimed. “Poor papa got very needy after you left us, and he resolved to emigrate. Fancy our meeting here so many miles away from home!”

“I came over to Limbi principally to rescue you,” continued Jack, “for I heard that a white girl was saved from the wreck and a prisoner among the Pisangs. After reading the message, you know, I guessed it was you.”

“How can I thank you? But look here, Jack dear. I have brought you a sharp Malay knife, which I stole from the Tuan Biza’s house, where I live.”

“Thank you. What shall I do with it—cut my throat and disappoint the Pisangs?” he said, concealing the weapon in his waistcoat.

She smiled sadly, for she knew he was not in earnest.

“You are still the same old Jack,” she replied, “fearless in the midst of danger, and ready at all times to laugh at death.”

“Why shouldn’t I? Being miserable won’t mend matters! Shall I sit down and cry? But tell me, how did you get leave to come and visit me?”

“I begged permission from Hunston, and he wouldn’t give it me until—until——”

“Well?”

“I let him have a kiss. I didn’t mean to, Jack. It was only a little one after all; don’t be jealous!” she said bashfully.

Jack set his teeth together.

“That’s another chalk to Hunston. I’ll have it out of him,” he exclaimed.

“It felt like the touch of a snake, Jack dear,” she went on.

“So I should think. The brute, to think that he had a kiss, when I haven’t dared to ask for one. May I though, Emmy, may I ?”

“You know you may, Jack—a dozen if you like.”

And Jack did like.

He construed this into permission to help himself, and he covered her pretty face with kisses.

“There, Jack,” she said, pushing him away; “that will do. Don’t be stupid.”

“That’s a nice thing to say to a fellow, who’s got to dance upon nothing tomorrow morning,” he rejoined.

“Oh! there’s another thing, Jack,” exclaimed Emily, “I forgot to tell you. Hunston is coming here to examine you presently.”

“Is he ? What about?”

“The plan of the Limbian attack, which they expect soon. The number of men and firearms; and if you tell them, they will promise you your life, though they don’t intend to keep their word any the more for that.”

“I shouldn’t suppose they would. They’re all thieves and liars. Don’t they wish they may get it. I shan’t split on my party, so they wouldn’t have got a word out of me, even if you hadn’t told me.”

“Spoken like yourself, Jack. Be true to your colour. I shouldn’t like you if you weren’t,” replied Emily.

“I’ve got one comfort,” continued Jack, “and that is, you will be all safe.”

“How?”

“We’re sure to lick them, at least Harvey is; he will fight like a Turk for me, and you will be rescued.”

“Harvey, who was at school with you at Crawcour’s? Is he at Limbi?”

“Rather. Alive and kicking too, and as good a friend, and as fine a fellow as ever lived,” replied Jack.

“But without you—oh! Jack—without you, how could I—how can I live?” sobbed Emily, her fears overcoming her again.

“Don’t worry, Emmy dear!” he replied, kissing away her tears. “The beggars haven’t done it yet; they’ve got to do the trick.”

“Can you help yourself?”

“I think so. There is plenty of time between this and tomorrow morning.”

“To do what?”

“To cut my stick. If I’m not mistaken, they’ll find the cage door open and the bird gone,” he said.

“Have you got any plan?” she asked.

“Not yet. I’ve got to think it over; ideas generally come when I want them. I’m not going to stop here, to be strung up like a dog, that’s flat.”

“You put new life into me, Jack,” replied Emily joyfully. “Oh! if you only could escape.”

“Wouldn’t it be a lark,” Jack went on. “Hunston would have a fit, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep, night or day, for thinking of the reckoning he’d have to pay me.”

A head was put in at the door.

“Time’s up,” cried the voice of Hunston.

“Good-bye, Emily,” exclaimed Jack, pressing her hand, and giving her a wink which was intended to reassure her, and make her believe that he was quite prepared for anything that might happen.

She returned his farewell, and stepped, with as much bravery as she could summon to her aid, into the open air.

The door closed again.

But Jack was not alone.

Hunston stood leaning against a post, with his arms folded, and regarding Jack with an air of gratified malignity.

CHAPTER LIII

KEPT IN SUSPENSE

“I SUPPOSE you have come to crow over me,” exclaimed Jack, annoyed at his visitor’s sullen silence. “Go on; I can stand it.”

“It won’t be for long,” replied Hunston. “We are going to settle old scores, Harkaway.”

“If you’d any generosity, you’d forget and forgive,” answered Jack.

“It is not my nature to do either one or the other. You’ve made me suffer and you shall die tomorrow morning. I’d hang you to-day in sight of all the people, only I want you to think over what I’m going to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“You love Emily. Don’t deny it I remember at school that she was your playfellow, and you grew up together.”

“I don’t mean to deny it,” replied Jack.

“It wouldn’t help you if you did, for I shouldn’t believe you. Well, chance has thrown you both into my power. You shall die, and when you’re dead, I will make Emily my wife.”

Jack made no reply.

“Do you hear me? My wife!” continued Hunston. “Think of that!”

The shaft went home.

In the imperfect light which reigned in the bamboo-house, Hunston could see his former companion writhe and bite his lips till he quivered with the pain.

“She shall see your body blackening in the sun, and the birds of prey picking your flesh from the bones.”

“You’re a cowardly bully, to come and exult over me like this,” replied Jack, forgetting his assumed indifference.

“It’s a part of my revenge. I knew it would come some day. I’ve worked and waited for it.”

“I was a fool,” said Jack, “not to have shot you when I had the chance.”

“Perhaps you were. However, you’ve lost the opportunity, and you’re not likely to have another,” replied Hunston.

“You might think of one thing,” replied Jack, “and that is, I saved you from the Pisangs when you were bound to the stake.”

Hunston smiled sardonically.

“You wouldn’t have done it if you could have foreseen this day,” he said.

“Yes, I would,” answered Jack. “I would, upon my word. I could not see a former friend in distress, and not help him. But it’s no use talking to you. One might as well speak to a stone of mercy.”

“I don’t know the word. Still I might be induced to spare your life,” remarked Hunston, carelessly.

“On what terms?”

“Tell me the plan of the Limbian attack, for our spies have informed us that you mean to invade Pisang in force.”

“You got that from Nuratella.”

“Never mind where the intelligence came from. We can rely upon it.”

Jack thought of what Emily had told him.

“Nothing would induce me to betray my friends and allies,” he exclaimed.

“Nothing? Think a moment. Life is sweet.”

“Not on such terms,” answered Jack, resisting the voice of the tempter.

“Die, then! Die like a dog, as you deserve!” said Hunston, in a rage; “and think over all I have said to you.”

“Get out!” cried Jack, “or, prisoner as I am, I’ll punch your head.”

Hunston stepped back.

“Touch me!” he exclaimed. “If you dare lay so much as your little finger on me, I will have you seized, and your flesh torn off with jagged stones made red-hot.”

“Coward!” was all Jack ventured to reply.

“I go,” continued Hunston, “but you will see me at your side tomorrow morning when you are executed, and I hope my presence will add one more drop to your cup of misery.”

“Thank you,” replied Jack; “I am not afraid to die, and the prospect isn’t half so bad as being obliged to be shut up here with such a beast as you.”

Saying “tomorrow,” Hunston left him alone, and Jack brightened up a bit.

“I can breathe now that serpent is gone,” Jack said to himself. “What a relief. He’s worse than a snake to me.”

The day passed and they brought him neither provisions or water.

His fate being decided upon, they did not seem to take any further notice of him, knowing that he was well guarded.

“I’ll take a squint round, and see what’s going on,” thought Jack.

He climbed up the wall, as he had done before, and got on the roof.

In an open space before Hunston’s house some men were busily at work with poles.

They were making a huge gallows.

“That’s for me,” said Jack.

And then he thought what a triumph it would be if he could only get away, join his friends, capture Palembang, and hang Hunston on his own gallows.

Presently he saw the Tuan Biza going by.

“Hi!” he cried. “Tuan Biza, hi!”

The chief looked up in astonishment.

“It’s all right,” cried Jack. “Hunston said I might take the air; but I’m very thirsty. Chuck us up a cocoanut or something.”

Apparently satisfied that Hunston had given him permission to get on the roof, and there was nothing wrong, the Tuan Biza gave orders that he should be supplied with what he wanted.

“They will bring you something presently,” he said.

“And some grub. What do you call it in your lingo? ‘Prindu;’ that’s it. Send me a small parrot, or a bit of pork, cold. I see you’ve got some likely pigs running about loose,” continued Jack.

The Tuan Biza nodded, and passed on.

When Jack saw some Pisangs coming with refreshments, he descended again, and began to attack the viands with a good appetite.

“That’s something like,” he muttered. “I wanted food. It will set me up for the work I’ve got to do tonight.”

His face assumed a determined expression.

Throwing himself on the ground in a corner, he closed his eyes.

But he did not sleep.

His brain was at work, and he was thinking how he could outwit his enemies.

The gallows he had seen had an ugly look, and the thought of it quickened his perceptions wonderfully.

CHAPTER LIV

THE VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY

HARVEY had not long to wait for his trusty followers.

He came toiling along, with about a dozen other Limbians, heavily laden with the spoil of the wreck.

They brought the packages and cases into the house, and laid them down.

“Excellent,” said Mr. Mole, rubbing his hands. “You are a capital caterer, Harvey. Truly my heart rejoices within me at the sight of all these good things.”

“Help yourself, sir! You can unpack them when we are gone,” replied Harvey.

“I will not fail to do so.”

“There is one thing I should like you to do, sir.”

“You have but to name it, my young friend.”

“There are several bodies of Englishmen, some washed ashore and others on the wreck.”

“Yes!”

“Have them brought on shore, and see them decently buried, will you?”

“Certainly, Harvey; a most proper request. I will see the last obsequies paid to my unfortunate countrymen. Their bodies shall be brought up tonight and interred tomorrow,” replied Mr. Mole.

“Now, Monday, look alive!” continued Harvey.

“What um Monday do now, sare?” asked the black.

“First of all, take off those togs.”

“Take off um beautiful dress? No, sare, not if him die for it!” replied Monday in alarm.

“But you must! You can keep them for Sunday; that hat will make a splendid Sunday-going beaver. You and I start soon.”

“Start for where, Mast’ Harvey?”

“To go after Jack. He is in the hands of the Pisangs, and we must see what we can do for him. If you wear those things, you won’t have freedom of action on the warpath!”

“Go after Mast’ Jack?” cried Monday, delightedly. “That ’nother thing, sare; Monday undress, and get um ready.”

“I knew you would. I’d have sworn you’d go like a bird, after Jack.”

“Like one, two, three, bird, sare. Go anywhere, and do anything for you and Master Jack?” said the savage, who, under his dusky skin, had as good a heart as ever beat beneath a white one.

“Get the boat ready at once; put in any dried stuff you can lay your claws on, and bread, with some fresh water, enough, say, to last us a fortnight.”

“All right, sare,” replied Monday, running off.

Mr. Mole was overhauling what he called the “salvage.”

“Glorious salvage, Harvey,” he said, opening a case of Hollands. “The Dutchmen know what is good; this is vertible schnaps. I feel I want taking up a peg or two. We must sample this, Harvey.”

“Peg away, sir. It’s all your own,” replied Dick.

“Very good; I will proceed to do so. Splendid fellows those Dutchmen! They manage to put a true taste of smoke into their whisky, which is what I like. I will drink to the independence of Holland.”

Mr. Mole did so, and found the liquor so good that he repeated the experiment.

Harvey busied himself in making up a few packages, and was favoured with Mr. Mole’s critical approval.

“Be careful,” he said, “to take plenty of powder and shot. The only argument these savages understand, is, as we used to say at school, the argumentum ad hominem. An ounce of lead is a powerful persuader!”

“I know all that,” replied Harvey. “Don’t bustle me, sir.”

“Reject my advice, if you like. I know I am right, and I have your welfare at heart.”

“Coach up those Limbians then, sir, and come over to Pisang as soon as you can; we shall have hot work, and Jack will want friends.”

“Which he shall find.”

“I am going to tell the chiefs of my departure, sir, and shall be off in a twinkling. Good-bye!” said Harvey.

“Good-bye, and God bless you, my brave boy! I will take care of your belongings here,” replied Mr. Mole.

They shook hands, and Harvey hurried off.

He had determined to try and save Jack at all hazards.

The Limbians were sorry to lose his leadership, but they promised to obey Mr. Mole, whom they regarded as a great chief.

And they also undertook to start on the expedition as soon as possible.

They had made great progress in their drill, and had proved themselves expert shots.

Joining Monday, Harvey hurried down to the house to get his packages.

“I will see you off!” cried Mr. Mole. “I do not mind walking with you now Monday has taken off his grotesque dress, but if he were disguised as he was a short time back, I should have thought I was walking in the Zoo with the chimpanzee or the ourang-outang’s brother.”

Harvey began to hum. “The O. K. thing at Limbi is walking in the Zoo!”

“Ah!” said Mr. Mole with a sigh. “What a thing youth is. I wish I had your spirits, Harvey?”

The latter pointed to an empty bottle, and replied—

“I think you have had your share, sir!”

“I mean animal spirits, Harvey. You have mistaken my remark.”

Mr. Mole rose as he spoke, and staggered a little on one side.

“Dear me,” he said, “this is odd; I appear to have lost my centre of gravity!”

“Groggy on your pins, eh, sir!” replied Harvey, laughing.

“Rather so, my juvenile but still intelligent friend. There is an inclination in my right leg to go sideways. This is more than odd—it is passing strange.”

“Mind the wall, sir,” exclaimed Harvey, as the late senior master of Pomona House came into violent collision with the bamboos.

“Your warning came too late, Harvey; I have collided, that is to say, struck, and the effect is painful.”

“Which was the hardest, sir; your cocoanut or the wall?”

“Much of a muchness, Harvey,” replied Mr. Mole, sitting down on the floor. “I do not think I will go with you, yet I hope you will manage to effect a start without my valuable assistance. I have over-fatigued myself today, and exhausted nature must have rest. Fare thee well!”

His head fell back, and he was soon snoring “thirteen to the dozen,” as Harvey said.

Harvey and Monday, laden with packages, now made their way to the coast.

It was growing late, and darkness would soon fall.

They got into the boat, and, hoisting the sail, began to leave Limbi behind them.

“Do you think you can manage to steer all serene at night?” asked Harvey.

“Monday know him way, sare,” replied the black.

“All right. I leave it to you; but don’t run us into any danger.”

Night fell, and Monday, looking at the stars, kept the boat’s head well before the wind.

They were both armed with revolvers and knives, while rifles lay at the bottom of the boat, ready for use at a moment’s notice.

It was clear that if they encountered twenty Pisangs they would not be taken at a disadvantage.

Their firearms would give them a superiority, provided they were not struck by spears or arrows.

In the use of the latter weapons all the natives of those islands were very expert.

The night passed quickly, as it does in those latitudes, and Harvey snatched a few hours’ sleep.

He dreamt that he saw Jack hanging on a high gibbet, with his enemies singing war-songs around him.

Waking in a fright, he found himself bathed in a cold sweat.

On the verge of the horizon was a dark speck.

“That’s land, Monday!” he exclaimed.

There was no answer.

Monday, worn out, had fallen asleep, and the boat had drifted at the mercy of the wind and waves.

It was lucky that the breeze was not a strong one, or they would have capsized.

They were travelling at a rapid pace towards the land, and it was evident they had been caught in a current, which set in strongly to the shore.

Shaking the black, Harvey succeeded in rousing him.

“Where the dickens are we?” said Harvey.

“Monday go to sleep. That bad. Mast’ Harvey him kick Monday, who much ’shamed,” said the black, looking crestfallen.

“Never mind; I suppose you couldn’t help it. I shan’t bully you, though you deserve a blowing up. Do you know what island that is ahead of us?”

Monday shook his head.

He was out of his reckoning.

“This delay is vexatious,” continued Harvey. “Every moment is precious. Jack’s life may hang by a thread, as they say. Why the deuce couldn’t you keep your swivel eye open?”

“Monday big stupid donkey; he worse than um child.”

“I suppose we’d better run in and see. If it isn’t Pisang, we must start again.”

“Look!” cried Monday, as they neared a dangerous reef of coral.

“At what?”

“That post, sare. That one flagstaff. This our island; what we call Ship Island, you know. We live there once; that where you save Monday from him enemies.”

Harvey looked again, shading his face with his hand.

“You’re right,” he replied. “That’s Mr. Mole’s signal station. It is our island. Shall we land?”

“If got time, sare.”

“It won’t make above an hour or two’s difference, and we can take our bearings.”

“See um old castle, Mast’ Harvey; that much jolly!” cried Monday, in delight.

“Yes, I should like to have a look at the old place.”

“Monday him like it too. We very happy in um old castle, Mast’ Harvey.”

“We hadn’t much to grumble at, if Hunston and his savages had let us alone. Do you think you could start afresh, now you know where you are?”

“Start from here, sare? Easy.”

“And make Pisang?”

“Pisang over there; many, much miles away;” replied Monday, pointing to the north-west, after taking his bearings.

“All right, steer steadily. Run her through the reef, and we’ll have a squint round,” exclaimed Harvey.

They had christened the boat “The Jack Harkaway,” and riding the waters like a thing of life, she bounded joyously along, as if glad to revisit the old spot that gave her birth.

CHAPTER LV

REVISITING THE CASTLE

There was little difficulty in passing the reef during daylight, and it was with mingled emotions that Harvey stepped on that shore where he and Jack had landed, the latter taking possession of the island in the name of Queen Victoria.

Walking first to the signal station, he saw that the wind had torn the flag to rags, which fluttered feebly if not sadly in the breeze.

He then proceeded to the castle.

Nothing was to be seen but its blackened remains, for the fire kindled by the Pisangs had done its work effectually.

Some of the trees were throwing out tender shoots again, but the trunks were bare and black.

Everything of utility or value had been carried off.

It was a scene of wreck and desolation.

The birds had played havoc with the corn, and other creatures had routed amongst the potatoes, until the farm was like a wilderness choked up with weeds.

The skeletons of the Pisangs who were killed by the explosion, lay on the ground whitening in the sun.

“Who, would think,” said Harvey, “that this was once a flourishing little settlement?”

“Him look wild enough now, sare,” returned Monday.

Harvey strolled on a little further.

Before him was Maple’s grave.

He remembered how tenderly they had laid the poor misguided boy in his last resting-place, and a tear fell from his eye.

The little mound was overrun with rank grass and weeds.

They had planted flowers upon it, which were choked by the luxuriant growth of the tropics.

The rough wooden cross, which Jack had in the piety of his heart erected, had fallen on one side.

Stooping down, Harvey took out his knife and cut away the grass and weeds, trimming it round neatly.

Then he replaced the cross, and firmly secured it.

“If ever I see his mother,” he thought, “she will ask me about her boy.”

He did all he could to pay respect to his memory, though that was little enough.

He was engaged in a perilous and desperate enterprise, and he did not know how soon he might be in a similar position.

Stricken down in his youth, and laid low in the cold unsympathising ground, with no kind hands to deck his grave and shed a tear to his memory.

It is in times of danger, and in the hour of solitude, that the thought of death affects us most.

Who shall say, that death does not lose half its terrors when we know that weeping friends are round us, and that sincere mourners will bear our body reverently to the grave?

Sinking on his knees, Harvey prayed shortly but fervently.

He prayed that the poor dead boy’s sins might not be remembered against him.

He supplicated that he might be forgiven for his bad faith, and his desire to injure those who had endeavoured to be kind to him.

When he rose to his feet and returned to the ruins of the castle, his face was wet with tears that he could not suppress.

Monday had been watching him, and he said. “Why you cry, Mast’ Harvey?”

Harvey made him no reply.

“Why you let fall tear, sare? Why you kneel down there, and put your face in your hand?” continued Monday.

“You don’t understand our religion, Monday,” replied Harvey. “That is a grave!”

“Some one dead lie there, sare?”

“Yes, a friend of mine; not much younger than I am.”

“How him come to die, sare?”

“Perhaps I killed him. I know not. It was either Jack or myself, but we were fighting in self-defence. It is a sad story, Monday,” said Harvey. “We won’t dwell upon it. Let us get back to the boat, and go on with the work we have in hand.”

Monday held his head down, as if he wished to sympathise with his master’s grief, and they slowly retraced their steps to the seaside.

Suddenly they heard a sound like the growling of a mastiff.

Though Harvey had been some months in the Archipelago, he did not understand noises made by animals half so well as Monday, who had been bred and born amongst them.

He was about to advance, when Monday laid his hand upon his arm.

“What the blazes is the row now?” asked Harvey, annoyed at the interruption.

Monday pointed to a clump of trees at one side of them.

“Tiger!” he answered, with an evidence of terror he could not conceal.

“Oh, Jerusalem!” replied Harvey. “I fancy I could wop my weight in wild-cats, but tigers are pussies of another colour.”

They both drew back.

The growling increased in intensity.

Placing his mouth near the ground, the monster’s noise reverberated around, until the dreadful roar could he heard for miles.

When the king of the forest is in a passion, every living thing within hearing is stricken with terror, even the birds ceased singing.

No other sound broke the stillness of the air.

Presently the beast emerged from her cover, and Monday declared she could smell human flesh.

She was a magnificent tigress, about four years old, and Harvey could not help admiring, her beautifully-marked skin, as she walked up and down under a tree, lashing her striped sides with her long tail, which she sometimes threw right over her back.

“I have seem them do that in the Zoo,” said Harvey, in a whisper, as if speaking to himself. “That’s just how they go on before feeding-time. She’s getting excited. Softly, my pretty dear; I’m coming.”

All at once she stooped the fore part of her body, put her ears back, and opened her huge cavernous mouth.

“Stand close, Monday,” cried Harvey.

He levelled his rifle for he thought she was going to spring.

Monday trembled too much to allow his fire to be of any use.

With his quick eye Harvey saw this, and continued—

“Don’t shoot. Hold your gun ready for me, if I don’t stop her.”

Monday could only nod his head, and Harvey heard his teeth chatter.

He had no time to say more.

Away she flew, making a splendid bound of many feet, eyes flashing, jaws open, paws outstretched.

Harvey took steady aim, and let her have his one barrel full in the chest.

Monday now recovered his presence of mind, and violently pulled his young master on one side.

It was lucky he did so, for the shot did not stop her.

Had he remained where he was, she would have alighted straight upon him, so well had she calculated the distance and her own power of springing.

Seizing Monday’s gun, which, unlike the rifle, had two barrels, and was a breech-loader, Harvey fired twice quickly, not daring to take regular aim, and make a “pot-shot” of it from the shoulder.

He had dropped his own piece, and the infuriated creature fell upon it with a plunge, growling over it like a cat with a mouse.

She laid hold of it with her massive teeth, and twisting it as if it had been a straw, broke it in half.

Then she jumped up, staggered a few feet towards Harvey, and fell down dead.

He waited a minute or so, to see if she was really done for, and feeling satisfied that she was past further mischief, walked up to her and fired a revolver into her head.

“That will make sure,” he said.

Monday also came up, and began to make faces at the dead tiger, just as if she could understand him.

He danced before her, spit at her, kicked her in the side, and pulled her ears in childish spite.

“What’s the caper now?” asked Harvey. “The beast’s dead.”

“Tigers, sare, kill many Limbi people,” replied Monday. “That’s why me frighten. Now I tell her what I think of her.”

And he began to abuse her and all her family, especially her father and mother, and her children or her cubs if she had any.

“You’re a neat thing, in niggers, to go on like that,” exclaimed Harvey, laughing.

“We believe,” replied Monday, “that the tiger spirit listen to us. Ah!” he continued, “you old wretch, how many Limbis you eaten—how many Pisang? Your father is a coward, he fly away from a monkey; your mother never fight fair, and your family not worth one pig.”

“Shut up,” said Harvey. “You can’t be such an ass as to think that the tiger can hear you. I thought you had thrown off your old superstitions. Try and be more sensible.”

Monday did not speak anymore, but he shook his head as if he had his own opinion about things in general, and that in particular.

“I should like that skin,” continued Harvey. “Set to work and skin the beggar, and look slippery over it.”

Monday produced his knife, and soon had the creature’s handsome skin off.

He rubbed it with sand to clean it, and Harvey hung it over the side of the boat to dry in the sun.

“If ever we get back safe to Limbi, I’ll keep that as a trophy. Spolia opina, as Mole would say,” remarked Harvey.

Having embarked, they set sail, and by dint of tacking against the wind made fair progress.

Monday declared that he knew his way and that they would reach Pisang before night.

“If you go to sleep again, I’ll pound you,” said Harvey.

“No sleep any more, till land in Pisang, Mast’ Harvey,” replied Monday.

“Mind you don’t, that’s all!”

Harvey was dreadfully nervous about Jack.

He feared he was in great peril, for he knew Hunston’s character, and his influence over the Pisangs.

Jack was an enemy to be got rid of for various reasons.

Nuratella had told the Pisangs that an invasion was thought of, and that Jack was the heart and soul of the Limbians.

Therefore, to kill him and get him out of the way was half the battle.

“Only let me have a slap at them, and I’ll give them what for,” said Harvey between his teeth.

The adventure he had embarked in, however, was more hazardous than even he imagined.

It is one of the advantages of being young—or, shall we say, one of the disadvantages—that we do not stop to consider consequences.

Young people usually act upon impulse, and impulsive actions are very often successful.

Monday was right as to the duration of the voyage.

It was not longer than seven hours, and they reached an island, which he declared to be Pisang, before night fell.

Running the boat ashore, Harvey jumped out, and said—

“What’s to be done now?”

Monday did not know.

“I leave all to Mast’ Harvey,” he said. “Where him go, Monday follow.”

“There is such a thing as going into the lion’s den, and I don’t mean to do that,” answered Harvey.

“They have one big town like us,” continued Monday; “it call Palembang. Once we have small towns.”

“Villages?”

“Yes; but when war come all villages burn, now we all live together. Our town call Tompano, their town Palembang.”

“Then there is not much chance of finding any one in the wilds. Shall we camp in the open, and keep watch, or sleep in the boat?” said Harvey.

Monday could not offer an opinion.

He was not at any time very brilliant, and was rather formed for obeying than leading.

He had come to rescue Harkaway, and would fight for him, but how to set about rescuing him he knew no more than a baby.

“I think,” said Harvey, after some reflection, “that we had best camp in the woods, and work our way up to Palembang in the morning. You speak the same language’s they do, you are all a species of Malay. Can’t you get into the town, and find out what’s going on?”

“Yes, sare; Monday do that, though they cut um throat if they catch him.”

“But you musn’t allow yourself to be caught; we can’t spare you, Monday.”

“When um go? Now?” asked the worthy fellow.

“On consideration, no,” replied Harvey. “We’ll wait for morning, which will come in a few hours, and then we will work our way into the interior.”

Hiding the boat as well as they could, they took a good supply of arms and ammunition, and made a camp in the woods, formed of the boughs of trees which they tore down.

“You slept last night; it is my turn now. Though, in fact, we were both in fault,” exclaimed Harvey.

“Monday take first watch, sare.”

“All right. Keep your weather-eye open, and kick me at the slightest sound.”

Harvey was soon asleep.

Monday stood with his gun tightly clasped, listening for the least noise with an eagerness that the danger of their position rendered necessary.

He was sorry for his fault the night before, and wished to make amends.

They were in the enemies’ country, and the least cessation in vigilance might cost them their lives.

“Monday near eaten once,” he said to himself; “no catch and try eat him second time.”

They were about two miles inland, and, though they did not know it, they were not more than half a dozen miles from Palembang.

During the day the preparations for hanging Jack were finished.

On the morrow he was to die.

CHAPTER LVI

THE ESCAPE

WE must leave Harvey and his faithful follower in their rude camp, while we return to Harkaway.

The position in which we saw him last was not a pleasant one.

But he had kept up his spirits.

From a short distance the sounds of revelry reached him, and he concluded that the Pisangs were making merry at his approaching death.

Rude songs were being sung, and the sound of musical instruments could be distinguished at intervals.

“They are making a night of it. I should like to have a look at them,” he thought. “There is time yet.”

Climbing up to the roof, as he had done before, he saw his guard standing in front of his prison door.

Lamps trimmed with palm-oil, illuminated a large, barn-like building near Hunston’s house.

It was from this erection that the noise proceeded.

Jack rightly supposed this to be the council-chamber, for it was very similar to the one in Limbi, where the chiefs assembled for the discussion of public business.

One of his guards he recognized as Buru, who had accompanied the Tuan Biza on his first expedition to the island.

The other he had heard addressed as Padang.

Throwing his voice in the direction of the council-chamber, he imitated Hunston, and said—

“Buru, it is our wish that you bring the white prisoner before us.”

Buru was not at all astonished at this command, and at once proceeded to put it in execution.

Opening the door of the prison, he exclaimed—

“Come with me. You must appear before the council.”

“All right,” answered Jack. “What is going on?”

“All the chiefs in Pisang sing the song of triumph, because the white man is in their power.”

“And a jolly noise they make. Will they give me anything to drink?” asked Jack.

“They have the palm spirit of Pisang, but water is the fare of the condemned,” answered Buru.

The guards put themselves on the side of Jack, and conducted him to the council.

He passed through an open door, and found himself in the presence of about fifty chiefs, who were sitting on mats, placed round the side of the hall.

Hunston was at one end, and the Tuan Biza at the other.

Both of them occupied a seat slightly raised above the others, as a token of high rank and precedence.

“How is this? ” asked the Tuan Biza.

Hunston was about to ask the same question, when Jack made him say—

“I sent for him, O chief, to make sport of him.”

An old chief rose and said—

“It is cowardly to insult the fallen.”

“If it is the pleasure of our white friend, why do you, O Wahar, fly in his face?” inquired the Tuan Biza.

The old chief was about to protest that he had not intended to offend, when Jack imitating his voice, said—

“The white chief is not worthy to be one of us. Let us hang him tomorrow instead of the prisoner.”

An indescribable confusion arose at this suggestion, and another chief rose.

But before he could open his mouth Jack made him exclaim—

“The proposal is good. Let us hang him, and dance over his grave.”

The uproar increased.

Making Hunston speak, Jack said—

“The Tuan Biza and his chiefs are old women. What care I for them? I will fight them all single-handed, and give their bodies to the birds, and their wives shall lament them in vain.”

“What?” cried the Tuan Biza. “Do you attack me, O Hunstani?” for so they had altered his name. “You dare not come to me, and say that I am a woman!”

“Daren’t I?” Jack caused Hunston to answer. “You are worse than the timid deer, and your soul is as a reed.”

“I have slain my foes in battle,” replied the Tuan Biza. “You speak bitterly, O Hunstani, but I have the power to make you eat your words!”

“I laugh at your beard,” said Jack, still making Hunston speak. “You shall die, and your grave shall be defiled!”

“This is too much! Give me my spear!” shouted the Tuan Biza.

Changing his tone, Jack threw his voice close to Buru, and made him say—

“The white chief will eat you, O Tuan Biza, for he says truly that your soul is as a reed.”

“Oh!” replied the Tuan Biza, “you are against me also? Take that!”

He had seized his spear by this time, and dealt Buru a heavy blow over the head with it.

Now Buru was also a great chief in his own estimation, and he did not like this sort of treatment.

So he retaliated and gave the Tuan Biza a blow with a sort of mallet he carried, and hit him under the ear.

This caused him to roll over and over, uttering dismal cries.

Some friends of the Tuan Biza resented this, and attacked Buru. He was supported by Padang, his companion, and they returned the blows with interest.

Jack jumped on a rude table, and surveyed the scene with satisfaction.

Several chiefs, thinking Hunston the cause of all the mischief, made a charge at him, against which he defended himself with difficulty.

Seeing he was getting roughly handled, Jack made his way to that end of the room, and pulled him into a corner.

The fight had now become general, and the Pisangs were engaged in a hard hand-to-hand fight amongst themselves.

The jealousy existing at all times among those distinguished warriors was easily excited, and they were only too glad of a quarrel.

During a disturbance of this sort they could pay off old scores.

They had been drinking their palm spirit, and were more or less excited by the songs they had been singing.

Hunston had been disarmed in the conflict, and looked sullenly at Jack, who held before his eyes the knife which Emily had supplied him with.

“You have got this up,” said Hunston, “but you can not escape.”

“That’s all you know about it,” replied Jack; “but don’t tremble; I’m not a coward. I might kill you in a stand-up fight, but I shall not harm you now.”

JACK HARKAWAY’S Adventures Afloat and Ashore

BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG (1841-1901)

Book 3 in M.A. Donohue & Co Reprint Series.

A SEQUEL TO

JACK HARKAWAY AFTER SCHOOLDAYS

CHICAGO

M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY

JACK HARKAWAY’S ADVENTURES

AFLOAT AND ASHORE.

CHAPTER I

“WHAT did you want to upset the council for? They don’t understand your ventriloquism,” continued Hunston.

“I was getting dull in that shed place where you shut me up—awfully slow in fact; and when I heard you fellows enjoying yourselves, and having a bit of a barney, I thought I’d join in, and sing you Rule Britannia, or something lively.”

“I shall never have the same influence over the Pisangs again. Look how they are fighting!”

“The Kilkenny cats are nothing to them,” Jack remarked.

“Say something and stop them; you can do it!” exclaimed Hunston.

“And get taken back to be hanged. Thank you, no!” replied Jack.

“I’ll promise you your life.”

“Will you?”

“Yes, I will, indeed.”

“What is your promise worth, do you think?” answered Jack, derisively. “You’d tell a bushel of lies for a dollar.”

“You must trust me for old acquaintance’ sake. Stop the row, and give them a specimen of your ventriloquial powers. It will put them in a good humour.”

“You’re very kind,” Jack said. “Perhaps they’d enjoy the entertainment very much, especially as the show wouldn’t cost them anything. But I’m sorry I can’t stop.”

“Can’t stop? What do you mean?” said Hunston, laying his hand on his arm.

“Paws off, Pompey!” cried Jack, angrily. “If you want a domino, just say which eye you would prefer to be temporarily darkened.”

“But I say you can’t go. You must stop. You’re a prisoner,” continued Hunston.

Jack’s knife flashed before his eyes, and he retreated further into the corner.

Taking up a lamp which stood near, Jack looked at it.

The wick, made of a bit of dry pitch, floated in the half of a cocoanut filled with oil.

“It will do,” he said.

“Do!” repeated Hunston. “Do for what?”

“You’ll see if you live long enough. Thought you were going to hang me, did you?” replied Jack, laughing.

He held the lamp to one side of the council chamber.

It was built entirely of bamboo, which, being as dry as tinder, was exceedingly inflammable.

“You’ll set the place on fire!” exclaimed Hunston, in alarm.

“Just what occurred to me, my pippin; and as the wind is rather high, I shouldn’t wonder if all Palembang was to go to blazes before morning,” Jack answered.

“Help! here, he’s——” began Hunston, when the point of Jack’s knife penetrated the clothes he wore and pricked his breast.

“Do you want to go to kingdom come?” said Jack.

“No,” muttered Hunston, sullenly.

“Then shut up. I don’t want to kill you now; but necessity has no law, and if you utter a sound I will kill you.”

The bamboo framework had by this time caught fire, and the flames began to spread with a loud crackling noise.

Those Pisangs who had been fighting were getting tired of the amusement.

The elder chiefs, who had been trying to pacify the combatants, were beginning to succeed in their efforts.

“Good-bye,” said Jack.

“You shan’t go ! I’ll——”

Jack looked for a moment as if he was going to use his knife.

But he put it in his belt, and, clenching his fists, let Hunston have what he called “one, two.”

Hunston fell back half-stunned before Jack’s sledgehammer fists.

His hat fell off, and Jack took it up and put it on. It was made of straw and it had a conical shape.

“Rummy sort of tile,” mused Jack, “but I suppose it is a badge of distinction, or something. I’ll sport it, and they may take me for him; not that I shall be flattered at the mistake, only it may help me to make tracks.”

The flames had made incredible progress in the few minutes that had elapsed since Jack set fire to the bamboo framework with the lamp.

“They’d better call out the engines and send for the fire escape,” Jack said to himself, indulging in that dry humour which he could not resist even in the hour of extreme danger.

The thick smoke and the crackling of the fire alarmed every one.

In an instant the din ceased, the uproar had subsided, and the men who had been struggling together in a sort of Irish row, looked blankly at one another.

Jack passed quickly amongst the crowd.

They raised a cry of “Fire! fire!” and ran hither and thither wildly.

A panic had seized them.

Suddenly Hunston, who had picked himself up, shouted, in a commanding voice, which trembled with rage—

“Guard the door! The prisoner has done this! Let him not escape!”

Cries of “Guard the door!” “The white prisoner!” “Death to the prisoner!” arose on all sides.

“It’s getting hot,” said Jack to himself. “I wasted precious time with that beast Hunston.”

The smoke grew thicker, and obscured the feeble light of the oil lamps, many of which had been extinguished in the scuffle.

This dimness was much in his favour.

It was at the door itself where the real peril lay.

There Buru and some others, including the Tuan Biza, whose faces presented the appearance of so many crushed tomatoes, had congregated.

“Now for it!” exclaimed Jack, as he was within a few paces of the door. “Never say die!”

CHAPTER II

ACROSS THE BRIDGE

IT had not been Jack’s hope or intention to escape when he determined to visit the council.

The idea was suggested by his natural daring and love of fun.

He thought it would create a sensation of some sort, and give him an opportunity; which it had done.

How he would be able to avail himself of that opportunity was another thing.

So far he had succeeded beyond his expectations.

He had got up ill blood between Hunston and his savage friends.

The Tuan Biza and the other chiefs had engaged in a dreadful riot, which had resulted in more than one broken head.

Hunston had been “chaffed and punched,” as Jack said, when he was reckoning up the damage afterwards.

And to crown all, the council-chamber was in flames, the chiefs in frantic terror, and only a few cool hands guarding the door in obedience to Hunston’s ill-timed summons.

Such was the situation of affairs.

Up to the present time Jack had decidedly the best of it.

One of Buru’s eyes was rapidly closing, and the other wasn’t of much use.

But he had heard Hunston’s voice, and with native cunning guessed that the prisoner had set the place on fire, hoping to escape in the inevitable hubbub that would ensue.

“If,” he argued, “Hunston is at one end of the council-chamber, he can’t be at the other.”

He did not believe that even a white chief, clever though he might be, could be in two places at one time.

So Jack’s conical hat did not impose upon him.

Imitating Hunston’s voice again, Jack said, as he reached the door—

“Let me out, my good Buru. I am Hunston, the white chief.”

“You are the prisoner,” replied Buru. “Yield yourself to me.”

Jack’s only reply was to draw his knife, and plunge it up to the hilt in his body.

Buru fell without a sound.

The Pisangs saw the deed committed and were silent for a moment through terror and amazement.

But an instant afterwards a dozen spears were levelled at him, and half as many ugly-looking clubs aimed at his head.

Cutting right and left with his knife, he backed through the crowd.

He reached the burning portion of the apartment, which was fringed by an eager knot of spectators.

The wall was nearly burnt through, and the roof had fallen in.

Fierce cries assailed him, and if he hesitated he was lost.

Hunston made a snatch at him, hoping to hold him fast till he could get assistance.

But Jack threw him off, saying, “You didn’t do it that time, old boy!” and dashed boldly into the burning space, and falling timber.

With a wild plunge he dashed through the hole in the wall, and, half-blinded, half-suffocated, found himself outside.

The air was cool and refreshing.

At present the alarm of fire had not spread, and the inhabitants of Palembang were sleeping in fancied security.

His hair was singed, and his hat was on fire.

This he cast from him as a useless encumbrance, and taking one look at the burning building, ran at full speed up the street.

When his enemies had recovered from their surprise, they rushed through the open door, and gave chase.

Hunston was at their head.

“After him!” he cried. “He will take to the woods. After him! He cannot escape. Brave will be the chief who takes his head, and all the women of Palembang will smile upon him.”

Jack’s form could be clearly seen in the moonlight.

The pursuer’s halted at the extremity of the town, satisfied that they knew the direction the fugitive had taken.

They held a brief conversation, which resulted in twelve chiefs, with Hunston in command, being told off to pursue the runaway.

The rest returned to the burning council-chamber, to assist in putting out the fire, which had assumed formidable dimensions.

No sooner had Jack reached the open ground than he turned round, and skirted the town to throw the Pisangs off the scent.

They would imagine that he would go straight on, and he might gain a secure shelter in the woods.

As he moderated his pace and went round the town, he could hear the cries of the affrighted populace.

Gongs were beaten in every direction.

Dense clouds of smoke and bright flashes of flame showed him that the fire, driven by the wind, had seized on other dwellings, and was making great havoc and devastation.

“It’s as good as burning out a wasp’s nest,” he remarked.

For more than two hours he ran without halting.

It was his impression that when those who followed him found themselves at fault they would return to the burning town.

Three separate parties of explorers would be formed, and despatched in various directions.

When day broke, he had reached a dense forest, and feeling tired, he climbed into a tree to enjoy a little rest.

Lashing himself with his handkerchief to a bough, he closed his eyes.

For some time he could not go to sleep, owing to the sharp hiss of the serpents and the dread cries of the wild beasts.

He thought with horror of Sinbad the Sailor when in a similar position.

Sinbad had two companions with him, and they were lower down in a tree.

On the first night a huge snake climbed up, and dragged down one of the men.

Would the snakes of this island attempt to gratify their appetites in a similar manner?

“No serpent shall land me,” he said to himself. “I’ll sleep with one eye open.”

But at length exhausted nature had its way, and he slept soundly.

Not for long, however.

He was awake before the sun had acquired any considerable power, and unlashing himself, he descended the tree.

All nature was smiling under the grateful night dew and the cheering sun’s rays.

He pushed on slowly through the forest, not daring to retrace his steps.

His only hope was to subsist in the jungle as best he might until his friends from Limbi had come over and captured the island, if they could succeed in doing so.

He felt sure that Harvey was doing his utmost for him.

But he did not suspect the length to which Harvey’s devotion had led him.

Nor did he even faintly imagine that he and Monday were at that very time on the island.

“Dick won’t desert me,” he thought. “Dick will stick to me like a leech. That’s one comfort.”

He was in high spirits as he slowly trudged along through the dense underwood.

To have outwitted the Pisangs, bearded Hunston amongst his friends, and set the town of Palembang on fire was no slight achievement.

Suddenly he felt a peculiar smarting and itching sensation at the ankle.

Looking down, he found his socks stained with blood.

Turning them down, he saw both ankles perfectly fringed with little insects like leeches, which had filled themselves till they were ready to burst.

Some of the bloodsuckers had even crawled down to his foot, and made an incision which allowed the blood to trickle through his shoe.

Jack had heard of these annoying and disquieting pests from Monday.

Sometimes the stinging worms would drop from the leaves of the trees upon the heads and into the necks of those who pass under them.

It was almost unendurable to think that they were lancing him and sucking out his blood.

However, he knocked them off as well as he could, and travelled onwards.

At length he came to a river which ran through a ravine, the rocky bottom of which churned its impetuous waters into foam.

Cautiously making his way by the side of the rocky channel, Jack pushed along in a listless manner.

He wished to find a cave in which he could rest, with a few palms in the vicinity to supply him with cocoanuts.

He had not gone far before he came to a hanging bridge, which was thrown across the ravine.

On each side was a road, if an ordinary clearing in the forest might be dignified with that name.

It was a suspension bridge of rattan; at the middle it rested on the tops of tall trees, which grew up from a small island in the torrent below.

It was constructed by stretching across these large rattans.

On these, narrow slips of board were placed and fastened at each end; other rattans starting from the ground on the bank, passed above the branches of high camphor trees that grew on the edge of the chasm in which the torrent flowed; descending from these branches in a sharp curve, they rose again steeply at the further end of the bridge.

From these rattans were fastened other rattans below them, just as in our own suspension bridges, and thus all parts were made to aid in supporting the weight.

As it was so light, it vibrated and shook terribly when any one ventured to cross it.

Jack had been told of these bridges, of which there are several in the islands, and had been cautioned against grasping the side, lest it might swing over and cast him in the abyss.

The difficulty in crossing this bridge, which was flexible as a manilla rope, was so great because it oscillated from left to right, and its whole floor did not move in one piece, but like a series of rolling waves.

“I don’t think I’ll venture across that,” said Jack. “But I’ll go down the rocks if I can manage it, and have a drink of water.”

As he was speaking, he heard a loud shout behind him.

The next moment an arrow buried itself in a tree close to him.

He looked round, and saw a party of Pisangs, probably forming one of the divisions that had been sent out to search for him.

Now he blamed himself for his folly in not remaining hidden.

He could not have acted more foolishly than exposing himself to view on one of the few public roads in the island.

To retreat into the forest, was to court instant death or capture.

The road was blocked.

The sides of the ravine were just there almost perpendicular, and impossible of descent.

If he would escape, there was nothing for it but a bold attempt to cross the dangerous bridge.

Without any further hesitation, he got on the bridge, with a hurried walk, which he hoped would break up the rolling motion.

It was nearly four hundred feet long.

Having got half-way across the first span, he saw that one of the cross-boards, on which he was in the act of placing his foot, had become loose, and slipped on to one side.

He drew back, for had he gone on carelessly, he must have fallen through, and been dashed to pieces on the rocks below.

Stopping instantly, he stood still, and the bridge swung to and fro, as if it was being purposely shaken.

The Pisangs continued to fire arrows at him, but the motion of the bridge interfered with the correctness of their aim.

Going on again, he reached the centre, and reconnoitred his enemies.

One Pisang, more adventurous than the rest, was following him.

“Wait a bit!” said Jack between his teeth.

He had gained confidence now, and crossed the remaining half at a quick run, hiding himself behind a tree when on land.

The Pisangs shouted to one another, and flattered themselves that their prey was not far off.

When the whole five were together, on the second half, Jack slashed away with his knife at the supports of rattan.

Three or four parted, and the remaining ones, unable to support the weight, snapped with a loud sharp crack, like the report of a pistol.

The large rattans that supported the sides, and went over the high branches of the camphor trees, had parted.

Then the bridge gave a fearful lurch, and finally the whole structure fell with a crash into the boiling torrent.

Fearful cries arose from the poor wretches thus hurled into eternity, but Jack smiled grimly, for it was their lives or his, and again he had triumphed.

His exultation was premature, however.

Straight in front of him, he saw five more Pisangs, who were attracted by the cries of their countrymen.

They hurried forward, but all was still.

Probably the party had divided, one half crossing the bridge, the other, which had perished, remaining behind.

They peered down the sides of the ravine, and talked hurriedly among themselves.

One, more curious than the rest, examined the rattans, and saw that they had been cut with a knife.

He pointed this out to his companions.

Yells of fury arose, and Jack, who was gently stealing off along the road, was perceived.

Instantly a hue and cry was raised.

“Now for it!” thought Jack, as he scudded along the road. “I must step out, or make up my mind to be cooked for dinner, and eaten without salt.”

He had a slight start, but it was a question whether or not he would keep it.

His pursuers made the woods echo again with their savage outcries.

Jack’s training in hare-and-hounds, at Mr. Crawcour’s academy for young gentlemen, stood him in good stead now.

It was a race for life.

CHAPTER III

THE RACE FOR LIFE

AS the Pisangs knew the road and the country so much better than he did, Jack was afraid to take refuge in the forest again.

He ran on at the top of his speed, not daring to turn round to look how the chase progressed, lest he should lose time.

No arrows were fired at him; no spears thrown.

Either the Pisangs had received orders to bring him back alive, or they would not stop to adjust their bows, or hurl their spears.

It scarcely could be that they had regard for his life, or an arrow would not have been shot at him when he was bent on his perilous journey across the bridge.

Good runner as he was, he had not gone more than three or four miles before he felt his strength failing him.

Jack’s head grew dizzy, and his legs seemed to drag one after the other.

The wound inflicted upon him when captured had caused him to lose blood.

This would create weakness, and even vertigo, if compelled to undergo unwonted exertion.

For some hours he had not had anything to eat and drink.

He was also running under a hot sun, which made the perspiration pour from him in streams. All this told against him.

The Pisangs had nothing to impede the free exercise of their limbs.

He had.

Therefore he was at an additional disadvantage.

“I’m coopered,” was Jack’s mental exclamation.

He turned round and saw the pursuers had him well in hand—three in front, two behind.

They had never once lost sight of him.

On they came; bodies a little inclined forward, elbows pressed into the side, legs going like machines.

“They’ve got the wind of a bellows,” Jack said with a groan. “I shouldn’t care if I had anything to fight with.”

Like the stag, hunted to the extremity of his endurance, he turned round, faced his pursuers, and stood at bay.

“I’ll die with my eyes open,” he exclaimed; “at least, I’ll see what kills me, and how it’s done. It’ll be a comfort to know the modus operandi.”

When the Pisangs saw that he did not run any further, they halted also.

The foremost made signs that they wanted to speak, and Jack said that he was listening.

“Are you armed?” asked the Pisang.

“No; you can see I’m not. I shouldn’t have cut and run if I had had anything to fight with,” exclaimed Jack. “That was why I heaved anchor.”

“O white chief,” continued the Pisang, “come back with us to the ruins of our city, for Palembang is now in ashes.”

“That’s a blessing, only it will make the beggars more savage,” said Jack.

“You must die the death that has been decided on; I can hold out no hope of mercy, but I doubt not you will die like a brave man.”

“That depends upon circumstances. What is this particularly pleasant death?”

“It is the punishment of the stake. Every warrior in Pisang will be entitled to cut off a piece of your flesh, about an inch square in size, till all the flesh is gone and nothing but bones remain.”

“Thank you, then I shan’t come,” said Jack, in his usual careless manner.

The Pisang raised his bow.

“You can tell them I am much obliged for their kind invitation, but I have a previous appointment in another direction. I hope to enjoy the pleasure another time.”

“The white chief cannot escape; his Pisang enemy will shoot him down and carry him wounded to the city,” replied the warrior.

“Let fly,” exclaimed Jack impatiently, “perhaps I can dodge you after all.”

He remembered his knife, and prepared to dash forward and close with his assailants, so as to perish, as it were, sword in hand.

The Pisang did not waste any further time in talk.

He drew his bow to its utmost capacity of tension.

The arrow quivered on the string.

Suddenly there was a loud report, and the Pisang, struck with a leaden messenger of death, fell heavily forward on his face.

Three other reports made themselves heard, and as many Pisangs fell; and the fifth, stricken with a deadly terror, plunged into the tangled depths of the forest and was seen no more.

Jack could scarcely bring himself to believe in the evidence of his senses.

Guns in Pisang, and people to fire them; and what is more to fire them on his behalf!

The age of miracles was come back again.

“If that isn’t Dick’s doings,” he muttered, “it must be something that rhymes with Dick, and that’s Old Nick.”

Just then two forms emerged from some dense brushwood.

One was Harvey, and the other Monday.

Advancing towards Jack, they shook him cordially by the hand.

Monday danced and capered about in the wildest glee.

Jack was too much affected to be able to speak for some seconds.

“Well, my cockalorum, how goes it?” exclaimed Harvey.

“Dick,” replied Harkaway, “how you managed it I don’t know, but you came up just in time to save my life, and I’m deeply grateful for it.”

“Don’t say anything about that, old fellow,” answered Harvey. “I’m modestly inclined, and don’t like to be praised.”

“I was dead beat; a four-mile run in this climate is a pipe-opener, I can tell you, and it was six to four on the niggers.”

“I knew you’d want me, and that’s why I came.”

“Have you landed in force?” asked Jack.

“No; Monday and I are alone.”

“Have you ventured, all by yourselves, into the enemies’ country for my sake?” asked Jack, deeply moved.

“Why not? You don’t think we came to explore the beauties of Pisang, in the interests of high art, do you?”

“Not exactly; but it is more than I had a right to expect.”

“It is not. You had a right to expect that we should do everything we could for you,” returned Harvey; “and as the bloated old Limbi chief wasn’t ready, we put on steam and started. If you’d sent us a telegram we should have made a move sooner.”

“There is such a thing as electricity of the heart, Dick; and I think our hearts spoke to one another,” said Jack Harkaway.

“Very likely I dreamt about you, and I thought you wanted me. Didn’t I, Mon?” said Harvey.

“Yes, sare. You say ‘Go to Mast’ Jack. He in much big danger,’ and so we come,” replied the black.

“You arrived in the nick of time. I was sewed up— regularly licked.”

“Tell us all about it. What have you done?”

“I’ve seen Emily, and made it all square with her,” replied Jack. “I’ve cheeked Hunston, and got up a small Donnybrook Fair in the council-chamber. I’ve been the death of six Pisangs and I’ve burnt Palembang to the ground.”

“By George, Jack, you’re a wonder! Explain all this to me,” said Harvey in astonishment.

“I will directly. It was more a fluke after all, than anything else; but just now I’m like a parched pea. Can you lay your hands on any civilised or uncivilised sort of grub?”

“Certainly we can. Our ship is hidden not far off, and we have a few odds and ends in her. I’m not exactly a pocket Soyer, or a sea-cook, but I can rig you up a good breakfast.”

“Fire away, then. If it’s boiled snake I’m on, like a hundred bricks,” replied Jack.

Harvey gave Jack his arm, for he trembled violently and needed support.

They walked to the shore, where the boat was concealed, and were quickly engaged in discussing an excellent breakfast, when we consider the materials they had to work with.

A kettle was boiled, and some tea made from some of the Hyson found on board the wreck.

This was very grateful and cheering.

After he had satisfied his appetite, and gained the strength he stood so much in need of, Jack related his adventures to Harvey.

“By Jove!” replied the latter, “you had a closer shave than even I imagined.”

“I saw Hunston meant it,” answered Jack, “and that put me more on my mettle.”

“You are all right now, thank goodness; and the best thing we can do is to jump on board, and set sail for Limbi,” remarked Harvey.

“No,” replied Jack shortly.

“What!” cried Harvey in astonishment; “do you want to stop here?”

“That’s precisely what I mean to do.”

“Are you mad?”

“I don’t think so. All I want from you, Dick, is a rifle and a few charges of powder and shot.”

“But think a bit, the Pisangs will have you; it’s a moral. You’ve burnt their city, and they’ll swarm all over the place after you.”

“I’ll chance it. We can but die once.”

Harvey reflected a moment.

“The Limbians won’t be here for a day or two. You know what slow coaches they are, as well as I do,” he exclaimed.

“I’ve work to do here, Dick.”

“What work?”

“Can’t you guess ?” asked Jack.

“No; hang me if I can!” replied Harvey.

“Then I will tell you. But first of all, give me another half cocoanutful of that Souchong, or whatever it is.”

Harvey did so, and Jack proceeded to drink the tea with calm enjoyment.

CHAPTER IV

THE STRATAGEM

THE sun was now rising high in the heavens.

Jack began to get merry.

“I’ll trouble you, Mr. Monday,” he said, “for another of those dried fish. They’re not equal to bloaters, but they’re not bad.”

“Um dried fish, sare? Yes, sare, very fine,” replied Monday.

“I didn’t ask you for your opinion; the fish is quite sufficient. You can dry up,” answered Jack.

Harvey was dying with impatience to know what Jack’s intentions were, though the latter did not show any signs of being in a hurry to gratify his curiosity.

“Fine day,” said Jack, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, in the absence of a pocket handkerchief.

“What’s the use of telling a fellow that, when it always is fine here?” answered Harvey.

“Don’t ruffle your feathers, Dick! As I’m going to stop in the island, I like to study the signs of the weather.”

“What are you going to stay for?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“I’ve told you I can’t once,” replied Harvey. “I never was good at riddles, as a kid.”

“But you’re not a kid now, and you ought to have improved. Why does a miller wear a white hat?”

“To keep his head warm, I suppose.”

“Exactly,” replied Jack. “That shows you’re not quite a Simple Simon.”

Harvey looked angry, and pressing his lips together, remained silent.

“Dick, you’ve lost something,” exclaimed Jack quickly.

“Have I? What?” asked Harvey.

“Only your tongue, that’s all. You’re sulking because I won’t speak fast enough for you. Did they tease the poor old boy?” cried Jack coaxingly.

“Go on; I don’t mind,” replied Harvey.

“Forgive me, Dick. I feel so jolly at getting away from those Pisangs that I must chaff or die,” exclaimed Jack in a good-natured voice. “You would if you were me.”

“So I should, Jack. I’m not angry.”

“It’s so freezingly delightful—that’s the phrase out here—to have licked the skunks, that I can’t help exuberating.”

“That’s a big word,” said Harvey, smiling.

“Big words suit the occasion,” answered Jack; “and now I’ll tell you why I want to stay here. Emily is in the hands of the Pisangs; and, what is worse, in the power of that brute Hunston, who is a Pisang double distilled.”

“I see; don’t say any more, Jack. I was an unfeeling wretch not to think of that before,” Harvey hastened to say.

“I don’t want you to stay,” continued Jack. “We may be Damon and Pythias, but it would be too much to ask you to play the part of Pythias, to empty boxes.”

“No, it wouldn’t; and the boxes wouldn’t be empty, for my heart and my conscience are big enough to fill the house.”

“Close the show,” exclaimed Jack. “You’re a good sort; you’re a trump, and you shall help me to rescue Emily.”

“Or die in the attempt.”

“Good again, Dick; they’ve got to kill us though, now we have these little pop-guns;” and Jack handled the rifle and revolver which Monday had given him, looking at them affectionately.

“Monday help too, rescue Missey Em’ly,” cried Monday.

“So you shall. All hands are welcome,” replied Jack.

“You should have seen Monday’s get-up before we left Limbi; there was a wreck—all the crew dead, and we had the first overhaul,” exclaimed Harvey.

“What did he do?” asked Jack.

“Togged himself out till he was quite nobby, didn’t you, Mon?”

“Never mind,” replied Monday; “me show Mast’ Jack, one of these days. All very fine, make fun of poor Monday; him know what him do know.”

“Don’t be riled, Prince Matabella,” continued Harvey; “you shall sport your things when we get back again.”

Monday retired to pack up the remains of the breakfast, and from the way in which he talked to himself in his own language, he did not seem very well pleased at the ridicule Harvey cast upon his newly-acquired European clothes.

To him, his attire was simply perfect.

It whipped that of his young masters altogether, and threw Mr. Mole’s rather shabby dress quite into the shade.

“You say you have seen Emily?” observed Harvey.

“Yes, I did enjoy that happiness, but not for long, and under very trying circumstances,” replied Jack.

“I should have liked to see you stir up the chiefs in Palembang; what a lark it must have been.”

“It wasn’t all fun. I must confess I was in a dismal funk all the time.”

“What do you think of doing about Emily?” asked Harvey.

“I fancy,” replied Jack, “that as the city is burned down, they will all be up a tree; that is to say, camped out anywhere, and in the confusion we might make a dash.”

“Just like a man-of-war’s boats cutting out an armed vessel in harbour.”

“Something of that sort,” answered Jack.

“When shall you try it on?”

“Tomorrow. I’m so knocked out of time that I must sleep all day.”

“I’ll join you. Suppose we sleep under this tree, and leave Monday to watch,” said Harvey.

“That’s the idea,” replied Jack. “Call him; I’m so beastly tired, and can’t raise my voice.”

“Monday,” cried Harvey. “You’re wanted.”

“What um want him for, Mast’ Harvey?” asked Monday.

“We’re going to recruit exhausted nature; in other words, to sleep, and you must keep a good lookout. If you don’t——”

“What then, sare?”

“We’ll get some chemical stuff and turn you white.”

“He! he!” laughed Monday. “You have um joke, Mast’ Harvey.”

“You’ll find it no joke, when you’re all cream and no chocolate. So keep your eyes open, and stick something under your eyelids.”

Monday promised to exercise the greatest vigilance, and there was some necessity for it

The Pisangs were evidently swarming about the island in pursuit of Jack.

A party might discover them, and if no watch was kept they would be surprised before they could use their guns.

In a very short time Jack and Harvey were fast asleep.

They had every confidence in Monday.

The latter stood near the trunk of the tree, rifle in hand, revolver in his belt, and looked searchingly by turns in every direction.

“Monday like to see um Pisang take him in,” he muttered. “Monday smell um Pisang mile off.”

A couple of hours passed, and the heat of the day was at its height.

Monday, like all the other natives of the islands, owned the power of the sun at this particular time.

He felt drowsy, and had the greatest difficulty in keeping himself awake.

His eyes closed, and he was aroused in a short time by a slight noise.

A large monkey of the ourang-outang species had crept up, and was hurrying off with his rifle, which he had placed against a tree.

He did not like to take Jack’s or Harvey’s, for they had put them under their heads, to be ready at a moment’s notice.

If he touched them he should wake them.

So he followed the monkey.

It went slowly into the forest, and Monday, not caring to go into the jungle after it, drew a revolver from his belt and fired.

The monkey threw up his ungainly arms and fell upon its back.

Monday advanced to gain possession of his rifle, and was astonished to find the skin fall off.

A full-grown Pisang was revealed to his view.

It was a disguise.

As he stooped to take possession of his rifle half-a-dozen strong hands seized him.

He had fallen into a trap.

The Pisang who had assumed the disguise had paid the penalty with his life.

But he had enabled his companions to succeed in their enterprise.

Almost before he could realise the fact, Monday was strongly bound.

He cast his eyes towards Jack and Harvey, and found that a score of dusky figures were busily engaged in securing them.

They had been surprised while they slept.

“Hullo,” cried Jack, as he felt himself strongly grasped. “What’s this?”

“Monday—Monday!” cried Harvey.

“You may go through all the days in the week, and it won’t help you,” said a voice in his ear.

He looked up. “Hunston!” he ejaculated.

“Yes, my boy. We’ve been one too many for you,” said Hunston, with a malevolent laugh.

Monday was marched up to the spot where his young masters were safely bound.

He hung down his head and was ashamed to speak.

“This is your fault,” said Harvey angrily.

“They come one dodge over Monday, Mast’ Harvey. Him think it um monkey and shoot, but then it too late,” replied Monday.

“It’s no good howling,” said Jack. “We’re copped and there’s an end of it.”

“I’m glad to see you bear it with resignation.” rejoined Hunston. “When I set out after you I did not expect to make such a haul as this.”

“Didn’t it burn well? It was a proper flare-up. I mean Palembang,” said Jack, smiling

“You’ll suffer all the more for it, and we can make another gallows, big enough for the three of you,” answered Hunston.

Jack laughed again

“You’ll laugh on the wrong side of your face soon,” said Hunston.

“Not I,” answered Jack; “I haven’t got a wrong side. I leave that sort of thing to you. I can’t help laughing when I see you.”

“Let them laugh who win,” replied Hunston savagely.

He spoke a few words to his attendants, and the Pisangs placed themselves in a triple line round the captives.

Their legs were free, though their arms were tightly bound behind their backs.

Hunston took their revolvers from them and placed them in his own belt.

The rifle he told the Pisangs to carry.

“March!” he cried.

The party moved forward, going towards the interior.

“Cheer up, Dick,” said Harkaway.

“I’m all right,” said Harvey. “Only I can’t help thinking that Monday——”

“Don’t bully the poor beggar. They had him just as they might have had you or me. It was a dodge,” interrupted Jack.

“Silence, there! No talking,” cried Hunston.

“Who are you when you’re at home?” asked Jack, with his usual impudence.

Hunston, delighted to have a pistol again, flourished it in his face.

“Shut up,” he said, “or I’ll let you know.”

“Will you?”

“Yes; and I’ll pistol the first who disobeys my orders. Silence! March!”

The prisoners moved on again, and not a word was spoken.

“Don’t rile him,” whispered Harvey. “It is as well to bide our time.”

Jack made no reply, but his pale face and compressed lips showed that evil thoughts were passing through his mind.

He regretted now that he had not killed Hunston the night before, when he had the chance.

But the chance was gone.

It was too late to think of that now.

CHAPTER V

GRIN AND BEAR IT

THE captives were placed in the midst of a guard, and the procession, if such it can be called, started for the ruins of Palembang.

Jack, Harvey, and Monday were together, their arms being bound behind them.

“It’s all your fault, Monday,” said Jack, with just the least tinge of anger in his tone.

“How on earth he could be such an ass, I don’t know,” said Harvey.

“Monday one fool,” said the black. “Him deserve to be eaten.”

“Perhaps they’ll do it,” replied Harvey; “only they may prefer white meat first, worse luck!”

“I don’t know how the deuce to get out of this scrape,” remarked Jack. “I shouldn’t care so much for myself.

It’s you and Monday I am in a funk about. If you could get away, Dick——”

“Leave thee, leave thee, lad;

I’ll never leave thee,”

said Harvey, quoting the words of an old Scotch song.

“I know you’re a brick, and you’ll stand to your guns as long as anybody,” said Jack. “But hang me if I can help being riled at this turn-up. It oughtn’t to have happened.”

Hunston was not far off, and hearing voices, he came up to the captives.

“No talking there,” he said. “I don’t permit it.”

“You can’t well stop it unless you gag us,” answered Jack.

“Can’t I? We’ll see about that. What do you suppose you are going to do?”

“Grin and bear it,” said Jack, with a laugh.

“That’s what you’ll have to do, until you’re strung up,” said Hunston.

“You said that before and yet you didn’t do it.”

Hunston gnashed his teeth with rage.

“Perhaps I shall have better luck next time,” he said. “I’ve got you safe enough now.”

“Didn’t Palembang bum finely, and didn’t I set your chiefs milling like steam?”

“Don’t cheek me. If you do, you’ll find yourself in the wrong box, I can tell you,” said Hunston, angrily.

“You can tie my arms, but you can’t stop my tongue, unless you’ve got a gag,” said Jack.

“Can’t I! What does that taste like?” was Hunston’s answer.

He hit Harkaway in the face with all his might, and as Jack could not use his arms to steady himself, he fell backwards.

The blood streamed from his nose, and he was a good deal hurt.

“That’s plucky,” he said.

“Do you want another?” asked Hunston.

“You can pitch in as long as you like to be coward enough. I can’t stop you,” replied Jack. “But just untie my arms, and I’ll give you toko for yam, my boy !”

“Get up.”

“I shan’t. You knocked me down, and you may pick me up, or ask some of your niggers to do it.”

“Not likely,” said Hunston. “If you don’t get up, I’ll kick you till you do. How would you like a toe in the ribs?”

He suited the action to the word, and Jack contrived in some way to get on his feet.

“All right, Mister Tuan Biza Hunston,” he said. “I’ll be one with you before long.”

“You won’t have the chance,” said Hunston.

“You can’t tell that. I’ve spared you once or twice, but the next time—if ever it does come—it will be a case of a tombstone, with something written on it.”

“What?”

“Oh, something like this. ‘Here lies Harry Hunston, the biggest blackguard who ever disgraced the name of Englishman.’ ”

“You dare to say this to me?” cried Hunston frantically.

“Why shouldn’t I? Do you want to give me another nose-ender? Do it if you like; you are cock now, and I’m only a hen.”

“Wait till you dance on nothing, and then you’ll alter your tone.”

“Think so?” said Jack, beginning to whistle “The Night before Larry was Stretched!”

Going up to Harvey, Hunston said—

“Walk on with me. I want to talk to you.”

“All right,” said Harvey.

They separated themselves from the other prisoners, and went on a little ahead.

“I’ve no particular ill feeling towards you,” continued Hunston, in a slightly embarrassed manner, “though you were always a friend of Harkaway’s.”

“I’m not ashamed of it. Jack and I are like brothers,” said Harvey.

“You won’t be long, for Harkaway will be as dead as a door-nail before this time tomorrow.”

“And I?”

“Your fate depends upon yourself. I am all-powerful with the Pisangs, though I do not think my influence would suffice to save Harkaway, even were I disposed to try.”

“Why not?” asked Harvey.

“The chiefs are so ashamed of being humbugged by him last night, and they are enraged as well at the burning of Palembang. He set the place on fire, and there is scarcely a house left standing. All the people are camped out.”

“Can’t they be generous to an enemy?”

“They don’t understand the word,” replied Hunston, “but you I can save. They will be content with torturing and hanging Harkaway, and that black Limbian thief of a servant you’ve got.”

“Monday?”

“I do not know what you call him.”

“Oh! he’s harmless enough. Show yourself a man for once, Hunston, and let us all go free. We will undertake not to molest you any more.”

“Can’t be done at the price, my boy. There is an old score between Harkaway and myself, which must be rubbed out this time, and I would not spare him if I could.”

“If that is all you have to tell me, you might have saved me the pain of listening to it,” said Harvey, in a tone of disgust.

“It is not all.”

“Let me go back to Jack. I don’t care about the society of a butcher.”

“Who’s a butcher?”

“You are; and an inhuman brute into the bargain. I will say it, if you kill me for it. You are not so good as a butcher by a long chalk.”

“Take care,” exclaimed Hunston, with a savage, vindictive glance in his snake-like eye. “I repeat that I don’t wish to harm you. Listen to me. I feel rather lonely among the Pisangs, having no one to talk to, except Emily.”

“And her father?”

“He is dead.”

“How was that?”

“She swears I did it; but I didn’t want the fool to kick the bucket. He insulted me, and I had him publicly flogged with bamboos, and I suppose his constitution couldn’t stand it, though I only ordered him to receive two hundred strokes.”

“Why, it’s barbarous!” said Harvey.

“At all events,” resumed Hunston, “it knocked old Scratchley off his perch, and Emily hates me like bricks for it. So you see I want a chum.”

“You’ve got your Pisang chief,” said Harvey.

“No good at all. I could cut a better chum out of a cocoanut than any of them would make. You be my friend, Harvey, and you shall not die.”

“What!” replied Dick, with a feeling of loathing and horror; “I pal up with you?”

“Why not?”

“After what you’ve just told me—after your vindictive hatred to Jack—your flogging old Scratchley to death— and your determination to make the daughter marry the murderer of her father, whether she will or not?”

“You put it rather strongly,” said Hunston, cowering beneath the withering look Harvey gave him.

“Not a bit too strong,” answered Harvey.

“Do you consent?”

“Consent? I should think not, indeed I’d die a thousand deaths first You won’t catch me buying my life at such a price. I’d rather chum with a burglar. The most desperate convict is a greater gentleman than you.”

“Die, then!” replied Hunston savagely, “you’re a bigger fool than I took you to be.”

“If I had my hands loose, I’d punch your ugly head for insulting me by such an offer,” cried Harvey.

“Don’t provoke me too far,” said Hunston; “or I’ll serve you as I did Scratchley.”

Harvey turned round and walked away without giving him any answer.

Hunston was mad with rage.

Speaking in the native language, he cried—“Halt!”

Instantly the Pisangs stopped, and looked to their leader for orders.

“Two of you seize that fellow,” Hunston went on; “strip him, and tie him to a palm-tree. Two more of you break off a couple of long bamboos, and give him twenty cuts as hard as you can lay them on. Twenty from each of you.”

In an instant Harvey was seized, and tightly bound with thick rattans. His jacket and shirt stripped off, and his back laid bare.

“I’ll teach you to cheek me, my hearty,” said Hunston, smiling bitterly. “I’m king here, and you shall know it.”

Harvey made no answer, feeling that it would be of no use to appeal to his tormentor.

There was nothing for it as Jack had said, but to “grin and bear it.”

Nevertheless, he gnashed his teeth angrily and waited with a sinking feeling at his heart for the first strokes of the supple bamboos.

He was not kept long in suspense.

“Whish! whish!” They came with a sound like a hiss through the yielding air, and his back felt as if some one was stripping off the skin with a sharp knife.

CHAPTER VI

MONDAY’S DODGE

IF Hunston expected to have the triumph of hearing his victim howl and cry for mercy, he was disappointed.

He bore the infliction bravely.

At times low wailing moans escaped him, which were wrung from him by the severity of the pain.

But that was all; and when they cast him loose, after giving him the last cut, he trembled violently, while they dressed him again, and then rejoined Jack, who, powerless to help him, had looked on with frantic rage.

“Did I bear it well?” asked Harvey in a whisper.

“Like a trump. Never mind, Dick, I hope it’s only lent. We’ll pay him back again before long. What was it for?”

“He offered me my life if I’d be his friend, and I told him to go to Jericho,” answered Harvey.

“Did he say anything about me?”

“Yes. You’re a gone coon. Your case is past praying for; but now we’re both tarred with the same brush, and I suppose the cowardly brute will have it all his own way.”

“Perhaps Mole and the Limbians will come soon.”

“They will come,” replied Harvey, “of that I’m certain; but the mischief is, they may come too late. How my back burns!”

“I should think so. I’ll ask Hunston if his fellows have got any oil,” said Jack who added aloud—“Hunston!”

“What is it?” was the reply.

“May your men rub some oil on Harvey’s back!”

“Not a drop.”

“You are torturing him,” said Jack, whose face flushed angrily.

“Just what I want to do. You don’t suppose I had him flogged for nothing, do you? And you’d best shut up, or I’ll give you a dose of it. Tell him he’ll be out of his misery tomorrow,” answered Hunston with a laugh.

Jack was about to make some reply, when Harvey touched his sleeve.

“Don’t,” he said, “it’s no use. You might as well talk to a stone wall; and I shouldn’t like you to cop it as well as me.”

Much against his will, Harkaway remained silent.

“You’re right. We must bide our time; though I should like to have five minutes’ play with my fists with him in the open. He might tie one hand behind me if he liked, and then I’d back myself to lick him.”

“He’s a nice pup; but we’ll make him yelp before we’ve done with him,” replied Harvey, smarting with pain.

In a short time a halt was ordered, and a guard being established, the Pisangs threw themselves down to rest.

The heat of the sun had been great, which made the march very fatiguing.

Glad to follow their example, the captives sank on the hard ground.

Presently Monday looked round him; all was still.

“You sleep, Mast’ Jack?” he whispered.

“No,” replied Harkaway, “for my mind is so full of disagreeable thoughts that I’m not likely to be.”

“Lie still. Monday use um teeth.”

“What for?”

“Cut in two the rattans; then Mast’ Jack make a dive for the woods, and get off,” continued Monday.

“It’s not a bad dodge, but I’d rather you did it for Harvey. I can take care of myself; something always turns up for me,” answered Jack.

“Very well,” replied Monday.

He rolled over a little, and got nearer to Harvey, to whom he communicated his plan, and soon his teeth were at work.

In ten minutes Harvey was free.

“Run, Dick, for your life,” whispered Jack; “and go zigzag, so that they won’t be able to hit you if they fire. There is only Hunston who knows how to use a gun, and the lazy beggar is snoring.”

“Aren’t you coming too?” asked Harvey.

“No. Monday and I will stop. We can’t all hope to get away.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“But you must. Think how much you can do for me. There are arms in the boat, and you can come and rescue me. Whether you are successful or not, you must try to get away. I got you into this mess by asking you to stop to help me to carry off Emily from Hunston. Poor Emily!”

Jack sighed.

“If anything should go wrong with me, Dick,” he continued, “promise me you’ll be a brother to Emily. She mustn’t marry Hunston.”

“She shan’t if I can help it.”

“I may be a croaker by this time tomorrow; there’s no telling.”

“Well, I’ll go, in the hope of being of use to you,” said Harvey. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, old flick,” replied Jack, trying to be jocular once more.

“God bless you!” said Harvey.

The next minute he was crawling on his stomach towards a dense jungle.

He had reached it, and was just about to plunge into it, when a Pisang saw him.

Uttering a fierce yell, he discharged the gun Hunston had given him.

So bad was his aim, that, instead of hitting Harvey, he shot a comrade who stood near him.

The native fell to the ground with a groan.

Hunston sprang up.

“You blundering fool!” he exclaimed. “What’s the matter?”

The Pisang explained that one of the white chiefs had escaped.

“Which one?” cried Hunston.

He ran to the spot where he had left the prisoners.

Jack and Monday pretended to be fast asleep.

Kicking them in the ribs he exclaimed, “Get up. Where’s Harvey?”

“You needn’t kick a fellow like that, in the middle of his first sleep,” replied Jack, in a tone of remonstrance. “It’s very hard a man can’t have a nap for a few minutes.”

He rubbed his eyes and yawned drowsily.

“Where’s Harvey?” thundered Hunston.

“How should I know? Don’t I tell you I’ve been nodding?” replied Jack.

Turning to the Pisangs Hunston said—“After him! I’ll have all your lives, if you don’t catch him.”

By this time, however, the fugitive had got a good start, and, though the Pisangs ran hither and thither, they could not find him.

Hunston foamed at the mouth with rage.

“Now, that’s what I call a shabby trick,” remarked Jack. “He didn’t appreciate your kindness at all. You were going to hang him tomorrow, and he’s stepped it. Dick ought to be ashamed of himself!”

Jack’s broad grin irritated Hunston.

“What do you want to work me up for?” he exclaimed. “I’ll treat you as I did him, and make a cat scratch your back.”

“Don’t get wild. Dick’s a very good fellow, but he shouldn’t have taken his hook without saying he was going,” replied Jack.

Hunston turned away, and himself assisted in the pursuit of Harvey.

It was fruitless, however.

He had got safely away.

Then the order to resume the march was given, and leaving the body of the dead Pisang, they continued their way to the town of Palembang, or, more strictly, what remained of it.

Hunston was more sullen than ever; but he comforted himself with the reflection that Jack and Monday were still in his power.

They reached the smoking ruins of the town about nightfall, weary and foot-sore.

The people had made themselves rude shelters of boughs and grass.

Loud were the lamentations over their burnt property, and their household utensils, for only a few had saved even the necessary implements of domestic use.

The fire occurring in the night time, had taken all by surprise.

Owing to the high wind prevailing, its progress had been very rapid.

Jack and Monday were placed in one of the few houses, which, owing to their isolated position, the flames had not reached.

The door was shut, and they were left to brood over their coming fate.

“Well, Mast’ Jack,” said Monday, “how um like it now?”

“Oh, tol lol; I’m pretty bobbish,” replied Jack. “I think if I was going to be hanged in five minutes, I should sing my prayers instead of saying them.”

“It what you call possum up um gum tree now, sare.”

“And a very tall gum tree, too,” said Jack.

“P’raps Mist’ Mole come in night and walk into um Pisang.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid.”

There was a great noise outside, and looking through a crack in the wall, Jack saw the Pisang warriors beating back the crowd.

They had heard that Jack was the cause of the destruction of their city, and they wanted to get at him and tear him in pieces.

But Hunston reserved him for public execution, and the wild untamed mob was driven back.

“Want to lynch us,” remarked Jack. “Amiable beings, these Pisangs. I wish my hands were not tied.”

“Suppose Monday try um teeth, sare; and then you untie Monday when you free!”

“Stunning,” said Jack. “Cut along, old chocolate and cream. You’ve got some sense in your noddle.”

Monday set to work, as he had done in Harvey’s case, resembling the mouse which liberated the lion, by gnawing the meshes of the net in which he was caught.

“Bravo!” cried Jack, springing up in a short time, and stretching himself.

“That all right, sare?” asked Monday.

“Ripping! I don’t know if my grinders are so sharp as yours; but I’ll have a go in.”

By dint of biting and pulling, he contrived to liberate Monday.

“Now um fight, before they take us to die,” said the black proudly.

Just then there was a crash, and something fell through the frail roof.

“Hallo!” said Jack, “who’s chucking bricks?”

“What that, sare?” asked Monday.

“I don’t know. It’s so beastly dark I can’t see; but it looks to me as if one of somebody’s teeth had dropped out.”

“Oh! Mast’ Jack, how you make um poor Monday laugh! Why him do it, when there so much misery?” said Monday chuckling.

“That’s the time to laugh, ugly mug,” answered Jack, groping about in the dark.

Presently he stumbled upon a heavy stone.

“Lucky,” he said, “that this little pebble didn’t light on my nut. I know which is the hardest.”

“Ah! de debble!” cried Monday, in a voice of pain.

“What’s up now?” said Jack,

“Musquito bite him on the nose,” answered Monday ruefully. “How um sting!”

“Squash him, then,” cried Jack. “I thought I heard one of the beggars buzzing about. I say, Monday, this stone didn’t come here by accident.”

“How him know that, sare?”

“Because I can feel a bit of paper tied to it.”

“Paper?”

“Yes; and I shouldn’t wonder if there was something written on it. Blow the darkness! It’s no good asking you if you’ve got a match in your pocket, as one could in a civilised country; and as we’re not cats, we can’t see in the dark,” said Jack.

“The moon him shine through that crack, sare.”

“By Jove! That will do. There are more ways of killing a dog than hanging him, Monday,” Jack said, in great glee.

He knelt down near the crack, and saw that the bit of paper, a very small one, had been written on with a pencil.

The writing was that of a woman.

“Emily for a hundred!” he muttered.

With some difficulty he contrived to read:

“ ‘Dearest Jack——”

“Dearest!” he said. “I like that.”

Then he went on:

“ ‘I took a walk near the coast to-day, and saw a quantity of boats lying off near the shore, hidden partly by the rock. They must be your friends the Limbians.

“ ‘Keep up your spirits. I was deeply grieved to hear you were recaptured; but I expect a night attack will be made, and if so, rest assured I will open the door of your prison before they can come and kill you.

“ ‘Ever your own loving

“ ‘EMILY.’ ”

“She’s a brick!” said Jack, in great exultation.

“What that, sare?” asked Monday who was all curiosity.

“A friend has sent this letter attached to a stone. The Limbians are off the island.”

“My people. That jolly! Then they not hang um after all,” said Monday, joyfully.

“I never thought they would, though it looked uncommonly black an hour ago. Hurrah, Monday! You weren’t born to be hanged, you scoundrel!” said Jack.

“Mist’ Mole come and fight like um tiger, sare. Monday like to see Mole fighting.”

“I think Mole will be like the Yankee, who said to his men, ‘Fight till all your powder is gone, and then run away;’ and as I’m rather lame, I’ll start now, before the enemy comes up,” said Jack laughing.

“Ha! ha! him brave man,” exclaimed Monday, also laughing.

“Hunston will be sold this time.”

The door suddenly opened, and a voice said, “Will he?”

It was Hunston.

“You’re rather too fast, Harkaway; and you shouldn’t talk so loud,” he exclaimed. “These walls are not very thick, and you didn’t think I was listening.”

A diabolical smile played round the corners of Hunston’s mouth in the moonlight.

Jack’s heart fell within him; and Monday would have turned pale if his skin had permitted him.

Here was a disastrous interruption to their plan.

Their hopes were crushed in the bud.

CHAPTER VII

THE NIGHT ATTACK

“SO,” continued Hunston, “the Limbian fleet is off our shore?”

“That can’t be very pleasing intelligence to you,” replied Jack, who began to recover himself.

“We have a traitor in the camp, it appears, and it is lucky for her she is a woman whom I love, or she should share your fate.”

“Emily, you mean?”

“Yes; your correspondent. It was a clever idea to write you a letter, and fasten it to a stone. But you forget the old saying that ‘walls have ears.’ ”

“I forgot that you were such a cad you wouldn’t mind listening,” answered Jack.

“You’ll forget more than that soon, for I mean to order you out for instant execution—instant death, you and your black friend here, do you understand that?”

“I’ve one comfort,” replied Jack, “and that is, I’m not afraid to die. Don’t you wish you could say the same thing?”

“Never mind. I meant to have had you tortured, but there isn’t time for that. It will be torture enough to know that Emily is in my power.”

Jack fretted inwardly, but outwardly he remained calm.

“Heaven will protect her,” he said.

“Will it?” answered Hunston. “Why doesn’t Heaven interfere for you?”

“Perhaps it may. I’m not dead yet; and while I have life there is hope, you know, old boy,” Jack said cheerily.

“Not much hope for you. I could pistol you where you stand. I don’t know why I shouldn’t do it, and make sure of you. I wouldn’t lose you for ten years of my life. Perhaps you are reckoning on your friends?”

Jack made no answer.

He had a faint hope that Mr. Mole might come up in time to save him.

Hunston saw this gleam of hope in his eyes.

“If they were at this door now, I’d shoot you through the head.” he said.

“You’re quite capable of it,” was Jack’s cool answer.

Suddenly there arose a great shouting outside.

Jack’s heart leaped in his bosom.

Shots were fired, and then he knew that the Limbians had arrived.

A loud, clear voice was heard exclaiming—

“Fire away, my lads. No quarter. Give it them hot and strong.”

Hunston turned pale.

He saw his prey escaping from his murderous clutches, just when it was within his grasp.

“Harvey’s voice, by jingo!” cried Jack. “I must have a cut in.”

He dashed his fist in Hunston’s face, just being able to see him in the moonlight that streamed in through the open door.

Hunston stepped back, and the blow grazed his temple.

“Curse you,” he cried; “I’ll have one life at least.”

Raising his pistol—the one he had taken from Harvey, he fired it point-blank at Jack.

Our hero’s days were nearly numbered.

Monday, however, saw the action, and quick as thought, jerked Hunston’s arm so that the ball went through the roof, and the pistol fell from his hand.

“Touch and go,” said Jack calmly.

Hunston turned and dashed through the open door, seeing that all was lost.

“After him, Monday,” said Jack; “he’s gone to Emily. Now’s our time; we must save her.”

But Hunston was too quick for him.

The ground outside was filled with frightened Pisangs.

They lost sight of him in the crowd, which was panic-stricken.

The night attack had taken them all by surprise, and they were ill able to cope with their well-armed assailants.

A dropping musketry fire continued at intervals, and Pisangs fell on every side.

At last they began to run.

Men, women, and children, helter-skelter, sought the shelter of the woods.

Monday and Jack stood a chance of being shot by their own friends, and got separated in the confusion.

Dreadful cries arose on all sides.

It was not a defeat simply.

It was more than a rout for it became a massacre.

Jack ran he knew not whither, seeking for Emily and found her not.

No one took any notice of him, for all were intent upon securing their own safety.

At length Monday rested under a tree upon the outskirts of what had once been the thriving town of Palembang.

The moon, which had been partially hidden by drifting clouds, now shone out brilliantly.

He heard groans, and was at a loss to know where the sounds came from.

Looking up, he saw a man perched on one of the lower branches of a tree.

“You come down out of that,” exclaimed Monday, in his own language.

“Ah! my good Pisang,” replied the trembling voice of Mr. Mole; “I mean you no harm. I was forced to take part in this expedition, much against my will.”

Monday laughed quietly to himself, and determined to have some fun.

“I am a Pisang chief,” he said; “and I want the head of the Tuan Biza of the pale-faces.”

“What a bother, I left my gun on the ground,” Mr. Mole muttered. “That infernal arrow frightened me so when it grazed the calf of my leg, as I was leading the brave fellows to the battle, that I sought the friendly shelter of the first tree in a scamper.”

“Will the white chief come down,” continued Monday; “or must the Pisang warrior shoot him like a bird?”

“Don’t shoot, my good Pisang; for Heaven’s sake don’t shoot!” said Mr. Mole in a terrified tone.

“Come down, then.”

“I would gladly do so, if I could, but I fear I cannot. How on earth I contrived to get up here is a mystery to me.”

“The white chief is a coward, and he must die,” said Monday. “All the Limbians are conquered, and our young men are crying loudly for heads.”

“What a fool I was to come here,” said Mr. Mole to himself. “I wish I’d stayed with Ambonia and Alfura. This is out of the frying-pan into the fire. Dear me! I think I should have remained with the boats, if that impetuous boy Harvey had not suddenly joined us, and insisted upon my marching with him.”

Taking up a stone, Monday threw it near Mr. Mole, causing a rustling in the leaves and a sharp hiss through the air.

“Is that an arrow?” cried Mr. Mole, in abject terror. “I say, you Pisang fellow, don’t do that. I’ll come down, at least I’ll try. Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! why did my uncle die and leave me a tea-garden in China.”

“Make haste! the Pisang wants the white chiefs head.”

“Won’t anything else content you?” replied Mr. Mole. “My head isn’t worth much, and I’m getting dreadfully bald. Oh! why did I leave England? Deuce take these beastly boughs; I can’t get down.”

Monday threw up another stone, and hit Mr. Mole on the leg.

“Oh, Lord!” exclaimed Mr. Mole; “I knew he’d do it. I’m wounded. Oh! my poor shin. The arrow’s gone right through my leg. I can feel the pain up to my knee already.”

In his fright he let go his hold, and tumbled rather ungracefully to the ground.

The distance was not great, so that the fall only shook him a little; but he lay quite still.

“I’ll sham dead,” he thought; “and then the bloodthirsty savage may let me alone.”

Monday grinned, and altering his voice, as he spoke English, said—

“.Mist’ Mole not know um poor Monday.”.

The effect was magical upon Mr. Mole when he heard this speech.

He opened his eyes, took a look at the well-known features which he had been too much alarmed to notice closely before and sprang up.

His former terror vanished, and with his countenance radiant with delight, he said—

“You rascally black thief, if I wasn’t so pleased, I do think I should be tempted to kick you!”

“Take care, sare. Pisang have um head.”

“You mustn’t play those tricks with me. However, I forgive you. Yes, out of the generous emotions of my heart, which bubble up from—from—confound it, I can’t collect my ideas!”

“You have snug place up there, sare,” said Monday, pointing to the tree.

“Ah! I crept up there to rest. See how I have been fighting. Seventeen Pisangs fell by my hand alone.”

Monday looked as if he didn’t believe him.

“You and I have always been good friends, Monday,” said Mr. Mole; “and you must promise me one thing. That is, not to say anything about finding me up that tree.”

“Not tell Mast’ Jack, sare; not tell Mast’ Harvey?”

“Precisely. They have an unfortunate habit of making fun of people, which they call chaffing. I detest and abominate the practice; and what I want to impress upon your uncultivated mind is that my courage is up to the average, I may say beyond it.”

“Monday keep um secret.”

“That’s right. Mum’s the word and you and I will be fast friends. I still hear the sound of firing, and the shrieks of the dying. Is it safe to venture far away?”

“Monday have a lark with you, sare,” replied the black. “Fighting nearly all over. Pisangs all beat; they fly’ way or dead.”

“And Harkaway? I trust he is safe, and will thank me for the generous effort I have made to effect his liberation.”

“Not know exactly, sare,” replied Monday. “Mast’ Jack him gone somewhere after Missy Em’ly.”

“Ah! I have heard that he is much attached in that quarter. There’s my gun; take it up, and mind, it is loaded. Walk in front; you shall have the post of honour. I will follow close behind you,” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

“We go and find Mast’ Jack, eh, sare?” replied Monday.

“We will endeavour to do so. I long to shake him by the hand, and receive his thanks; for I assure you, Monday, that I have risen in my own estimation by the prodigies of valour I have performed during this night’s work; twenty-seven Pisangs did I kill.”

“You say seventeen just now, sare?”

“Nonsense. I am like an old war-horse,” cried Mr. Mole, after applying himself to the contents of a pocket-flask; “I smell the battle afar off.”

“You great fighting man, sare.”

“Rather, my young friend. I don’t know how I did it, but my spirit carries me on. Seven and thirty Pisangs did I slay with my own hand.”

“That ten more,” muttered Monday.

“I laid about me with an old ship’s cutlass, and the warriors fell before my prowess like leaves in autumn. Forty-seven Pisangs dead by my——”

Monday burst out laughing; he could not stand Mr. Mole’s exaggeration any longer.

“Irreverent negro; I’ll talk no more to you. When I again recount my exploits, you may tell me of it,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, in high dudgeon.

“Come on, sare. This way. Quick march!” cried Monday, with military precision.

They walked cautiously towards the town, near which the sounds of the battle were dying away, though in the distance there was a noise as of furious pursuit.

The Limbian warriors were exacting a terrible account from their old enemies the Pisangs.

CHAPTER VIII

DEATH OF THE KING

THE morning broke serene and cloudless, as it almost always did in those regions.

On the part of the Limbians, the loss was slight, for their guns had given them a great advantage over the surprised and terror-stricken enemy.

Harkaway had joined the pursuing party, but he could not contrive to find any trace of Hunston.

Nor was he more fortunate with regard to Emily.

Both of them had disappeared as completely as if the ground had opened and swallowed them up.

An the morning he returned, jaded and weary, to find Harvey, Mr. Mole, and Monday, preparing breakfast, by means of a fire they had kindled.

The Limbians were assembled in little parties, and all did their own foraging.

Great was the rejoicing of the friends at being together safe and sound.

“I owe my life,” said Jack; “to you, Dick, and our faithful Monday.”

“And me,” continued Mr. Mole. “May I not claim some share in the good work?”

“Of course,” answered Jack; “we haven’t forgotten you, sir; and you shall have a medal or a statue, whichever takes your fancy most.”

“I think I should prefer a medal,” replied Mr. Mole, after a moment’s reflection.

“What shall we put on it, sir?” asked Harvey.

“Let me see. Two natives fighting, and trying, to kill a white man—myself——”

“Up a tree, sare?” put in Monday, with a grin.

Mr. Mole gave him a warning look.

“Behind one, if you like, firing at them, and underneath the words, ‘In token of bravery and devotion;’ while, on the reverse, you may put my portrait, and write, ‘Isaac Mole, a tried friend, and a fierce soldier.’ ”

“It shall be done, sir,” replied Jack, who could scarcely refrain from laughing at Mr. Mole’s vanity.

Taking Harvey on one side, Jack informed him of his vain search for Emily.

“I too have looked for her,” replied Harvey. “You know when I left you, I ran to the coast, and found the Limbians under Mole and the king landing?”

“Yes.”

“They were delighted to see me, and I hurried their movements, because you were in danger. When we reached Palembang, I did all I could to discover you and Emily,” continued Harvey.

“Hunston’s got a hiding-place somewhere,” said Jack thoughtfully.

“We’ll unearth the fox.”

“I fully intend to do so, but the task will be difficult. These islands abound with rocks, mountains, and caverns, to which the natives have taken themselves.”

“So Monday’s been telling me,” replied Harvey.

“I mean to stop here, Dick, till I’ve found her,” continued Jack.

“You won’t get the Limbians to stay, I’m thinking.”

“Never mind them. They’ve done their work, and they’ve beaten the enemy. So it is only natural that they should want to get back to their homes, and celebrate their rites and customs.”

“I told them we’d have no head-hunting or eating captives,” said Harvey.

“What did they say?”

“The king did not like it; but he gave orders that no prisoners were to be taken, so that has made the battle more bloody.”

“I expect there are an awful lot of the poor Pisang beggars killed?”

“Awful! Over a hundred, I expect,” replied Harvey.

“They won’t get over this wollopping in a hurry,” Jack said. “And now I’ll tell you what we’ll do. The Limbians may go home.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go and look out for a cave near the coast, so as to have an open front to prevent a surprise, if the disorganised band of Pisangs should try to have another go-in.”

“And you and I, with Mole and Monday, form the garrison. I see,” replied Harvey.

“Exactly. That’s the ticket to a T,” Jack answered.

“I’ve got stores in my boat; and Mole brought over a lot of grub, and powder, and things,” continued Harvey.

“We shan’t hurt. And now let’s have some breakfast.”

Mr. Mole’s voice was heard exclaiming—

“Now, then, Harkaway, and you, Harvey, come and join me in a cup of tea. Who says bacon, and who’ll have parrot?”

“I’ll leave the cockatoo to you, sir, and go in for a slice of pig,” replied Jack.

Monday handed some tea to his young masters, but in doing so stumbled, and let the calabash fall.

“Hold up!” cried Jack. “You’re as awkward as a Newfun’land pup; not half so clever, and twice as ugly.”

Monday apologised, and the breakfast proceeded.

Presently an old chief name Madura came up, and beckoned to Jack, who went out to meet him.

“Anything happened?” asked Jack in the native language.

“Bad news for Matabella,” replied Madura.

“Indeed!”

“During the battle, King Lanindyer received a wound, from which he has just died.”

“Monday’s father dead?” cried Jack. “By Jove, I’m sorry for that.”

The old chief had wished to break the news gently to Monday, but Jack’s loud exclamation reached his ears, he instantly stopped eating, and ran away to the camp.

Madura and Jack followed him.

They found him kneeling by the side of the dead body, which he kissed repeatedly, uttering wild lamentations the while.

The king had fallen fighting bravely, pierced through the heart by an arrow.

All the Limbians were profoundly grieved, and they talked together in whispers.

The ruined city was close by.

Great numbers of dead bodies lay on all sides, as yet unburied.

The distant mountains, in which the defeated Pisangs had taken refuge, were lying like a blue cloud on the western horizon.

A dizzy light played over the surface of the land.

The sun looked like a shield of red-hot iron, and the hot earth scorched the feet.

Madura took Monday by the arm, and led him away, saying—

“You are called to the throne of your fathers; but though your destiny is high, remember that he who gazeth on the sky may stumble on the earth.”

“Oh! my father!” replied Monday. “Why are you taken away from me?”

“Recollect,” said Jack, “that you have plenty of friends, and you are now king.”

“No, no!” cried Monday, “I will not be the Tuan Biza of my people. I will remain with you. Do not send me away. Monday will die if he be not with you.”

Touched by the poor fellow’s devotion, which was expressed by a piteous look, Jack replied—

“I like to have you with me; but who is to reign over Limbi?”

“My uncle Selim. O Madura, make Selim your king. He is a great chief. Let him reign.”

“He who can neither save himself nor hunt his enemies?” replied Madura. “What is he but a broken spear, and a blunted sword?”

“Never mind,” said Monday. “The man who has health, strength, and courage, has three parts that will not turn white in the fire.”

“Stay with your people and rule over them, O Matabella!” said Madura sternly. “What are the white men, that they should rob us of our king? Has it not been said that the unpurposed man makes his meal of the clouds?”

“I will not leave my friends, the white men,” answered Monday determinedly. “Call upon Selim, O Madura, he will make a wise and good king.”

“Young man,” replied Madura, angry at being baffled, “for six things is a fool known—Wrath without cause, change without reason, inquiries without object, putting trust in strangers, and wanting the power to know a friend from a foe; and let me add, that long experience maketh large wit.”

“I’m very sorry for you, Monday,” said Jack; “very much so indeed. It is a great blow, and I thank you for wishing to stay with us. Think the matter over. Listen to this old swell.”

“Monday go with you, Mast’ Jack. Go anywhere— to end of the world.”

“Don’t be in a hurry to decide. I’ll leave you to fight it out with your chief; and if you want my advice, give me a hail.”

He walked away, and Harvey, with Mr. Mole, asked him what had happened.

“Monday’s governor has burst up,” exclaimed Jack.

“Done what?” said Mr. Mole, looking puzzled.

“Bust up. Croaked. Got knocked on the head in the scrimmage last night.”

“ ‘Bust’ is not English, at least not grammatical English,” said Mr. Mole, “and I did not understand you; though now I take your meaning. Is the young savage much affected?”

“Frightfully cut up,” said Jack.

“Dear me! It is a bad job; but one savage the less is no loss to civilization. Finish your breakfast.”

“I can’t eat,” said Jack. “I haven’t had a wink all night. I’m more tired than an elephant at noon. So if one of you will kindly fan away the beastly flies, I’ll seek the arms of—of—— Who was that ancient swell whom they called the god of sleep?”

“I was never the cheese at classics,” answered Harvey.

“You mean Morpheus,” said Mr. Mole, “who, with Somnus——”

“Thank you, sir. Won’t it keep till I wake up?” said Jack. “I know it was Morpheus, or one of the family.”

Jack found a retired spot, and was soon asleep.

Harvey followed his example, and Mr. Mole, applying himself to his flask said—

“What a wrong-headed creature is a boy. They waste their opportunities when young, and as they grow up they have neither time or inclination to learn.”

CHAPTER IX

BEN BLUNT THE BO’SUN

MONDAY’S uncle Selim was very glad of the chance of becoming king of Limbi.

Being a wise and good chief, he was not unacceptable to, or unpopular with, the leaders of the little nation.

Still Madura was not willing that Monday should lose his right of succeeding to the throne.

A council was held.

It was decided that Monday should be able to assume the kingship whenever he liked, and that Selim should only reign in his absence.

“Oh, my son,” said Madura, “never give up that which is within your grasp. The pearls in their beds are as thick as stars, but wishing never brought up one of them from the bottom of the sea!”

“Selim will make a better king than I should,” replied Monday. “Matabella is young, but Selim has the wisdom of age.”

“The wise men have said,” answered Madura, “that the deer is swift on the plains, but a child leads him in the streets. You are young, and you must learn, and I would teach you, for the proverb is true which says— ‘The lamp may be made of diamonds, but it dies without oil.’ ”

Monday was glad when it was all settled, and Selim made king.

He could go away then, and mourn over his dead father, whom he loved dearly.

Selim at once assumed the position which the unanimous vote of the council gave him.

He decided that the Limbians should return immediately in their boats, and bury the late king with all the pomp usual on such occasions.

Monday said he would not leave his father’s body till it was in the grave.

Therefore he returned with his followers.

“Good-bye, Monday,” said Jack, when he heard what had been arranged. “I hope we shall see you again soon; but don’t stand in your own light.”

“Monday live and die with you, Mast’ Jack,” he replied. “If you live in Limbi with me, then I be king; if you go I go.”

“Then we shall see you soon after the funeral?”

“I come back in boat.”

“All right. I won’t say how grieved I am at your heavy loss, Monday. You know what I feel,” cried Jack.

He squeezed Monday’s hand as he spoke, and the black returned the affectionate pressure.

“Give us your fist, Mon.,” cried Harvey; “and here’s fortune to you in a cup of cold tea—that is to say, half a cocoanutful.”

Mr Mole sidled up to Monday as he was going away.

“Monday, will you do me a favour?” he said.

“What that, Mist’ Mole?” asked Monday.

“Tell my wives, I’m dead, will you?”

“Dead!”

“Killed in battle. Dead and buried.”

In spite of his engrossing sorrow, Monday could not help grinning faintly.

“What! Tell um lie, sare? No; Monday never tell Um lie,” he answered.

“It won’t hurt either Ambonia or Alfura; they’ll marry again. Think of it, my good friend,” urged Mr. Mole.

“No, sare! Monday have him conscience, and he not let him tell um lie,” replied the black.

“Deuce take the beast,” said Mr. Mole, as Monday walked away. “I suppose I shall have those beauties coming over here to take me home in a boat. A nice lookout that would be. Heigho!”

“What’s that, sir?” asked Harvey, who had overheard the conversation.

“Oblige me by minding your own business, Harvey,” said Mr. Mole.

“Didn’t I hear you mention the names of Alfura and Ambonia, sir?”

“If I did, what then?”

“Nothing, sir. I thought you’d fret. What is it Moore says—

“I never loved a sweet gazelle,

To glad me with its sweet blue eye,

Than when it grew to be a swell,

It always used to fight me shy;
and married a market-gardener——.”

“How shamefully you misquote,” cried Mr. Mole indignantly. “Moore is my favourite author, and you murder him.”

“Very sorry, I’m sure, sir.”

Jack called Harvey away to take a walk with him in the country.

They were well armed, and intended to look for a cave where they could locate themselves while they remained on the island.

They went to the sea-shore, and soon found what they wanted.

All their stores were removed into this harbor of refuge, and they returned for Mr. Mole.

“The Limbians have gone, my dear Harkaway,” cried Mr. Mole; “and you have left me alone here at the mercy of the enemy, as I may say.”

“You’ve got your gun, sir. Besides your reputation is so great, that no one would think of attacking you,” replied Jack.

“Is it, indeed? Do you think that those benighted savages have heard of me?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“What are we going to do?” continued Mr. Mole.

“Dwell in a cave, sir. Harvey and I have pitched upon a stunning place. Nice and dry—no snakes; not too big; close to the sea—and we have put our stores out of the boat there.”

“This is foolhardy, Harkaway,” said Mr. Mole gravely. “But you shall not say I deserted you. I will cast in my lot with you.”

“What’s wrong now, sir?”

“You are stopping here to rescue a chit of a girl, who would make Hunston as good a wife as she would you.”

Jack ground his teeth.

“Don’t excite me, sir,” he said.

“Bless me! How like a Pisang you look,” cried Mr. Mole. “I didn’t know you were so deeply smitten.”

“Jack’s very hard hit, sir,” said Harvey. “You don’t know how spoony he is.”

“I wish he had enjoyed my brief experience of matrimony, that’s all,” replied Mr. Mole.

“Emily is not Ambonia or Alfura either,” put in Jack. “And letting temper alone—though I’m sure she’s the sweetest-tempered darling in the world—wouldn’t it be cowardly to leave her in that scoundrel Hunston’s power, as long as we can lift a finger to get her out of it?”

“So it would, Harkaway,” answered Mr. Mole. “You appeal to my feelings as an Englishman there. I feel them gushing and bubbling up from the fountain of my heart. You have touched a mine of sentiment in my breast, and you shall have my support.”

“Thank you for nothing,” said Jack who was getting angry.

Mr. Mole thought it prudent not to hear this remark.

The guns were presently shouldered, and they marched to their new home.

When they reached it, they found it very comfortable.

Leaves and grass made good beds, and they had such provisions as they stood in need of.

A watch was set, it being arranged that two should sleep while one watched.

Harvey and Mr. Mole entered the cavern, while Jack, who was almost always foremost when there was anything to be done, remained outside.

An oil lamp, such as we have previously described, was lighted.

Mr. Mole had his cocoanut shell and his whisky bottle.

He ate some dry bread, made of roughly-beaten unleavened maize flour, and began to imbibe.

“Now,” said he, “this is what I call jolly. A sensible man ought to live in the present hour. What is ambition to me? I am happy now. Why should I disquiet myself about the future?”

“I wish you wouldn’t disquiet me, sir. I want to go to sleep,” said Harvey.

“Laziness—sheer laziness,” answered Mr. Mole. “I had some hope of you boys at Pomona House, but—— This whisky is not bad; it has a grateful flavour.”

Harvey closed his eyes, and let Mr. Mole have all the talking to himself. He was ill and feverish.

The punishment Hunston had subjected him to, and the following excitement of attacking the Pisangs, had fatigued him dreadfully.

Mr. Mole filled his half-cocoanut again, and emptied it.

“If I crook my elbow a little too much,” he murmured, “it is excusable under the circumstances. I have no respectability here to keep up, and I want to forget. I will seek oblivion in the flowing bowl. Let the landlord fill the bowl, until it does run over; for to-night I mean to be merry, and tomorrow I hope I shan’t have a headache.”

While Mr. Mole was amusing himself in his own peculiar fashion inside the cave, Jack was keeping a sharp lookout.

It was within an hour of sunset—a time when the dying away of nature in the tropics—if one may use the phrase—is most apt to attack and lull the senses.

His eyes almost closed.

He leaned against the entrance to the cave, and felt dreamy.

Suddenly a loud voice exclaimed—

“What cheer, my hearty?”

Jack started as if he had been shot.

A British voice!

A British sailor’s voice in that lone island!

That such a thing could happen, at such a time, in such a place, he scarcely thought possible.

“Who goes there?” he cried.

“Who goes there?” repeated the voice. “Why, who do you suppose but Ben Blunt the bo’sun?”

Jack looked up and saw a stranger before him.

But as he was unarmed apparently, he did not feel alarmed.

The stranger was dressed line a sailor, and had a bluff, hearty, good-natured face.

“Was he friend or foe?”

That was the question.

CHAPTER X

THE MUTINEERS

THE new-comer was unarmed, and did not seem to be in the least dangerous.

But Jack proceeded to act cautiously.

Raising his gun he said—

“Don’t come any nearer, until you have given an account of yourself.”

“Right you are, cap’n,” replied Ben Blunt. “I’m no sea-lawyer, and shan’t spin you any yams.”

“What’s your ship?”

“Haven’t got one, though this time yesterday I was first mate of as good a ship as ever sailed the sea.”

“I thought you said just now you were a boatswain?” exclaimed Jack, suspiciously.

“Look ‘ee here, my hearty, that’s right enough. You see I was bo’sun on board the ‘Rattlesnake’ when I was in the R. N; but I’ve left the navy and gone into the merchant service. I’m mate. Forge ahead. What are your next soundings?”

“Why have you left your vessel? Wrecked, eh?”

“No, I’m not wrecked either. It’s this way,” replied Ben Blunt, hitching up his trousers, and rolling his quid over in his mouth; “I shipped aboard the ‘Seahorse’ from London to Shanghai, and we were on the return voyage, when Sam Parsons—may the old un keelhaul him!—turned mutineer.”

“A mutiny, eh?” exclaimed Jack, beginning to understand.

“May I never eat salt junk again, if I’m telling you a word of a lie, cap’n!”

“Go on!”

Jack was much interested in the recital.

“Well, you see, sir, they killed the skipper and all the officers, bar me. I was a bit of a favourite with the lads, you see, and they didn’t make me go to Davy Jones. But when that mutinous dog, Sam Parsons, who’s what we should call in the navy an A. B., asked me to join ’em, ‘No,’ says I; ‘I’ll see you jolly well hanged first, my hearty, and then I won’t.’ ”

“Case of ‘not to-day, baker,’ ” remarked Jack, smiling.

“It was so, sir. ‘Not to-day, baker; call tomorrow with a crusty cottage,’ ” answered Ben Blunt.

“You were quite right,” said Jack; “and your experience of discipline in the navy did you good service.”

“Well, look’ee here, cap’n,” continued Ben. “I’m Blunt by name and blunt by nature. You may douse my daylights, but I’ll stand true to my flag. So they talked among themselves, and then they shoved me into a boat and landed me on this here island.”

“How long ago?”

“A matter of maybe two or three hours, and I’ve been boxing the compass, as ye may say, and taking an observation as to how to steer my course.”

“The mutineers are in command of the ship, I suppose?” said Jack.

“Devil a doubt about that, cap’n! They’ve got her, and a beauty she is. Look! there she rides at anchor round that point.”

Jack looked in the direction indicated, and saw a vessel, dimly visible, of about eight hundred tons register.

This was the “Seahorse.”

“I didn’t think to meet an European, let alone s countryman on this outlandish bit o’ ground,” said Ben. “And now, sir, you’ve overhauled me, are my papers correct?”

“Quite. I’m satisfied, Ben; and I feel as if I’d known you for a score of years already,” answered Jack.

His confidence was fully established in the man, who spoke with a genuineness that carried conviction with it “Thank you kindly, sir; and now, if so be as I may ask, how did you come to drop anchor in these parts?”

Jack told him how he had been wrecked with his friends; how the Pisangs had been defeated; and how he was stopping to rescue a beautiful young lady, a captive in the hands of Hunston, formerly a friend, and now an enemy.

“This Hunston’s gone mutinous,” remarked Ben Blunt. “String him up to the yard-arm, cap’n.”

“I’ve got to catch him first,” said Jack. “But what will your men with Sam Parsons do?”

“They daren’t go back into our waters. They’ll have to potter about these coasts, sir,” replied Ben.

“I wish we could help you to get back the ‘Seahorse;’ she’d take us all back to England,” said Jack, thoughtfully.

“And that’s a true saying,” answered Ben. “What I’m thinking is, cap’n, that if you’ll let me sail along of you, I’ll sign articles, and go ahead this minute.”

“You want to join us?”

“Heart and soul, sir. We’ll get back the beautiful young lady of whom you was a-speaking. We’ll hang our mutineers, or take ’em in irons to the first port where there’s a British Consul, and we’ll sail her back to old England.”

“A stunning idea. But there’s a lot to be done first,” answered Jack. “However, I gladly accept your offer of friendship, Ben. You shall be one of us.”

“That’s done me more good than I expected, when the muzzle of your gun brought me up all standing just now. Thank you kindly, cap’n. I’m true blue, and you wouldn’t find a dog more faithful than Ben Blunt to those he takes to.”

“We’ve got some stores inside the cave. Will you eat something?”

“I could stow away a chunk of beef and bread, cap’n, for my belly cries cupboard. But I say, sir.”

“What?”

“Let’s give one cheer for old England. I’m so happy I’m fit to bust, and all along of meeting you. Just now I thought I should die of starvation, or snakes, or tigers, or niggers, or some of the varmint that grows here, and now I’m up to the mast-head again. Just a little un’ for old England, sir.”

“I’m with you,” cried Jack. “Go it, my old sea-horse. Hurrah for Old England! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

Ben Blunt joined in, and their ringing cheers woke up the echoes in the island.

They did more.

They woke up Mr. Mole, who came out of the cave in a bad temper, to ascertain the cause of the disturbance.

“What is the meaning of this unseemly riot, Harkaway?”saidMr. Mole. “It is hard I cannot enjoy my natural rest And who is this stranger?”

“Ben Blunt the bo’sun, sir, at your honour’s service,” replied that individual.

“I am in a fog. Explain the mystery to me, Harkaway.”

Jack did so.

“You see, sir,” added Ben, “I cut down the top hamper, and took in all sail under stress of weather; but I’m drifted into port after all.”

“And we’re going to recapture the ship, and hang the mutineers, sir,” said Jack. “That’s why we’re cheering.”

“Mind you are not cackling over an addled egg, my young friend,” said Mr. Mole. “However, I’m glad to see our new friend Ben, and cheerfully hold out the hand of welcome.”

“The more the merrier, sir.”

“And now I’ll turn in again,” said Mr. Mole sleepily.

“Going to bye-bye again, sir? Don’t do that. We’re going to have a can of grog to celebrate Ben’s arrival. Come and join us; don’t be a hen, sir.”

“A hen, Harkaway?”

“Yes, sir; be a cock for once.”

“Grog is not to be lightly refused. You have put a different complexion on the case, and I will condescend to join you,” replied Mr. Mole. “Arouse that lazy slumberer Harvey, with a poke in the ribs.”

Going into the cave, which somewhat resembled the abode of the robbers in “Gil Blas,” Jack woke up Harvey.

“Turn out, Dick,” he exclaimed.

“What for?” asked Harvey.

“There’s a gentleman from England come to see you.”

“ Go on,” said, Harvey, “you’re having larks.”

“I’m not,” answered Jack. “You go outside, and see.”

Harvey did so, and was at once introduced to Mr. Benjamin Blunt, otherwise Ben Blunt the bo’sun.

He was much astonished at hearing his story, but, like Mr. Mole and Jack, delighted to have such an addition to their little party.

“Axing your pardon, sir,” said Ben, pointing into the cave, “are there any more of them to come out?”

“No; that’s the lot.”

“Then I’ll take this mossal of victuals we was speaking of, that is, by your leave, cap’n,” said Ben.

A dinner was hastily provided, and the cup that cheers passed round.

Ben became a favourite in less than no time.

He took his turn in watching and went out to scour the country with Jack to find some trace of Hunston, but in vain.

Days passed, and Jack grew sick at heart with his want of success.

They met isolated bands of Pisangs occasionally, but the poor fellows ran away like hunted hares.

Their city was burnt, the flower of their warriors killed, and they were no longer a great nation.

A week had elapsed, during which Jack’s exertions on behalf of Emily had been unremitting.

“I’d give my life to save her,” he kept on saying to himself.

One morning Ben the bo’sun was on the lookout.

Suddenly he exclaimed—

“Sail on the larboard bow, sir.”

Jack was dozing under a tree, and thinking of Emily.

“Where away?” he asked, springing up.

Ben Blunt pointed it out, and Jack saw a small boat approaching.

Taking up a telescope he distinctly made out one man in her.

As she got nearer he recognized Monday.

“It’s our native, whom we call Monday,” said he by way of explanation. “The faithful fellow has kept his word, and is coming back.”

In less than an hour, guided by a signal flag, Monday made the island, and was shaking hands in true British fashion with his young master.

“Well, Monday, what’s the news?” asked Jack.

“Who that man?” inquired Monday, pointing to Ben.

Jack told him all about the new arrival, but Monday did not seem to take kindly to him.

“You asked what news, sare,” he continued. “Nothing much to tell. The funeral over and now all Limbi very gay celebrating victory. It all one big drink and wardance. You found Miss Em’ly?”

“No; I wish I had.”

“Some one come for Mr. Mole soon,” exclaimed Monday.

“What! his wives are coming?”

“That it, sare. Alfura and Ambonia tell me they sail over.”

“We can’t have them here. There is no room for a parcel of women. He’ll have to look out for a cave of his own.”

“Mist’ Mole not like that much, sare,” replied Monday. Adding, “Oh, sare, here he is. He heard all we say.”

Mr. Mole had indeed come out of the cave, and was looking the picture of blank despair.

“Harkaway,” he said, in a sepulchral voice, “is this true?”

“What, sir?”

“About my—ahem!—my wives coming over here!”

“Monday says so, sir.”

Mr. Mole made a rush toward the sea and Jack, becoming alarmed, ran after him.

“What are you going to do, sir?” he cried, as he held him back.

“Let me go!” replied Mr. Mole. “I will commit suicide. Let me go, I say! The awful prospect of Ambonia’s presence is more than I can bear.”

“Don’t be silly, sir,” Jack replied. “If they do come we’ll protect you. But perhaps we shall be gone away before that time.”

Mr. Mole stepped on to dry land again, and heaved a deep sigh of relief.

“You have put new life into me, my young friend,” he replied. “I will live. Oh, that I had the wings of a bird. I’d like to be a bird, Harkaway.”

“Have a drink, sir, and pull yourself together. We can’t spare you.”

“What’s that the gentleman says?” asked Ben Blunt.

“He’s afraid his wives are coming to fetch him, Ben,” replied Jack.

“There’s only one enemy, sir, a sailor knocks under to, and that’s woman. He’s not a true sailor, if he doesn’t strike his flag to a petticoat,” replied Ben with a laugh.

“My good, amiable and worthy tar,” replied Mr. Mole, “oblige me by not indulging your merriment at my expense. My domestic troubles are my own.”

“Belay, sir! I’ll put a stopper on my tongue, though there was no offence meant,” answered Ben.

Mr. Mole retired into the cave, and was not seen again all day, though when Jack looked for him at night, he found him lying on his back snoring hard, with an empty bottle on each side.

When he was gone, Ben Blunt said—

“May I make bold to ask how many wives the gentleman has got, sir?”

“Only two,” replied Jack.

“Oh, that’s one for week-days and an extra partner for Sundays; still, the ship’s not short-handed with two. I’ve got one at home, and stop my grog if she isn’t one too many sometimes!”

Old Ben laughed heartily, and Jack, taking Monday with him, went out as usual to search for Emily.

They had not gone far before they saw a Pisang asleep under a bush.

“Look, sare, look!” he cried.

“Don’t kill him, Monday; catch him alive,” Jack replied, hastily. “Creep up slowly. He may give us some valuable information.”

Monday glided up through the long grass to where the sleeping Pisang lay.

The latter was unsuspicious of the presence of an enemy.

Jack looked on with his rifle at full cock, to be ready for any emergency.

CHAPTER XI

THE BIRD HAS FLOWN

“HOLD him tight, Monday,” cried Jack.

This advice was not altogether unnecessary, for as soon as Monday fell upon the sleeping Pisang he awoke, and began to writhe and wriggle like an eel.

“You come help, sare,” exclaimed Monday out of breath. “How um beast kick.”

“He’s as slippery as an eel,” said Jack, coming up, “but we’ll fix him. Soho! gently there. No kicking over the traces, my boy, or I shall have to take the curb up a hole or two.”

In a few minutes the Pisang was sitting on the ground with his hands tied behind him with a piece of rattan.

His face evinced the utmost astonishment, mixed with fear.

That he was doomed to lose his life in some cruel manner, he did not doubt for a single moment.

“I’m going to ask you some questions,” said Jack.

The Pisang stared sullenly at him.

“If you answer truthfully I will spare your life; if you trifle with me you’ll have an ounce of lead showing the daylight the way into your ugly carcase. Will you speak the truth?”

“Ya, ya, Tuan,” answered the captive, his eyes brightening.

This was equivalent to “Yes, yes, chief,” and it was clear that if he had any information to give he would not withhold it.

“You know the Tuan Biza whom you call Hunstani. Where is he now?”

“On the island still.”

“Do you mean that he intends to go away?”

“Ya, all go soon,” replied the captive. “Several chiefs, with women and children, have gone already. We are not going to remain in Pisang, since you have burned the city and killed our best warriors.”

“Where are you going to?” asked Jack.

“Long, long way; to the city of the Golden Towers,” answered the man.

Jack inquired where that was, but the fellow could not tell him.

All he knew was that it was a long way off, and that it was reached in boats which sailed across the sea.

“Have you seen a white woman, who was wrecked on your coast?” continued Jack.

His voice trembled a little as he put this question, because it would let him know something about Emily’s movements, if faithfully answered.

“Ya, Tuan.”

“Is she with Hunstani?”

“No,” the Pisang answered; “she has gone away with the others to the city of the Golden Towers.”

Something like a groan broke from Jack.

“Gone,” he repeated. “Hunston has outwitted me again. Just when I think I have got him into a corner, he bests me.”

He paced up and down impatiently.

“Any more thing to ask him, sare?”

“No.”

“Monday let um go?”

“You may as well. I promised him his life, and I have no reason to think he has been humbugging me,” said Jack.

Untying the rattan, Monday gave him a friendly kick to start him.

“You go ’long,” he said; “you no good, you can’t fight. Go home to the old women, and say you’ve seen your master.”

The Pisang did not stay to reply, he was too glad to get away; and running with the speed of the wind, was soon lost to sight.

Jack lay down under a tree, which happened to be a palm, and fretted and fumed at the news he had just heard.

The sudden and unexpected emigration of the Pisangs was very annoying.

He had fancied that they could not get away, and that sooner or later he would discover the hiding-place where Hunston kept Emily.

Monday was thirsty, and wanted some cocoanuts, so, without thinking of his young master, he began to throw sticks up at the palm-tree.

For a time he was unsuccessful.

Then he cut off a large ripe cluster.

Jack at that moment started up, crying—

“It’s a case of no thoroughfare. The way’s blocked, and I’m floored, by Jove!”

He had scarcely spoken the words, than the cluster of cocoanuts hit him on the back, which was slightly bent, after grazing his head.

The force of the blow brought him on his knees, and looking round, he exclaimed—

“Bless your eyes, Monday, what foolishness are you up to now?”

“Monday him dry, sare, and knock down nut.”

“You needn’t upset my apple-cart, if you are thirsty. I beg leave to observe that my head is not made of cast-iron.”

Monday laughed, and began to suck a cocoanut.

“Halves!” continued “Jack. I think I deserve some of the milk.”

When they had satisfied their thirst they prepared to return to the cave.

“I am glad,” said Jack, “I know what the Pisangs are doing, though I did not expect they would leave the island. That beggar told the truth, I suppose.”

“Yes, sare,” answered Monday; “him speak um truth safe enough. He too much funk to tell a lie.”

“Did you ever hear of the city of the Golden Towers?”

“Yes; Monday hear of him.’

“Where is it?” asked Jack.

“Great way off over the sea. Go in boat.”

“Who lives there?”

“Malay. All fierce, cruel Malay. They have ships, and go and take other ships, either kill all on board, or carry them home and make slave.”

“You mean they are pirates.”

“That it, sare,” replied Monday, with a sagacious nod.

“Is the city made of gold, or is that only a tale of the natives?”

“Once a Limbi man was taken prisoner by the Malay, he escape and come back, and tell us it one fine city full of towers and palaces, all made of gold.”

“It must be a fine place, though I don’t believe in its being all gold. That is a stretch beyond my imagination,” said Jack thoughtfully.

“Oh! it right enough, Mast’ Jack, all built of gold! Very fine, grand city,” exclaimed Monday.

“Well, we shall have a chance of judging soon, for I mean to go there.”

“How go there, sare?”

“You have heard Ben Blunt speak of his ship the ‘Seahorse,’ which the mutineers have got possession of?”

“Yes; Monday hear him talk of um.”

“I mean to have that ship.”

“That jolly, Mast’ Jack. Fine thing to have ship of one’s own, and sail ‘bout anywhere,” said Monday. “But how it to be done?”

“You leave that to me; we’ll work it somewhow,” Jack answered confidently.

It was now noon, and the heat of the sun was so intense that they were glad to regain the cool precincts of the cave.

No one was to be seen outside, but when Jack whistled Mr. Mole came out.

“Don’t think, Harkaway, that I am neglectful of my duty,” said he; “I was on the alert.”

“The guard should be outside, sir!” exclaimed Jack; “there are Pisangs about.”

“Have you seen any?”

“Yes, we caught one; but what were you doing in the cave?” asked Jack.

“You’ll laugh at me,” replied Mr. Mole; “but I fancy there is a Pisang concealed there.”

“Nonsense, sir; what makes you think that?”

“You know that Harvey slung up some boards to the top of the cave, to make a sort of shelf to put things on?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” continued Mr. Mole, “I was sitting down under that shelf, when I heard a curious noise and rustling overhead, as if some heavy animal was moving about.”

“I won’t say that a Pisang wouldn’t be up to any low dodge,” said Jack; “at all events we’ll go and see what it is.”

Monday and Jack entered the cave, which was only imperfectly lighted.

Having come out of the garish and blinding sunshine, it was some time before they could accustom their eyes to the semi-darkness of the cavern.

At length, looking up, Jack clearly saw a large mass of something overhead.

Gazing more carefully, he could distinguish yellow and black marks, like tortoise-shell.

“Oh, sare,” cried Monday, “what um lark! It um big snake. Oh, my! such a whopper, sare!”

“You are right, Mon. It is a snake, and as well as I make out, far and away the biggest I ever saw,” said Jack.

As he continued to gaze, the indistinct mass resolved itself into a huge serpent compactly coiled up into a kind of knot.

He could detect his head and his bright eyes in the very centre of its folds.

The sound which had alarmed and puzzled Mr. Mole was now explained.

During the night the snake must have crawled into the cave, and taken up a comfortable position on Harvey’s shelf.

Perhaps the cave was its regular dwelling place, and it had no idea of being turned out by the new-comers.

“What is to be done?” asked Jack.

He had tackled the python on board the vessel he came out in, but he did not care about another encounter of the same kind.

His voice aroused Harvey and Ben Blunt, who were equally alarmed.

Mr. Mole actually shook in his shoes.

“I can’t stand them pesky varmint,” said Ben Blunt. “Never could abide the critters.”

“And I was just under him,” cried Mr. Mole with a shudder. “It’s a mercy he let me alone.”

“Monday have um out!”

“You!” exclaimed Jack.

“Yes; me kill much big snake in our country. All you go out of the cave, and stand ready with guns and axes. Monday show how to do the trick.”

Monday’s instructions were obeyed, and he went to work immediately in a business-like manner.

He made a strong noose of rope, and taking up a long pole in his disengaged hand, began to poke at the snake.

The reptile began to slowly unfold itself.

By a clever throw he got the noose over the reptile’s head, and tightened it about its body.

Then he began to drag it down.

The serpent resisted with all its might, coiling around anything it could lay hold of.

Strong though Monday was, the snake gave him plenty of work to do.

First he got the advantage, then the serpent won a yard or two.

It was “pull devil, pull baker.”

The boys laughed at the singular contest till the tears ran down their cheeks.

Monday jabbered away at the snake, and perspired at every pore.

“You black thief,” cried Monday, “come out dat, or I’ll give you something. Oh, you beast; go in ‘gain, will you? Come out that, I say, won’t you? Then Monday have your head, you old villain.”

“This is extremely comical,” observed Mr. Mole, who being at a safe distance, had recovered his presence of mind.

“Haul on the rope, lad. Never let him cast anchor!” cried Ben Blunt, who enjoyed the scene as much as any one.

“Go it, Monday! I’ll bet on Monday. Who’ll take the odds?” exclaimed Jack.

“Done with you for a tenner,” replied Harvey. “Just for the fun of the thing I’ll lay the snake gets off through some hole or other.”

“And I’ll bet he don’t,” answered Jack.

They watched the varying contest with increasing interest, and it was clear from the loudness of Monday’s tone that he was losing his temper.

CHAPTER XII

HUNSTON’S NEW FRIENDS

THE snake was certainly a formidable antagonist.

It was fully twelve feet long and very thick.

Such reptiles were common in these islands, and had been known to do much mischief, as they frequently swallowed a little child.

Suddenly Monday dropped the rope, and quick as lightning he caught hold of the creature’s tail.

He ran out of the cave so quickly, still holding on, that the reptile seemed quite confounded, and did not know what to do.

“Look out, sare,” cried Monday. “Now him come. Mist’ Mole, mind um eye.”

Directly he had dragged the snake out of the cave, Monday swung it round with all his strength, intending to knock its head against a tree.

Mr. Mole, however, was in the way.

The snake hit him on the head, and he fell down sprawling on the ground and howling dismally.

Monday was obliged to let go, and the reptile crept under the boat which had been drawn up near the cave.

It was difficult to say which was the most frightened, Mr. Mole or the snake.

“Poke um out, sare. Now we got him,” cried Monday, who was fairly excited by this time.

Jack took up the pole which Monday had dropped and began to poke under the boat.

“There it goes! Tally ho! Stole away!” exclaimed Harvey, who saw the reptile gliding out at the other side.

Monday was after it like a shot

He cleverly grasped its tail again, and with a quick jerk swung it round.

This time its head struck against a tree, and it fell confused and hurt to the ground.

Ben Blunt and Jack now fell upon it with hatchets, and it was quickly dispatched.

“That’s the way we kill um snake, sare,” said Monday, standing in triumph over the quivering body.

“Bravo! You can do it,” exclaimed Jack; adding, “Where’s Mr. Mole?”

This gentleman had crept under a bush, and his voice was heard faintly exclaiming—

“Is it dead? Have you killed the brute?”

“Dead as a door-nail, sir,” replied Jack.

Mr. Mole came out into the open air.

“I hope you did not think I was afraid,” said he. “That would be a misconception I should be very sorry for you to put on my conduct.”

“If you didn’t hoist the white flag in token of surrender,” observed Ben Blunt, “why, I never saw anything so much like it.”

“Man,” replied Mr. Mole, “it is unbecoming for a common seaman like you, to pass judgment upon me.”

“On the likes of you,” said Ben, with a hearty laugh. “We’re all equal in the forecastle, mate. So tip us your flapper. There are no bones broke.”

“I distinctly refuse to place myself on a footing of familiarity with you,” answered Mr. Mole.

“Jack’s as good as his master,” remarked Ben. “But I don’t want to run my ship where she’s not required.”

“Ben didn’t mean any offence,” said Jack. “It’s only his way, sir.”

“Then it’s a very nasty, disagreeable habit, Harkaway,” answered Mr. Mole. “I stopped the snake very cleverly. If it had not been for me, he might have crushed that poor black fellow to death. I don’t like Mr. Blunt’s jeers. I will not be mocked by him.”

“Avast there, sir,” said Ben. “I’ll say you killed the varmint, if that will please you.”

“It will not please me, because it would be untrue,” Mr. Mole replied. “But I assert, and will maintain that without me the reptile would not have come to so sudden an end.”

No one contradicting this assertion, Mr. Mole looked grandly around him, and went to examine the dead monster.

During the day Jack had the snake buried, as its remaining in the sun would have created an unpleasant smell so near the cave.

Then he took Harvey on one side, and told him what he had heard respecting Emily.

“She’s gone, Dick, and what am I to do?” said Jack.

“I don’t believe in this golden city,” replied Harvey. “It is most likely a rich and luxurious place where the pirates live.”

“So I think. It is a comfort to know that Emily is removed from Hunston, if only for a short time.”

“Of course he means to join her as soon as possible, and imagines you will never find her.”

“He’s mistaken if he does,” answered Jack, with his old look of determination. “I’ll never rest till I have found her.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad dodge to capture Hunston and make him take us to her,” said Harvey.

“If we could; but there is no telling where he is hiding. He’s got a cave like ours, I expect; look how I’ve hunted for him.”

“Let’s have another try, shall we? Have you been round the coast?”

“No; inland chiefly.”

“It’s cool, now. Come for a stroll about the beach,” continued Harvey. “I should think Hunston is more likely to be near the sea, so as to have access to his boats and be able to cut it, if hard pressed.”

“You’re right, by gum,” said Jack. “I feel there is sense in what you say. Come on.”

They took up their arms, saw that the caps were all right, and started on their journey.

After travelling about three or four miles, they saw a handsome ship not very far from land.

She lowered a boat, and a party of men got into her and pulled for the shore.

“I say, Dick, I’ll bet a new hat that’s the ‘Seahorse,’ ” exclaimed Jack.

“Ben Blunt’s ship?”

“Yes; the one the mutineers have taken possession of, after murdering their officers.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Harvey. “But what a precious set of rascals they must be.”

“This Sam Parsons, from all accounts, is a beauty. If all Ben says of him is true, he’s a caution. What shall we do?”

“Perhaps,” replied Jack, “they’re coming on shore for water, or to have a spree. They don’t expect to find white men here. Let’s get as close to where they are likely to land, as we can without being seen, and fog them.”

“All right. Creep along behind these bushes, they will hide us,” said Harvey.

The boys made their way cautiously along, and whenever they looked up they could see that the boat was coming nearer.

At last they could hear the measured sound of the oars in the rowlocks.

“Let’s pitch here,” said Jack, deeming it prudent to call a halt.

He pointed as he spoke to a clump of trees that afforded excellent shelter, at the same time giving them a capital view of the sandy shore.

There were fifteen men in the boat.

Two remained in her when she was beached, and the others landed.

Some carried small casks, so that it was evident that they were in search of water as Jack had surmised.

These started in various directions, and half-a-dozen stayed under a clump of trees, throwing themselves down and beginning to smoke and drink.

Suddenly a form emerged from behind a rock, and advanced to the men.

All sprang to their feet and grasped their arms.

“Look, Dick, that’s Hunston,” whispered Jack.

“So it is. What’s his game?”

“Stand close. We shall see directly,” replied Jack.

Hunston, for it was he, stopped, and the leader of the sailors exclaimed—

“Who goes there?”

“A friend,” replied Hunston.

“Are you alone? ”

“Yes, with the exception of a few friendly natives. Who are you?”

“My name is Sam Parsons,” was the answer; “and I’m the captain of that ship you see riding in the offing. Now, who and what are you?”

“I was wrecked on one of these islands with some companions, but we’ve had a split,” replied Hunston.

“Where are the others?” asked Parsons.

“On this island, too. We’ve had a fight, and they’ve beaten us.”

“Are they armed?”

“They are,” answered Hunston; “but if you’d join me, we’d soon settle their hash.”

“You seem a free and easy sort of chap,” said Sam Parsons; “and if you like to turn pirate, you’re welcome to a berth with us.”

“Pirate?” repeated Hunston.

“Yes. Is there anything wonderful in that?” answered the mutineer. “We didn’t like our officers, so we——”

He drew his hand significantly across his throat.

“Gave them a free passage to the other world, eh?” said Hunston, with a grim smile. “That’s just my style, and if you’ll have me, I’ll cut and hang with the best of you.”

“Well said, my hearty!” exclaimed Sam Parsons. “You’re made of the right stuffy and a man of better kidney never sailed under the black flag, I can see. Come and join us in a glass of grog.”

“That I’ll do with pleasure, for I’ve tasted nothing strong than water this many a long day,” said Hunston.

The men dropped their arms, and they were soon pledging each other.

They seemed to consider Hunston an acquisition, and crowded round him to hear the story which he recounted.

“So you want to have a slap at your old friends?” said Sam Parsons.

“That’s my pious intention. I wasn’t strong enough without you, but with you we can easily do it.”

“Where are they?”

“About four or five miles up along the coast. They’ve got a cave, and are well armed; still we might surprise them at night.”

“How many are there of them?” continued the mutineer.

“Two youngsters, a middle-aged man, a native, and a sailor-looking sort of cove who has only just joined them,” replied Hunston.

“How do you know this?”

“Because I watched them this morning, one of my natives having met them. He pretended to run away from them, but turned back and tracked them to their lair. He took me close to them afterwards, so I know it’s all right.”

“What’s this sailor like?”

“He’s a bluff sort of fellow, and they call him Ben Blunt,” answered Hunston.

“Hang me if I didn’t think so. It’s Ben Blunt the bo’sun!” cried Sam Parsons.

“And who may he be?”

“Why, he was in our ship’s company, and being the only officer we liked, we spared his life and put him ashore here. So he’s joined the enemy!”

“Yes, that’s the lot.”

“Oh, by the Lord Harry,” continued the mutineer, “we must have a slap at Ben. He may get off the island with his new mates, and he knows enough to send a man-of-war after us, and get the lot of us strung up.”

A savage smile lighted up Hunston’s countenance.

“You’re with me, then?” he said. “Let us attack them in the grey dawn of tomorrow morning.”

“Right you are, my hearty! What do you say, lads?”

“Aye, aye,” responded the mutineers, in answer to Sam Parsons’s appeal.

Harvey grasped Jack’s hand.

“It’s lucky we came out,” he said, in a low tone.

“Yes,” replied Jack. “Now we’re warned we shall be a match for them, though if they’d surprised us and killed our sentry, we should have been shot like parrots as we came out of the cave.”

“Shall we go back now, and fortify ourselves?”

“I think so. Those fellows who are out for water may see us if we stop,” replied Jack.

With the same caution they had exercised in advancing, they beat a retreat.

They were disgusted with Hunston’s constant enmity, and feared they would have no peace while he lived.

Mr. Mole and Monday had been preparing dinner, and having been successful in killing a hog that had escaped from its pen when Palembang was burnt, a very savoury smell of roast pork greeted them as they approached.

“Come along, Harkaway,” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “We’ve got a spread fit for a king.”

“All right, sir; pitch in,” replied Jack. “I’ve got some startling news for you, but it shan’t take away my appetite.”

“Anything new?” asked Ben Blunt.

“The ‘Seahorse’ is anchored off the shore, a few miles away, and our old enemy, Hunston, has met with and joined the mutineers.”

“Is Sam Parsons ashore?”

“That he is,” replied Jack. “He and his confederates have hoisted the black flag, and they mean to attack us tomorrow morning.”

“The deuce they do!” said Mr. Mole, who was in the act of conveying a savoury piece of pork to his mouth.

“The villains!” replied Ben Blunt. “It’s all that Sam Parsons, though I could manage the rest of the crew, if it wasn’t for him.”

“It’s you they want, Ben,” continued Jack. “They are afraid of you since Hunston has told them you are with us. They say you can hang them.”

“That’s true enough; but hanging at the yard-arm is too good for Sam Parsons.”

“Never mind; we won’t give you up, Ben; we’ll fight for you.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Ben Blunt; “I’ll challenge Sam to fight me in single combat with cutlasses, and let the best man win. That’ll save bloodshed.”

“Bravo!” cried Jack. “I like a fair stand-up fight”

“Will he consent?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Oh, Sam’s plucky enough. He’ll fight.”

“And you mean to propose that if you beat him they shall let us alone, and we won’t interfere with him,” said Jack.

“That’s just the idea,” answered Ben.

“I’ve got an amendment to propose,” said Harvey.

“What’s that?” asked Jack.

“Only this:—When the fight is over, whichever way it goes, get up a big drink; you and I will steal away, get into a boat and board the ship.”

“They’ll have men on guard,” said Ben.

“Of course they will, but you forget that where there are no officers, there is no discipline. The men will be drunk or asleep. I know what sailors are well enough.”

“Let me go with you, Harvey. I should like to share in that glorious enterprise,” said Mr. Mole.

“More by token, the gentleman would not like to be left with Sam Parsons and his mutineers,” replied Ben, with a grin.

“Silence, my good fellow,” answered Mr. Mole. “My bravery has been tried often and often, in the hour of danger. We have got to see what you can do.”

“Let us all go,” said Jack.

“Better still,” Mr. Mole continued. “If our friend Ben here is victorious, he will be of service, and when we have made friends with the mutineers, and they are all intoxicated, we will sail for the vessel.”

“Monday know a plant which make um all sleep till this time next week,” exclaimed the black.

“Do you propose to drug them?”

“That it, Mist’ Mole. Put something in one big stone bottle, that for them; put nothing but rum in another, that for us.”

“Excellent! The thanks of the meeting are, I think, due to Harvey and Monday for two excellent ideas. Eat up your pig, Monday, and go in search of the drug,” said Mr. Mole.

“If it all comes off, it will be ripping,” exclaimed Jack.

“We’ll do our little worst, anyhow,” remarked Harvey.

After dinner the cave was strengthened by the erection of some mounds of earth which protected the entrance.

Each defender could crouch behind one of those little hills, and fire at the enemy without being exposed himself.

Monday procured the herb he wanted, and put large quantities of it into a big bottle of rum.

The guns were all loaded.

Each member of the little board took up a position assigned him by Jack.

The oars were put in the boat, which was moored near the shore so as to be ready at a moment’s notice.

Anxiously the moments glided by.

Each heart beat quickly, for the coming day was pregnant with events of importance.

CHAPTER XIII

SENDING THE CHALLENGE

THE excitement attendant upon the expected attack of the mutineers prevented any of the party from sleeping.

They sat outside the cave with their arms ready to their hands, and Monday walked up and down with a loaded rifle.

Mr. Mole had a bottle of rum, and dispensed the grog with a liberality which won the heart of Ben Blunt.

“You’re a gentleman, every inch of you, sir,” he exclaimed; “I can see by the way you handle the liquor.”

“No personal allusions, if you please, my worthy friend,” replied Mr. Mole.

“I can’t help it, cap’n. What I’ve got in my mind must come out. Now, if it isn’t a rude question, what do you think it cost you to colour your nose? It must have been a tidy sum, but you can make a rough guess.”

It was a fact that Mr. Mole’s nose had assumed a rosy hue of late, and shone like a fiery beacon on a dark night.

“Nonsense, my good fellow!” he exclaimed. “It’s the hot sun of these infernal regions. You’re mistaken when you ascribe the effect to intemperance. It’s nothing of the sort. Pass the bottle.”

“Right, sir. B’ilers require water; quite nat’ral.”

“Now, then,” said Jack, “don’t you two get sparring.”

Mr. Mole had sprung up, as if he intended to correct Ben Blunt by striking him.

But Jack pushed him back again.

Putting one hand on his head and the other on Ben’s he said, in an unctuous voice like that of a clergyman—

“Bless you! ber-less you, my children! Kiss and be friends.”

“Remove your hand from my head instantly, Harkaway!” cried Mr. Mole. “It’s a liberty I allow no man to take!”

“Kiss and be friends, then,” said Jack; “we can’t have you fighting. Wait for the mutineers.”

“You’re becoming very impertinent,” continued Mr. Mole. “Both you and Harvey seem to have lost the respect you ought to entertain for me. Don’t take any more liberties with me, Harkaway, or you’ll hear more of it.”

“Hullo!” cried Jack. “What’s the matter? You’re out of order, sir. Whose pills do you take?”

“Never mind; I will keep my place as leader of this party and protector of you poor defenceless boys: you keep yours. It is my province to command, yours to obey.”

Jack smiled and winked at Harvey.

“If so be as the gentleman wants a turn up on the grass, man to man, a fair field and no favour, I’m ready for him,” remarked Ben Blunt.

“I do not fight,” replied Mr. Mole. “Such low and blackguard practices may suit Whitechapel roughs.”

“Hang me if I know how to take him. I’m game. I was never sick or sorry an hour in my life, and if he means fitting, why, I’ll fit,” said Ben.

“Don’t you make any mistake, Ben,” replied Jack. “Mr. Mole is as game as a pebble, and would come up fresh as a daisy after the fiftieth round. Don’t you provoke him.”

“What’s he keep snacking at me for?”

“It is not for a boatswain, or whatever you call yourself, to insult a man of education like myself, understand that,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, proudly.

“The likes of you! And what be I ?”

“An indifferent cross, I should say between an idiot and a sea-cow,” replied Mr. Mole, who was rapidly drinking more than he ought to.

Jack and Harvey roared with laughter at this sally.

Mr. Mole smiled blandly at this token of their approval.

“That’s good. I flatter myself that’s good, eh Harkaway,” he said.

“Stunning, sir. You’ve spotted him to a T.”

“He asked my candid opinion, and I gave it him.”

“Well, I’m blowed, gents,” exclaimed Ben Blunt, getting as red as a turkeycock. “He’s a-giving it me a rum ’un all round the hoop and no kid. Cross at ween a hidiot and a sea-cow. Blow me tight! That’s a nice thing to say about a respectable cove, whose father fought with Nelson in the ‘Victory,’ and whose mother took in officers’ washing at Portsmouth. I’ll spoil his figurehead!”

“Harvey, hold that misguided man while I hit him on the head with a stick,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, adding, in a whisper, “Harkaway, what shall I do?”

“Cheek it out, sir.”

“Mutinous dog, forbear!” continued Mr. Mole. “You were the companion of mutineers. I will put you in chains, and convey you to your native land, there to await the judgment of your outraged countrymen.”

Harvey had great difficulty in restraining Ben, who was speechless with rage and indignation.

“I think I’ve settled him,” said Mr. Mole, with a hiccup. “What was it that broke the thingamy’s back, Harkaway?”

“Straw, sir. Last straw broke the camel’s back.”

“Precisely. Turn to your natural history, and you find that the camel is a native of Bactria.”

Mr. Mole took Ben’s quiet attitude for cowardice.

His courage rose accordingly.

“You need not hold the poor wretch any longer, Harvey. Let him go,” he said. “I think I have snuffed him out.”

“He’s in a mortal funk, sir. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about you which knocks them all over,” replied Harvey.

“It’s my bearing, Harvey, my majestic bearing.”

Suddenly Ben found his tongue, and sprang to his feet.

“I’ll give him something!” he gasped, “when I’ve finished with him, he shall have a cock eye and a game leg. There won’t be much what d’ye call—bearing about that. Sink me, if there will.”

“My word, sir,” whispered Jack; “his monkey’s up. You’d better cut and run.”

“Run, Harkaway! I’d scorn to. But do you really think he means it? I thought I’d cowed him.”

“Cut into the cave, sir. I’ll square it in two minutes.”

Ben Blunt was coming on at full speed, like an ironclad ram with the steam full on.

Mr. Mole made a clean bolt into the cave, and began to barricade the entrance with some wood and bits of rock. Jack stopped Ben Blunt, and exclaimed—“Steady, Ben; steady!”

“Steady she is, sir,” replied Ben, who was too good a sailor not to pull up when spoken to by one whom he considered his superior officer.

“Drop anchor, Ben.”

“Lower away, my lads,” replied Ben; adding, as he sat down—

“She’s swung round to her moorings, sir.”

“Right, Ben. Now listen to me. We make allowance for Mr. Mole. He is our senior, and we take no notice of what he says. He’s privileged, Ben.”

“That’s all well enough, sir,” cried Ben. “I’m no scholard, but it’s hard to be called sea-cows an cussed hidiots, ain’t it now?”

“All chaff, Ben. Nothing but empty chaff. I’ll take my oath he didn’t mean it. He’s a good sort when you know him.”

“Then may I be wrecked on a lee shore if I want to know him.”

“Step aft, Ben, and say there’s no bad blood between you. He’s the bung on board this ship, and will stop your grog if you ain’t civil.”

“Will he ‘pologise for the sea-cow, sir, think ye?” asked Ben, scratching his head dubiously.

“Avast there, Ben. He’s your superior officer. Never strike your flag, Ben, but always doff your hat to the ward-room.”

“You’re right, sir. Tell him to come out I won’t hurt him,” answered Ben Blunt, who was a good-natured fellow, and easily pacified.

Jack went to the cave and said—

“It’s supper time, sir; come and join us.”

“Is—is that wild sailor-fellow inclined to make peace, Harkaway?” asked Mr. Mole, looking cautiously through a hole in his barricade.

“He’s like a lamb, sir.”

“Is he? Then I’ll venture out. I don’t like mutineers as a rule. Not that I am afraid of any man living, but directly I recollected he was a mutineer, I thought it best to get out of the dog’s way,” answered Mr. Mole.

“Now, then, Dick,” cried Jack, “wake up! See what there is in the larder, and put on the feed.”

“There’s cold venison and some bird stuff or other— parrot, I think,” answered Harvey.

“All right; put it on. We’ll make a night of it, and fight the enemy all the better when they come.”

Mr. Mole emerged from the cave, and was induced to shake hands with Ben, who showed no further ill-feeling.

The “feed,” as Jack called it, was put “on,” and a very pleasant evening passed.

In a short time the daylight came and everybody was very valiant, especially Mr. Mole and Ben Blunt.

“Sam Parsons knows me well enough,” exclaimed Ben, “and I don’t believe that he’ll show up.”

“I’ve got an idea, Ben,” said Jack.

“Bully for you, sir,” replied the boatswain.

“Suppose you send Sam Parsons a challenge.”

“I’m game to do that, sir, and fight him as long as I can stand, with cutlashes or pistols, or both.”

“Very well; Monday shall take the challenge, but it must be written.”

“I’m no scholard, sir, as I said before,” answered Ben; “but if so be that your honour will write it out, I’ll put my mark to it.”

“I’ve got a pencil and a bit of paper,” said Harvey.

“Fork it out, then,” replied Jack.

Harvey gave him the pencil and paper, and Jack spread the latter out on his knee.

“What shall I say, Ben?” he asked.

Ben scratched his head, and looked up at the reddening sky, and then down upon the ground.

“It’ll run somehow in this way,” remarked Ben. “ ‘I, Ben Blunt, late bo’sun of the “Seahorse,” bound from Shanghai to the port of London.’ Got that, sir!”

“Yes; ‘port of London.’ Go ahead.”

“ ‘Challenge Sam Parsons, also of the “Seahorse,” and mutineer, to single combat.’ Got that, sir?”

“All right; ‘single combat.’ Cut along.”

“ ‘And the said Ben Blunt will fight with cutlashes or pistols, and——’ Got pistols, sir?”

“Yes; ‘pistols.’ ”

“ ‘And him as is whopped will have to bury the other, if so be as his lights is put out for ever.’ ”

“That’s lovely! I like the last bit,” observed Harvey.

“We’ll avenge you, Ben, if you fall,” said Jack.

“P’r’aps Mr. Mole will have a turn at him, sir, if so be as I’m beat,” observed Ben.

“Do you think I’d condescend to fight your battle you son of a sea-cook?” exclaimed Mr. Mole, angrily.

“Gents,” said Ben, “he’s at me again.”

“Never mind him; it’s his way,” answered Jack. “It pleases him and don’t hurt you.”

“Right, sir,” replied Ben. “I only clap on sail when there’s a capful of wind; it’s when I feel a tempest coming that I take in canvas.”

“Vulgar seaman!” said Mr. Mole.

“Well, sir?” inquired Ben.

“Peace, common fellow—peace!” continued Mr. Mole, waving his hand.

“Beg your honour’s pardon,” said Ben, speaking to Jack; “is that in the articles of war?”

“Yes; hold your noise.”

“But sea-cows, and sea-cooks, and vulgar seamens, and common fellows! Why, hang me, if I was a porpoise I couldn’t stand it much longer.”

“Polish off Sam Parsons first, and then you shall have a go at Mole.”

“You promise me that, sir?”

“Religiously.”

“Right. I’m dumb as an oyster, and then he’d better batten down his hatch, or I’ll walk into his hold,” said Ben.

Jack got up and dispatched Monday, with a white flag, to seek out the mutineers.

“Give them this,” he said, “and bring us their answer.”

“All serene, Mast’ Jack; Monday him do it,” replied the black.

But he hadn’t gone half-a-dozen yards before he ran back in a great state of agitation, crying—

“Here they come, sare—such a lot of ‘em! Oh, my, Mast’ Jack! look out, sare!”

Each member of the party firmly grasped his weapon and stood on the defensive.

The mutineers of the “Seahorse” were advancing in force.

It was a critical moment.

CHAPTER XIV

THE SINGLE COMBAT

“HARVEY,” said Mr. Mole, “don’t get behind me. Show yourself a man, as I mean to do.”

Dick was only kneeling to load his extra rifle, and took no notice of the admonition.

“You, Harvey, are a fine specimen of the vitulus Britannicus” continued Mr. Mole.

“Who’s he, sir, when he’s at home?” answered Harvey, getting up when he had finished loading.

“The British calf. Vitulus Brit—— oh! get out of my way, Harvey. I will make for the cave. A bullet whistled past my head, and I thought there was only to be a single combat.”

As Mr. Mole spoke a couple of shots hurled past and buried themselves in the walls of the cave.

The mutineers had commenced the attack.

“This is getting hot,” remarked Harvey.

“Getting hot,” replied Jack; “it’s boiling hot already. Monday, hoist the white flag, as a sign we want to parley with them.”

Monday did so.

The white flag was simply a bit of an old shirt stuck on the end of a bamboo.

“Hold your fire, Sam Parsons,” cried Jack. “Here’s a letter I want to show you from an old messmate. Stay where you are. Don’t advance another step or we fire.”

Hunston at this moment came to the front.

“You haven’t taken us by surprise, old fellow,” continued Jack.

“Let them have it!” cried Hunston, angrily.

“Hold hard, governor.” said Sam Parsons. “If so be as my old shipmate, Ben Blunt——”

“That’s me,” interposed Ben.

“I can see your old hull,” continued Sam. “Well, as I was a-saying, if so be as Ben wants a bit of palaver, I ain’t a-going to forget old times, and shan’t say nary word against it.”

“That’s righteous, that is, Sam, and though we ain’t cousins, blow me if I don’t sort of admire your style!” answered Ben.

“Shoot them all down, you fool; you’ll lose your chance!” exclaimed Hunston, more furious than ever.

“Belay, there! It’s a truce, Ben, isn’t it?” said Sam Parsons.

“Truce it is, Sam.”

“Look here, Hunston,” exclaimed Jack, “I know you to be a coward and a villain, and so I’ve covered you with my rifle. If——”

“You wouldn’t break the truce?” said Hunston, hastily, fearing Jack meant to kill him.

“No, I shan’t do that, but I shall keep my eye on the bead and my finger on the trigger, and if you so much as move half an inch, or open your ugly mouth again, I take my Dick I’ll pot you!”

Hunston turned ghastly pale.

But as he looked at Jack, he saw that he had his rifle to his shoulder, and that he could make “dead meat” of him in no time.

So he was obliged to be quiet.

“Ben!” exclaimed the mutineer.

“Here, lad,” answered Ben.

“Where’s this bit o’ writin’ you spoke about?”

“Monday!” said Jack.

“Yes, sare,” replied the black.

“Deliver the challenge.”

Monday advanced to Sam Parsons with the piece of paper on which the challenge was written, and Sam took it up, reading it with difficulty.

Some of his companions crowded round him and helped to make out its contents.

Turning to his lieutenant, Jimmy Clark, Sam said—

“What shall I do, Jim?”

“Do?” repeated Jimmy. “Why, fight him like a man. It’s a fair challenge, and if he beats, we’ll shake hands all round and let ‘em alone.”

“Well, if I beat?”

“Why, if you beats we’ll shake hands all round, too, and after a good liquor-up, we’ll up anchor and part friends,” said Jimmy.

“Is that business, Jim?” asked Sam Parsons.

Jimmy had been a clerk somewhere, at some time or the other, and they called him the sea-lawyer.

If anything difficult had to be decided, they always said—

“Go and ask Jimmy Clark: he’s our sea-lawyer, and be hanged to him!”

Thus it happened that Jimmy had great influence over his lawless companions.

A little learning is a dangerous thing, and Jimmy hadn’t much, but what little he had he made do double duty.

“Of course it’s business,” replied Jimmy. “If Antony had sent a challenge to Caesar, to meet him in the Campus Martius, wouldn’t Caesar have accepted it?”

“Then we must fight?”

“You and Ben must fight, that’s about the size of it, and I’ll bet a demi-quid on you, Sam.”

“Right you are Jimmy,” said Sam Parsons. “I’m a plucked one.”

“You have the choice of weapons, being the challenged party,” continued Jimmy. “What will you have?”

“Cutlashes for me,” exclaimed Ben.

“You dry up, old whale,” exclaimed Jimmy. “It’s for my man to choose. What do you want to spout for?”

“Well,” said Sam, “cutlashes be it. I never liked to crab a pal, and if Ben Blunt says cutlashes, I’m on with cutlashes.”

Two of the mutineers stepped forward, and gave each of the intending combatants a cutlass.

They took the weapons and faced one another.

Both sides made a circle round the principals.

Jack, however, did not lower his rifle, and never took his eye off Hunston.

The single combat was about to begin.

CHAPTER XV

THE RESULT OF THE FIGHT

THE two old salts stood opposite one another and flourished their weapons, which glittered in the sunshine.

“Tip us your flapper, Ben,” said Sam Parsons.

“Done with you, Sam,” replied Ben Blunt; “I’ve no particular ill-will against you, though you didn’t behave quite friendly.”

“It’s understood, lads,” said Jimmy Clark, “that whoever licks we makes friends, and each party goes its own way.”

Everyone assented.

“We’ll stand the liquor,” remarked Harvey, “and all shall be agreeable as far as we can make it.”

“All right,” replied Jimmy; “I’ll back up Sam, and that gentleman with the clerical mug on him will perhaps do the same for Ben.”

He pointed to Mr. Mole.

“Did you allude to me?” asked Mr. Mole.

“You’re the cove. Step out here and we’ll see fair play.”

“I can have no possible objection to seconding the champion of our party, but I strongly object to being called the cove with the clerical—what did you say?”

“Mug,” replied Jimmy.

“I think I understand your meaning, though I must protest against the vulgarity of your language. However, let that pass. I will do my duty,” replied Mr. Mole.

Jimmy Clark took his place behind Sam Parsons.

Mr. Mole took his behind Ben Blunt.

“Make ready,” said Jimmy.

The cutlasses described circles in the air.

“At the word ‘three,’ strike,” continued Jimmy.

There was a momentary pause.

Then Jimmy exclaimed—

“One, two, three!”

In an instant the blades crossed and struck fire.

Sam Parsons was a tall, active fellow, but Ben was the stronger of the two.

Perhaps he was not so active as his opponent, though he seemed to understand the sword exercise.

The spectators applauded their respective champions, taking the utmost interest in the contest.

“Lay on, Sam,” cried the mutineers. “Stick to him, lad; let him have it!”

While Jack and Harvey said—

“Cut him down, Ben—that’s your sort! Be careful, old man. Now you have him!”

Sam Parsons had the honour of dealing the first cut that drew blood.

It was an ugly blow on the left shoulder but it did not disable his opponent.

The pain it caused him made him more furious than ever.

Hunston looked on and gnashed his teeth, for this affair was so different to what he had anticipated.

He intended to have massacred all his own friends, and his plans were spoilt by the chivalrous combat that was taking place.

Of course he was safe with the mutineers, and did not fear being taken prisoner.

They would protect him.

At length, Ben, by a lucky stroke, brought Sam Parsons on one knee, having cut through the tendons of his left leg.

“Good again, Ben! Cut him down!” cried Jack.

“Curse the luck!” gasped the mutineer, still dealing blows with his cutlass.

Ben Blunt was excited, and encouraged by the cries of his party, rushed forward raised, his weapon with both hands, and brought it down on the defenceless head of his enemy.

There was a groan.

Sam Parsons fell forward on his face, his head being cleft in two to the chin.

The mutineer’s last hour had come.

There was a faint gurgle in his throat, a sort of death-rattle, and he gave up the ghost.

With the utmost composure the mutineers removed the body out of sight.

Then Jimmy Clark went up to Ben, and said—

“I guess you’re best man, and Sammy’s gone home.”

“And you’re cap’n of the ‘Seahorse,’ ” replied Ben.

“That’s right enough. However, we’ll keep our compact. No more fighting. You’ve done the trick, Ben, and so we’ll claim your promise. Bring out the liquor.”

Jack was horrified at the careless indifference of those men at the loss of their companion.

A moment’s reflection showed him that a ship’s crew who had risen against and killed their officers were not likely to give way to tender emotions.

Nor had he any time to waste in a melting mood.

“Monday,” he exclaimed.

“Yes, sare,” replied the black.

“Bring out the stone bottle—you know which one,” he added, in the native language, in a low tone.

Monday nodded his head in a significant manner, and entered the cave.

He returned with a large stone bottle containing rum.

The contents had been drugged with the peculiar herb of which he had spoken.

Harvey and Mr. Mole were attending to Ben Blunt’s hurt, which they bound up.

“Now, my lads, bring yourselves to an anchor,” exclaimed Jack. “We shan’t charge you any more for sitting. Here are some cups, such as we use ourselves, and here’s the stuff.”

With this he distributed some-half cocoanut shells, which could not be set down until they were empty, the bottom being round.

The men began to pour out the liquor and Jack spoke to Hunston, saying—

“Are you going to join your new friends?”

“No, I’m not,” replied Hunston. “I’m going to take my hook. The sight of you makes me feel ill.”

“Does it?” answered Jack, with a sneer. “Then take that with you to remind you of me.”

As he spoke he kicked him as hard as he could just as he turned his back.

“You dare——” cried Hunston, in a rage.

Jack levelled a pistol-barrel at him.

“Sheer off,” he exclaimed, “or I’ll settle accounts with you, and wipe out all I have got against you.”

“A time will come,” said Hunston, burning with rage.

The next instant he had darted away and was lost to sight in the dense jungle.

Returning to the mutineers Jack saw that they had all drunk.

Then he gave the stone bottle to Monday, saying—

“This is empty; go and get another.”

“Ah, that’s right,” exclaimed Jimmy; “you’ll join us. I thought you weren’t going to leave us all alone. When we’ve had this drinking bout out and the truce is over, we shall be at liberty to fight again.”

“Oh, yes; I quite understand that,” replied Jack. “You know, we ain’t going to let Ben Blunt crow over us.”

“Of course not.”

“We arranged that poor Sammy and Ben should fight it out, and that there should be a truce,” continued Jimmy. “Now we’re drinking to our noble selves; but when we leave you here and get out of sight, the war begins again.”

“We’re ready for you,” said Jack.

Mr. Mole approached.

“I think, Harkaway, that I should not be showing the loving kindness of my nature if I did not drink the health of these fine fellows.”

“Fire away, sir,” answered Jack, handing him a cup full of rum.

Harvey, Ben, and Monday now came in for their share and they all fraternised.

“Ben, you old lubber,” said Jimmy, “come and join us, lad, and we’ll make you our cap’n.”

“Not if I know it, Jimmy,” answered Ben.

“You won’t? Then tomorrow will see you as low as poor Sam Parsons, and we shall have lost the two best men in our crew.”

“I’ll never be a mutineer,” replied Ben. “Scuttle me first.”

“Come, gentlemen,” exclaimed Jack, fearing a quarrel, “let the merry jest go round. We’re friends now, whatever we may be tomorrow.”

“That’s right,” answered Jimmy. “Who’ll favour us with a song? Will you, sir?”

This request was addressed to Mr. Mole.

“I—I sing?” said Mr. Mole, in surprise. “I never did such a thing in my life. It is totally out of keeping with my character.”

“Go on, sir,” said Jack. “You can tip them a stave if you like.”

“Harkaway, I protest.”

“It’s no use protesting, sir. You’re knocked down for a song, and sing you must. It will be your call afterwards.”

Harvey clapped his hands.

“Silence, gentlemen,” he said, “silence, please, for Mr. Mole’s song.”

There was a dead silence, and everybody looked at Mr. Mole.

The unhappy gentleman bestowed a supplicating look upon Jack, who kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

“The penalty for not singing is being ducked in the sea, I believe,” remarked Harvey.

Thus stimulated, Mr. Mole sighed, and said—

“If I must, I must, though I can only give you a dimly-remembered trifle of my childhood.”

Clearing his throat he sang, in a cracked voice—

“Did you ever, ever, ever see a whale?

Did you ever, ever, ever see a whale?”

Did you——”

“Blarm me,” interrupted Ben Blunt, “if I didn’t once see a lovely spermaceti whale off the coast——”

“Order, Ben. Shut up,” cried Jack. “You’re interrupting the harmony.”

“Beg pardon, sir. Thought he was speaking to me, acos he looked——”

“Will you dry up?”

Ben collapsed, and Mr. Mole continued—

“Did you ever, ever, ever see a whale?

No, I never, never, never;

No, I never, never, never, saw a whale,

But I’ve often, often, often;

But I’ve often, often, often seen a cow.”

How much longer Mr. Mole might have gone on with his song it is difficult to say.

His voice, however, was drowned in a rude burst of loud laughter, in which every one joined.

This was followed by hurrahs and bravos, and it became quite a word afterwards with every one to say, “Did you ever see a whale?” and the reply would be, “No, but I’ve seen a cow.”

Mr. Mole sat down and solaced himself with a little refreshment.

“I flatter myself I did that well, Harkaway,” remarked Mr. Mole. “I was greeted with applause, and came off with flying colours.”

“Certainly, sir, ” replied Jack. Adding, “Dick, did you ever see a whale?”

At this there was another roar, in which Mr. Mole joined.

“The fact is, Harkaway,” continued Mr. Mole, “that it isn’t everybody who could sing that song.”

“So I should think, sir.”

“The words are so simple——”

“Very simple, sir,” said Jack, with a grin.

“So simple, I say,” continued Mr. Mole, “that a great deal depends on the way it is sung.”

Jack now remarked that some of the mutineers were lying on their sides.

The drug was beginning to take effect.

“Hullo! dowse my daylights!” exclaimed Jimmy Clark, “but this is a rummy go. I’ve come over wonderful sleepy all of a minute.”

“Pitch on the ground, then,” replied Ben Blunt. “Nobody won’t eat you.”

Unable to resist the influence of the drug that Monday had mixed with the liquor, the leader sank gently forward.

Directly afterwards he was fast asleep.

One by one the mutineers dropped off, and springing to his feet, Jack exclaimed—

“Now, my boys, are you all armed?”

There was a general chorus in the affirmative.

“Does the boat float, Monday?”

“Yes, sare; him float safe enough,” replied Monday.

“Slip your cable then, and away to the ‘Seahorse.’ She is ours if we do our duty.”

“Hur——” began Harvey.

“Silence, Dick. No holloaing till we’re out of the wood. That thief Hunston’s slinking about somewhere. We’ve our work cut out for us yet,” interrupted Jack.

They did not know how many men had been left on board the ship.

But their enterprise had succeeded so well, as far as it had gone, that they ran down the beach flushed with hope, and jumped into the boat.

When they were all seated the sail bellied to the breeze, and away they went.

CHAPTER XXI

TAKING THE SHIP

THEY had not gone far from the shore when Hunston, who had been hiding in the bushes, crept up to the scene of the late revelry.

The stillness that reigned where just before all had been noise and uproar alarmed him.

The sudden quietude boded no good.

When he saw the mutineers all extended on the ground, he thought they were dead.

But a glance assured him that they slept, and as their hearts beat, and they breathed easily, it was clear that they were not poisoned.

“They have been drugged,” he muttered.

His next anxiety was to discover what had become of Jack and his companions.

He reached the cave, and found nobody.

Then he gazed out over the sea, and saw the boat sailing towards the ship.

“Fiend take them!” he cried. “This is Jack’s plan, I’ll bet a sovereign, and a good one it is too. There cannot be more than half-a-dozen men on board the ‘Seahorse,’ and probably they are drunk and keeping no lookout.”

He danced about with uncontrollable passion.

All at once he remembered that Sam Parsons had told him he had arranged a signal with those on board the ship.

This was to light a fire.

If the lookout on board the “Seahorse” saw a fire on the shore, he would know at once that there was danger in the wind.

“I’ll try and foil Harkaway, at all hazards,” he cried.

Hastily gathering together some sticks, he contrived to light a fire by striking two flints together over some dry grass.

Heaping what wood he could find on the top of it, he soon had a roaring fire.

A black column of smoke ascended high in the air and extended seaward.

“Those on board the ship must see the signal,” he muttered.

If the ship was captured he knew that his dearest scheme would be frustrated.

Jack had learnt from the native he captured, that Emily had been sent to the pirates’ stronghold.

This was called the City of the Golden Towers.

The ship would enable Jack to sail to the island, on which the famous city was situated, and the rescue of Emily would be comparatively easy.

Besides this, the vessel would take Jack back to England, while Hunston would be left alone amongst the savages.

“I could gnaw my heart out with vexation,” he said, almost crying with rage.

He stood by the fire piling on wood, and watching the progress of the boat towards the ship.

The morning had broken clear and serene; not a cloud obscured the magnificent disc of the yellow sun.

A refreshing breeze carried the boat over the water like a thing of life.

In his impatience, Jack had seized an oar, while Harvey had grasped another.

She flew through the water.

Monday looked after the sail, while Mr. Mole sat behind Ben Blunt, who handled the tiller.

The dangerous nature of the task they had undertaken prevented them from feeling any inclination to talk.

It seemed an age before they reached the ship, though the actual distance traversed was not more than five or six miles.

When they were within a few yards of the vessel, they saw dark forms on the deck.

“Ship ahoy!” cried a sailor.

“Lower your flag!” exclaimed Jack, dropping his oar and grasping his weapons.

“Who are you, and where do you hail from?” continued the mutineer.

“You know me, Bill Drake, don’t you?” said Ben Blunt.

“Of course I do. What tack are you on now, Ben?” returned the one addressed as Blake.

“Sam Parsons is dead, and I’ve come to summon you to lay down your arms.”

“Never!” replied Drake. “There’s something wrong, lads. I see the signal on the shore; it’s a caution. Take your boat away,” he added, “or, by——, we’ll sink her!”

“Pour in a volley!” cried Jack. “Now, then, each of you cover your man and aim low. Are you ready? Fire!”

In a moment there was a succession of reports.

“Run her alongside, Ben, and then board her!” continued Jack.

“I’ll stick to you,” said Harvey to his friend.

“All right. Bet you a bob I’m on deck first, Dick,” replied Jack.

Almost directly, the crew of the boat were clambering up the sides of the ship.

Whether the mutineers were disheartened or not, Jack did not know.

But they returned the fire in a half-hearted manner, which did not appear to do any damage.

With his pistols in his belt, and a knife between his teeth, Jack went up the ship’s side, as if he were walking upstairs into his father’s drawing-room.

Harvey was after him in a trice.

They saw four men on deck, two having fallen at the first discharge.

Jack having fired his pistol at one, rushed at the other with his dirk and ran it through his body.

Harvey made short work with another, and the fourth fell on his knees and begged for mercy.

“Shall I settle him?” asked Harvey.

“No, let the beggar live. Take away his arms, though, ” replied Jack. The mutineer gladly allowed himself to be disarmed, and then the victors looked round to see the extent of the damage.

By this time Monday had gained the deck, not being so active as the boys, who, of course, knew much better how to get on board a ship than he did.

“Oh, Mast’ Jack!” cried Monday; how him bleed!”

“Who?” asked Jack.

“You, sare; look, your face!”

Jack put up his hand and withdrew it covered with blood.

“By Jove!” he said; “I’ve copped it, somehow, though I didn’t feel I was wounded. Is it much, Dick?”

Harvey approached to examine and said—

“It isn’t deep, but it’s a neat enough cut over the cheek bone. It’s a cutlass wound. I saw one of the fellows make a swipe at you as you boarded.”

“Tie something round it, will you?”

Taking a handkerchief off his neck, Harvey fastened it as well as he could round his friend’s face.

“Hurrah,” said Jack, “the ship’s ours! Ben! Where’s Ben?”

“Here, cap’n,” replied the old sailor coming up the ship’s side with difficulty. “I’ve got a bullet in the leg, but I wouldn’t stop below.”

“That’s a pity, for we’re short-handed already, and can’t afford to let you go into the sick bay,” said Jack.

Harvey had a look at the wound, and exclaimed—

“I’m surgeon’s mate, Ben.”

“Might have a worse, sir, and meaning no flattery to you,” answered Ben.

The ball fortunately had not gone in very far, and Dick felt it by probing the wound with his finger.

“Can you plumb it, sir?” asked Ben.

“True as a die, Ben. Shut your mouth and keep still.”

“Oh! That last poke seemed to touch up a muscle,” cried Ben, wincing beneath the pain.

Harvey had one of those wonderful knives in his pocket, which are a cork-screw, penknife, stone-picker, bradawl, forceps, etc., all in one.

Opening the forceps, he, with great nerve and considerable skill, inserted the instrument in the wound, grappled the bullet, and drew it out.

“The Lord love you, sir,” said Ben, joyfully. “Perhaps you’ve saved my life, leastways, my leg, which would have cankered without a doctor’s help.”

Harvey tore up part of his shirt and made bandages, which he tied round the wound.

“Now you lie still, my old sea-lion,” he said. “You’ve got an uncommon bad leg, and we shall have you tied up in your hammock with a big shot at your feet, if you don’t watch it.”

Ben hobbled to the after-deck, and sat down on a carronade, knowing that Dick’s advice was too good not to be followed.

The bodies of the mutineers were quickly thrown overboard by Monday, and the decks swabbed.

In a short time not even a blood-stain remained to show there had been an action.

Going up to Ben, Jack said—

“What’s the name of the man whose life we spared? Will he join us?”

“Bouncer’s his name, leastways, I never heard him called anything else,” answered Ben; “and as to joining us, will a duck swim?”

“What do they call him Bouncer for?”

“ ’Cos he’s the biggest out and outer at lying as ever had breath put into him,” said Ben.

“Oh, that’s it,” exclaimed Jack, laughing.

“You mustn’t believe anything that Bouncer tells you, ‘cos he can’t speak the truth even a little bit. He don’t know how.”

“Can we go to sea like this, Ben?” asked Jack.

“No, sir,” answered the old sailor. “We couldn’t work her if a storm came on. It would be a tempting of Providence, and I’d as soon sail on a Friday.”

“Then what’s the good of the vessel?” asked Jack in a tone of disappointment.

“Might man her with niggers, sir.”

“Niggers? Natives you mean.”

“Yes,” replied Ben. “I’ve seen Lascars do their duty when they’ve been well larruped with a rope’s end. But you can’t do nothing with them with kindness.”

“Are they lazy?”

“Ain’t they?” said Ben. “I’ve seen ’em—a score or more—sleeping on deck of a night, cuddled up in each other’s arms, all the world like monkeys, and that’s what they’d like to do always—eat and drink and sleep; but these here niggers may be a chalk better.”

“I’ll consider what’s to be done, Ben. Let Harvey help you below. Turn into your old bunk. You must take care of yourself.”

“Thank’ee, sir. I shall know little rest though till I can take my place again by your side,” answered the sailor.

“Where’s Mole?” said Jack, as Harvey and Ben disappeared.

In the excitement of the moment he had forgotten all about Mr. Mole, and he now looked anxiously round for him.

The proprietor of a tea-garden in China was nowhere to be seen.

CHAPTER XVII

HUNSTON IN DANGER

THE delight of Harkaway at having so boldly and gallantly captured the beautiful little ship “Seahorse” was unbounded.

He had many difficulties yet to contend with; but having possession of the vessel gave him hopes of sailing to the mysterious city where Emily had been sent.

Then, having rescued her, he could up anchor and sail for England.

The very thought of his home and all his friends, who no doubt, for his long silence, were mourning him as dead, sent him wild with joy.

He forgot the pain of his wound, which was beginning to stiffen.

He forgot all the difficulties he had to encounter, and had it not been for his anxiety on Mr. Mole’s account, he would have sunk into a charming reverie.

Monday came up at this moment, and he said—

“Have you seen Mr. Mole? I am afraid he is hurt, and I wouldn’t lose Mole for the world. We should have no fun without him.”

Monday grinned.

“Mist’ Mole all right, sare,” he replied.

“Is he? How do you know that?” asked Jack, much relieved.

“Monday saw him lower the sail in the boat, and creep under um, sare.”

“He’s in the boat, then?”

“Yes, sare.”

Jack looked over the side, and saw the boat drifting astern.

“Drop into the water, and swim to her,” he exclaimed, “or she’ll get into a current and go in shore. He’ll never work her himself.”

Monday had no superfluous clothing, and quickly dropped into the sea, swimming like a fish towards the boat.

He looked under the sail, but saw no one.

“Him gone,” he exclaimed.

“Gone! Pull the boat in, and make fast the painter to the ship,” answered Jack, whose presence of mind never failed him.

He had got into the habit now of giving orders, and commanded as if he had been born to it.

In a short time Monday worked the boat back, moored her, and came on deck, his dusky skin glistening in the sun after his immersion.

“Now, where’s Mole?” said Jack.

“Monday saw him, sare, creep under the sail when we began to fire.”

“Perhaps he’s on board, and we have missed him. Come below.”

Jack went down the hatch, and entered the captain’s cabin.

Here to his surprise, was Mr. Mole.

On the floor lay a man, very much the worse for liquor, and Mr. Mole had put his foot on his neck.

Bottles of various kinds, containing spirits and wines, were displayed on the table.

Mr. Mole had been trying each of them, and held a glass of something red in his hand, which he was sipping with great gusto.

“How did you get here, sir?” asked Jack. “We thought you had come to grief.”

“Harkaway,” answered Mr. Mole, “I have subjugated this Philistine. Look at him!”

“I can see him, sir.”

“Have I not put my foot on his neck?”

“But how did you get into this stateroom?” persisted Jack.

“You shall hear. First of all, try a glass of this liquor. I know not its name, but of a verity, Harkaway, it is comforting to the inner man.”

“Don’t mind if I do, sir. I got a nasty knock on the head, and don’t feel over and above bobbish,” replied Jack.

They drank, Mr. Mole raising his glass to his mouth with an unsteady hand, and saying—

“When the boat struck against the side of this goodly ship I saw a porthole, Harkaway.”

“Yes, sir.”

“My first impulse was to follow you on deck, but on reflection, I decided not to do so. I crept through the porthole, and entered this cabin.”

“Where you found the liquor, sir,” said Jack.

“No, Harkaway, not so,” replied Mr. Mole. “Where I found this truculent mutineer. We fought for more than ten minutes, and at last I conquered him.”

“You haven’t got a scratch, sir. That’s lucky, after a ten-minutes’ tussle.”

“I don’t show my wounds like some people. If I am thrust through the thigh with a murderous sort of knife, I don’t go and proclaim it on the housetops, not I, Harkaway,”

“Well, I’m glad to see you so well as you are, sir,” replied Jack. “You’ll excuse me for a time, as I have affairs to attend to.”

“Can I help you? If so, command Isaac Mole.”

“You must come on deck, sir. I must keep this cabin shut up.”

“Shut up the cabin?” said Mr. Mole, in dismay.

“Yes; this is my den in the future. I’m captain, sir, and you shall be one of my lieutenants.”

“This is reversing the order of things, Harkaway. Am I not entitled by my age and experience to be the leader? I will not quit this cabin at present, I protest against it; but I will drink your health nevertheless.”

While he was speaking he slipped off his chair, and fell stretched on the floor.

“Let him be, sare,” said Monday. “Him right enough now.”

“You black beast!” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “I will teach you how to respect your pastors and masters when I am better. Just now I feel sleepy. My exertions in the battle have made me drowsy. You can go and play. ”

A benignant smile overspread his countenance, and Jack and Monday left the cabin.

Going on deck again, they met Harvey.

“Hullo, Jack!” said Harvey, “did you ever see a whale?”

“No, I never, never saw a whale, but I’ve just seen a Mole,” replied Jack.

“Where?”

“In the cabin—tight.”

“Well, he’s happy. I thought he was potted. Shouldn’t like to lose old Mole. He isn’t a bad sort, and taught our young ideas, you know.”

“So he did. I like Mole. He keeps us alive.”

“Well, what’s the next move?” said Harvey.

“Blest if I know; I’m cornered,” answered Jack. “I must have a little while to rest and think. There’s Mole tight, Ben Blunt wounded, and I’m dead beat.”

“You’re wounded too.”

“It isn’t much, though I must own I want rest,” said Jack.

“Have it then. Monday and I will keep watch. There are too small cannons on deck, which I suppose the crew had to protect them against the Malay pirates. We will keep them loaded, and if the mutineers wake up and try to board us, we will sink them.”

“By the way, Monday,” asked Jack, “how long will the fellows be before the drug works off?”

“They wide ’wake enough now, sare,” replied Monday.

“How do you know?”

“You look, sare. See um all dance about; and, look, they got Mast’ Hunston!”

“I’ll be hanged if I can see them. Your eyes are sharper than mine,” replied Jack.

“Get a glass, Monday?” said Harvey. “We have one somewhere.”

Monday saw one lying on the deck, and handed it to Jack.

He put the telescope to his eye, and took a steady view of the opposite shore.

“By Jove!” he said. “Monday’s right. The fellows are all up, and bustling about like bees.”

“Have they got Hunston?” asked Harvey.

“Yes; they are binding a fellow who looks like Hunston.”

“Him Mast’ Hunston, sure enough,” said Monday. “Me never forget um face.”

“What are they going to do with him?” continued Harvey.

“Jiggered if I know,” answered Jack. “They’ve got him safe. There is something on, but what it is, I can’t make out for the life of me.”

“I expect he’s had a row with the mutineers,” said Harvey; “but he’ll square it with them, no doubt. It isn’t worth while bothering about him.”

“Not much,” replied Jack.

He dropped the glass, and as he did so, Bouncer, who had been neglected in the confusion came up.

“Beg pardon, captain,” he said.

“What do you want? Oh, you are the prisoner,” replied Jack.

“Yes, sir, and I want to know what you’re going to do with me.”

“Look here, Mr. Bouncer,” said Jack; “the ship is ours now, and we mean to take very good care she shall remain ours. If you like to become one of our crew, we’ll take you to England with us, and say nothing about the mutiny.”

“That’s generous, sir,” replied Bouncer, “though, to tell you the truth, I was dead against the rising from the first, and it was through me that Ben Blunt’s life was saved.”

Jack did not quite believe this, for he remembered what Ben had said about Bouncer’s lying powers.

“You’ll be short-handed, sir,” continued Bouncer. “There’s only yourselves, me, and Geary, who’s been drunk in the captain’s cabin for the last two days.”

“You’ll have to work double tides, then,” said Jack; “but we mean to get some niggers to ship with us.”’

“From one of the islands?”

“Yes; say a dozen or so, and they can be brought to their homes by the next ship that comes out this way. I’ll see about that.”

“Then I’d better set about my duty, sir,” exclaimed Bouncer; “for although I say it who shouldn’t, there isn’t a better fo’castle hand than I am.”

“No treachery, mind, Mr. Bouncer,” said Jack. “If I see the least symptom of an inclination on your part to join your old friends, I’ll shoot you like a seagull.”

“No fear, sir. I’m glad to be under a proper cap’n again. When do you sail?”

“Not yet. We must wait till that drunken hound in the cabin is sober, and Ben Blunt can get about and give us a hand. You, I, Harvey, and Monday, with Mr. Mole thrown in, are not sufficient to work the ship.”

“That’s the crew, is it, sir? Four men and a black— five all told.”

“That’s all—five men, if you like to call Harvey and I men.”

“Ah, I could spin you a yarn, sir,” said Bouncer, “of how I and another chap crossed the Atlantic, when we wasn’t fourteen years old, in a cockle-shell of thirty tons. It isn’t the years, it’s the spirit that makes a man.”

“There is something in that,” replied Jack; “and now keep a good lookout. Those two small cannons are loaded. If the mutineers come near us in their boats depress the muzzles and fire low, and we shall sink the lot of them.”

Having given some trifling orders to Harvey and Monday, Jack took up the glass again and reconnoitred the shore.

Hunston was certainly in trouble.

But what about?

CHAPTER XVIII

THE RAGE OF THE MUTINEERS

TO explain the peculiar position into which Hunston had fallen, we must return to the mutineers.

The drug which had been given them, though quick in its action, was not lasting in its effects.

In a few hours they had slept off the lethargy which had overtaken them.

Jimmy Clark, being a man of strong constitution, was the first to return to his senses.

He was followed by the rest of his companions, one by one.

They all awoke somewhat dizzy and drowsy, rubbing their eyes and stretching their limbs.

Hunston no sooner saw they were getting about again, than he left the signal fire and came towards them.

“What’s the meaning of this, and where are your late friends?” asked Jimmy.

“They’ve been one too many for you, curse them!” replied Hunston.

“How’s that; and why did you light the signal?”

“To give those on board warning that there was danger.”

“What danger?” asked the mutineer.

“You’ve had some stuff put in your grog,” said Hunston, “which sent you all off to sleep.”

“Hang me, if I didn’t think as much.”

“While you slept, the party, under Jack Harkaway, sailed to the ship, attacked, and captured it. I heard the firing, and though I lighted the signal, it did not save the vessel.”

The mutineers looked blankly at one another.

“Is this true?” cried Jimmy fiercely.

“Judge for yourself,” replied Hunston. “Look, they are lowering the black flag you hoisted, and running up the Union Jack.”

“So they are. It’s a case, and Ben Blunt has us in the palm of his hand. He’ll send one of Her Majesty’s cruisers after us, and we shall be shot or hanged.”

The dismay of the mutineers increased.

“Death is better than being left on this island,” said one.

Turning savagely to Hunston, and eyeing him suspiciously, Jimmy Clark exclaimed—

“It strikes me, my hearty, that you’ve had a hand in this.”

“I?” repeated Hunston.

“Yes, you; they used to be your friends. How is it you were not drugged with the rest of us?”

“Because I wouldn’t drink with them.”

“That be blowed for a yarn. Catch an old sailor refusing his allowance, when it’s offered him,” said Jimmy.

“Look here,” replied Hunston, growing alarmed at the threatening looks which were bent upon him from all sides.

“Well?” said the mutineer, sullenly.

“If I’d stood in with them, shouldn’t I have gone off in the boat with them, and not have stopped here with you?”

This argument did not convince Jimmy.

“Not you. There is some dodge on. You didn’t expect us to wake up so soon, and meant to have joined them later. If they ain’t waiting for you, why don’t they set sail at once?”

“Look ’ee here,” said a hairy, rough-looking mutineer, “you see the smoke from that fire’s a-blowing right into the cave, ain’t it?”

“Yes, it be so,” replied Jimmy.

“Well, then, it’s my idea he meant to have dragged all our bodies in there and have suffocated us right off, only we come to a sight too quick for him.”

This unlikely suggestion was eagerly caught at by the mutineers, and fully believed in.

Knives leaped from sheaths and flashed in the sunlight.

More than one pistol was levelled at Hunston’s head, and his life with these ferocious men did not seem worth a minute’s purchase.

Jimmy now interfered.

“Put up your shooting-irons, lads,” he exclaimed. “There is one comfort, we’ve got the traitor.”

“Kill him! kill him!” cried a chorus of voices.

“Not yet. Seize him and bind his arms, so as he shan’t slip his cable.”

A dozen willing hands fell upon Hunston, and securely bound his hands behind his back.

This was what Jack had observed from the deck of the “Seahorse.”

It was this confusion which had puzzled him.

“Now, my lads, let’s have a bit of a palaver,” said Jimmy.

The mutineers crowded round their leader in a circles.

Hunston was sitting on the ground, looking sullen and dejected.

“It was this chap,” continued Jimmy, pointing to Hunston, “who got us to come here to attack Ben Blunt, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right enough.”

“Well, Sam Parsons got killed, and I always thought there was foul play about that, which was all of a piece with the rest.”

“Ben Blunt never could have beat Sam Parsons if there wasn’t something quizzy a-going on,” remarked a mutineer.

“So I say,” remarked Jimmy; “and it’s all bits of the same plot. Well, we gets drugged, doesn’t us?”

“Sure,” replied the men.

“Then, while we’s asleep, Ben and his mates goes and takes our ship. Now what I say is that this Hunston is at the bottom of it all. He’s helped his friends, and all what’s happened is all along of him.”

“Don’t I tell you that I hate Harkaway and all his companions like poison?” exclaimed Hunston.

“What you say don’t matter much. It ain’t of no account,” answered Jimmy.

“Won’t you listen to reason?” continued Hunston. “A child, if he’d look at the facts fairly, could see that I’ve had nothing to do with it.”

“Look here,” said the mutineer, “you may jaw for a month, but you won’t alter our opinion. We’ve dropped anchor at that idea, and we shall ride at it, shan’t us, lads?”

There was a noisy chorus of assent.

“Now, you’ve done a deal for your pals, and they ought to do summat for you,” persisted Jimmy.

“They won’t do anything for me,” replied Hunston, “so it is no use your thinking of it.”

“We’ll try them. I want that ship. We’re treed so long as we ain’t got our ship, and I don’t know as we should do much good by attacking of her now she’s well looked arter.”

“Why not? You’re four to one.”

“Maybe; but Ben Blunt and his friends are wide awake, they are, not like our two scoundrels Bouncer and Geary, and the others, who must have got blazing drunk, and kept no watch.”

“You’ve got two boats. Go and attack the ship. I’ll lead the attack,” Hunston suggested.

“No, thank you; I’ve got a better dodge than that. You’d go over to the enemy. I know you. Wanted to smother us all in the cave, didn’t you?”

Hunston groaned at the pig-headed and ignorant obstinacy of the man.

“No, my lads,” Jimmy went on; “we won’t attack the ship to be sent to the bottom by the cannon, not us. We’ll send a flag of truce, and tell who ever’s captain of the ‘Seahorse’ that if the ship isn’t given up in twelve hours, we’ll hang this Hunston on a tree in sight of his pals.”

There was a roar of assent to this proposition.

“Jimmy can do it. He’s a born lawyer all over,” said one of the mutineers named Phillips.

“Are we sailing on the right tack?” asked Jimmy, much pleased with the applause he received.

“That’s right,” replied Phillips. “Let Hunston write a bit of a note—we’ve got pencil and paper among us— and then two of us will go in the boat with a flag of truce and let’em think it over.”

“It must be put strong and simple to them,” said another mutineer.

“You leave that to me, and don’t attempt to teach your betters,” exclaimed Jimmy. “It’s this way; they give up the ship in twelve hours, or we put a noose round their friend Hunston’s neck, and hang him up to the nearest tree.”

“But I’m not their friend,” said Hunston.

“Go along, and tell that to the marines,” replied Jimmy, derisively.

“We’re enemies. We hate one another, and I’ve been trying to kill the whole of them this ever so long. My life doesn’t matter a rush to them.”

“It won’t do, governor,” said Jimmy. “We’re able-bodied seamen, and it won’t wash.”

“All right; you’re a parcel of fools, and must do as you like, I suppose,” exclaimed Hunston, with a sigh of resignation.

He saw it was useless to talk to them.

They fancied he was a traitor to them, and a friend of Ben Blunt and Harkaway, which was quite enough for them.

Paper and pencil were produced, and handed to Hunston.

“Now, then, write for your life; that’s what you’ve got to do.”

Write to Harkaway to save his life!

What a strange turn events had taken since Jack was Hunston’s captive in Palembang, and a high gallows had been erected especially for him.

Hunston had some spirit and pride left in him, and he hesitated before he put pencil to paper.

He felt it would be no use.

It would be an unnecessary humiliation.

Throwing the pencil down, he said—

“Write yourselves! I’ll be hanged if I lower myself by writing to Jack, not even to beg my life.”

The mutineers regarded him with astonishment.

CHAPTER XIX

TWELVE HOURS ONLY

THE scene was a striking one.

Hunston’s arms had been unbound to permit him to write, and an empty biscuit cask had been rolled before him, upon which the sheet of rough paper was placed.

Around him were gathered the picturesquely-attired mutineers, with their savage faces sunburnt and swarthy.

On one side was a cave, situated at the base of a rocky ledge, which stretched for some distance along the shore.

Behind arose a vast forest, filled with all the luxuriant vegetation of the tropics.

In front a sandy plateau swept down to the blue, curly waves of the sea, which, agitated by a faint breeze swept in gently eddying circles, flecked with foam.

“Won’t you write ?” asked Jimmy Clark, angrily.

“No; I have told you I won’t,” replied Hunston.

“Perhaps we can find a way of persuading you, my bantam cock.”

“What’s the good of bullying me?” Hunston said. “Can’t you write yourself? You seem to have some education.”

“I can write, and read, too, for that matter; not that either accomplishment’s of much use to a sailor. But give us hold of the pencil, I don’t want to be nasty,” said Jimmy.

He took up the pencil, and hastily wrote—

“To Ben Blunt, and those on board the ‘Seahorse’ with him.

“Look here, old mate, you’ve been and gone and done it, and we ain’t a-going to stand it, that’s flat.

“We’ve got your friend Hunston—leastaways he’s a friend of the chap they calls Jack Harkaway, who’s at the bottom of this fakement.

“Now this is the size of it.

“If so be as you don’t part with the ship in twelve hours from the time of getting this writing, we shall string up Hunston.

“That means hanging of him.

“We give you twelve hours to think it over.

“Let us have our ship, and we’ll shake hands and cry quits.

“Your lot shall have this island, which we’ll vacu— cu——”

“I say, how do you spell ’vacuate?” asked Jimmy.

Hunston told him.

“There maybe a ‘e’ at the end,” said Jimmy; “I don’t say there isn’t, but blow me if there’s one at the beginning, and blame me if I put one. It’s ’vacuate, ain’t it? Well, then, how can you put a ‘e’ at the top. Go on. It’s foolishness. You’ll tell me next I ain’t been to school at all.”

“Put it as you like,” replied Hunston.

“Which will be, ‘’vacuate the island,’ ” continued Jimmy, “and say no more about it, though that drugging business was a dirty bit, and no flies.

“So give up the ship, and cry a go, or we’ll hang this this cur, Hunston.

“So no more from yours at present, and a hoping it leaves you.

“JIM CLARK.”

“Will that do, lads?” said Jim, reading it out with conscious pride.

The mutineers said it was beautiful, and evidently regarded the composition as the highest style of art.

“Now, Phillips, my man, you and me will sail over to the old tub, and deliver this ‘ere letter,” continued Jimmy.

Hunston was again bound, and the mutineers, after seeing their companions start, began to busy themselves in preparing their breakfast.

In the cave they found a variety of articles, abandoned by Jack and his party, which came in very handy.

Hunston watched the boat sail off with a dogged look.

He did not expect any mercy from Jack, and thought that the attempt to get back the ship by threatening his own life would be a failure.

On all occasions he had treated Harkaway and Harvey, too, so infamously that he fancied they would show more than Christian forgiveness if they raised a hand in his defence.

“I’m a bad lot,” he muttered. “I’m a thorn in their side, and the sooner I’m dead and gone the better for them. What do they care for me?”

The mutineers left him to himself, taking no notice of him.

He could not escape; that was all they cared about.

Hunston evidently believed his end was approaching.

No wonder he was sullen and silent.

Meanwhile the boat was on its way to the “Seahorse.”

Jack saw it long before it came near, and seeing only two men in it, did not feel much alarmed.

He called Harvey to his side, and pointed it out.

“What shall we do?” he asked.

“Oh, we needn’t funk,” replied Harvey. “They’ve come to remonstrate with us, perhaps.”

A white flag was run up to the top of the little mast, and Jack cried—

“Lay to!”

The mutineers hauled down their sail, and hove to.

“We’re unarmed,” cried Jimmy Clark, “and have brought you a letter, sir.”

“Come on board then,” replied Jack. “You, I mean the other fellow, can stay in the boat.”

The mutineer approached nearer, and in a few minutes Jimmy was on deck.

“I’m the bearer of a letter sir,” he said; “and come with a flag of truce, so of course you won’t do anything to me. More by token that we’ve got your friend hard and fast.”

“What friend?”

“Him they call Hunston.”

“He’s no friend of ours, my good fellow,” said Jack. “You never made a greater mistake in your life.”

“I thought you would say so,” exclaimed Jimmy. “Howsomever, read that bit of writing.”

Jack took the scrawl, and with difficulty made himself master of its contents.

“Is this a dodge?” he asked.

“What do you mean, sir?” inquired Jimmy.

“Is this a dodge of Hunston’s or are you really going to hang him because you think he has betrayed you and is a friend of ours?”

“Wish I may die, cappen,” answered Jimmy, “if every word of that letter isn’t gospel truth.”

“You mean to hang Hunston, if we don’t give up this ship in twelve hours?”

“That’s it, sir.”

“And you give me twelve hours to decide?”

“Not a minute more. If we don’t hear from you then, up he goes.”

“Very well,” said Jack. “I can’t give you an answer off-hand, but I’ll think the matter over.”

The mutineer inquired after his comrades, and declared that he was sorry Geary and Bouncer were alive as they deserved killing with the others, because they had kept such a bad lookout.

“You ought never to have had this ship,” he said.

“But we’ve got it, my friend,” answered Jack.

“I know that. Well, sir, we’ll expect your answer, and if you’ll give us a glass of grog——”

“Not a drop. You’re a mutinous dog and I’ll have nothing further to say to you,” interrupted Jack.

“But sir——”

“Be off, or I’ll help you,” said Jack, who was indignant with the mutineers, and did not care to take the trouble to speak civilly to any of them.

Jimmy descended the side, and the sail of the boat was soon bellying to the breeze, as he returned to his companions.

“Dick!” cried Harkaway.

“Here!” replied Harvey, who had been standing at a respectful distance, and had not heard what passed.

“Come below; we must hold a council of war.”

“All right. Lead on,” said Harvey.

They went into the captain’s cabin.

Monday remained on deck with Bouncer.

Ben Blunt was in a hammock.

Geary had been removed, and was trying to get sober, while Mr. Mole was drinking some fine Madeira he had found in a locker, and was nibbling a ship’s biscuit.

“Ah! you have come at last, Harkaway,” he said. “That is my lunch. Have some lunch.”

“What is it, sir?”

“Merely a biscuit and a glass of wine. Excellent Madeira. Try a glass.”

Both Harvey and Jack complied with his request, and had some lunch.

“Comfortable quarters these, Harkaway. When do we sail?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Not for a day or two, sir,” replied Jack.

“Ah, well! I leave all those things to you. Of course you’ll put me in the way of getting to China. I must see after my tea-garden.”

“Sell it, sir. We shall not get much further up the China Sea.”

“I should like to see it. I must see my tea-garden, and shan’t die happy if I don’t,” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

“What are you going to do with your wives, sir?” inquired Harvey.

“Wives! ah! Great bother wives; but I’ve given them the slip, eh! Shouldn’t mind Alfura so much, but Ambonia is—a—what shall I say?”

“A teazer, sir.”

“She’s worse than that, Harvey. She’s a millstone round a man’s neck. What a lovely corpse she would make, to be sure.”

“I’m ashamed of you, sir,” said Jack. “You don’t manage her rightly, but you’ll have an opportunity of making up for your bad behaviour, as we are going to Limbi.”

“Going—to—Limbi!” said Mr. Mole, in horrified amazement.

“Must go.”

“What for?”

“Haven’t got our full complement of hands. Want niggers to make up the crew,” replied Jack.

“Let me work. Let me do the work of a common seaman. I will indeed; but don’t, for the love of Heaven, go to Limbi.”

“Must,” said Jack.

“Well, then, say I’m dead. Tell them I fell fighting bravely against the Pisangs. Tell them anything, only don’t give me up to the furies,” supplicated Mr. Mole.

“We’ll see what can be done for you, sir,” replied Jack. “By the way, did you hear the news Monday brought from Limbi?”

“That my wives meant to come after me?”

“No, not that. Mrs. Mole Number One expects to become a mother.”

“Oh, Lord!” cried Mole, pressing his hand to his head.

“And Mrs. Mole Number Two also has an expectation of the same sort, but isn’t quite sure.”

“The Lord be good to me! Two Little Isaacs! Oh, Lord! what shall I do? Two little Isaac Moles, with a prospect of more,” said the wretched man.

“It’s nice to be a father, sir,” remarked Harvey.

“Not when they’re niggers; the children, I mean. No, Harvey, I cannot look forward to such a prospect with an equal mind.”

“Poor little innocents. What have they done? If you don’t like kids, sir——”

“Harvey, I beg of you to refrain from any indulgence in unseemly mirth on my account. I will not put up with it.”

Harvey sang—

“One little Isaac,

Two little Isaacs,

Three little Isaac Moles.

You can do it, sir. Perhaps Ambonia will have twins.”

“Do you want to drive me mad?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Shut up, Dick; I want to talk about business?” cried Jack.

“Ah! business!” exclaimed Mr. Mole, rubbing his hands, and taking another glass of wine. “That’s more in my way. I hate and abominate chaff. What is the business may I ask?”

“The mutineers fancy Hunston has betrayed them, and mean to hang him in twelve hours if we don’t give up the ship,” replied Jack.

Both Harvey and Mr. Mole received this news without showing any signs of astonishment or regret.

They did not seem to care whether Hunston lived or died.

Possible of the two they would have preferred him dead.

CHAPTER XX

JACK’S GENEROSITY

“Let them hang him,” said Mr. Mole.

“So I say,” remarked Harvey. “He’s no good. It will save us the trouble of settling his hash some day.”

“Give up the ship and these comfortable quarters, with the chance of getting to China or home again?” continued Mr. Mole. “We’re not candidates for Colney Hatch lunatic asylum yet.”

“Nor Hanwell either,” replied Harvey. “What do you say, Jack?”

“I don’t see the force of giving up the ship,” answered Jack, “and yet I don’t like to leave Hunston to his fate.”

“Has he ever shown you any kindness?” said Harvey. “Was he not always your determined enemy at school, and has he not been so since,” said Mr. Mole.

“That is true; but I shouldn’t like to see an old schoolfellow hanged before my eyes, as I may say.”

“The sentiment does more honour to your heart than head, Harkaway,” Mr. Mole said. “If I were you I should not trouble about the scoundrel.”

“But I shall, sir. You and I are two different people, and I won’t leave Hunston in the hands of the mutineers.”

“Dear, dear,” said Mr. Mole. “This is an unfortunate determination of yours. Here have we fought valiantly for the ship, and——”

“I’m not going to give up the ship.”

“Oh! that’s a different thing. What is it you propose to do, then?” Mr. Mole said, much relieved.

“I shall go ashore, and have a shy at the mutineers. By myself, if no one has the pluck to go with me.”

“Really I must decline the challenge,” Mr. Mole replied. “The fatigues of this morning’s battle have been too much for me. It was mainly owing to me that the ship was captured. Had I not gone through the porthole, and settled the man down below, I verily believe he would have fired the magazine, and then what would have become of you who were struggling on deck?”

Jack looked at Harvey, who saw the glance and comprehended it, but he preserved silence.

“Won’t you lend a hand, Dick, to save an old schoolfellow?” urged Jack.

“I’ll tell you what it is,” replied Harvey; “if it had been anybody but Hunston, I would not have hesitated a moment, but——”

He paused.

“Well Dick?” said Jack, calmly.

“It seems to me to be folly to risk our own lives to save his.”

“He’s got friends, Dick. He’s got a mother and father, and brothers and sisters. Won’t they like to see him again, bad as he is. Think of his poor mother,” said Jack.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so eloquent,” replied Harvey. “I shall have to give in whether I like it or not, if you go on like that.”

“He’s young, Dick, not above a year or two older than we are, and he’s led a wicked life, and done—what is it we say at church, Mr. Mole?”

“ ‘Those things which we ought not to have done,’ Harkaway. Is that what you mean?”

“That’s it, sir. Well, Dick, he’s got sins to repent, and you know he might turn out a decent fellow after all.”

“Don’t walk into my affections like that, Jack,” said Harvey.

“But I must and will.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“To come and save Hunston.”

“How?”

“It’s a time to forget his faults,” said Jack. “We must put those on one side.”

“I don’t know at present. We’ve got twelve hours to do it in. Only twelve hours. Just one day. It doesn’t seem long, though it’s time enough to save a man’s life in.”

Still Harvey was irresolute.

“Would it look well to go home and see Mr. Crawcour, and Collinson, and Mr. Stonor, and all our own friends, and tell them that we left Hunston to be hanged before our eyes, when we might have raised a hand to save him? Dick, old boy, you’re not showing your proper form, you’re not, indeed.”

“You’ve licked, Jack,” cried Harvey, jumping up. “I didn’t think anyone could have persuaded me to go across the street for Hunston, but you’ve done it.”

“You’ll come?”

“Rather. I’m with you, Jack, sink or swim. They shan’t say we left an old schoolfellow in the lurch.”

“He had me beaten with the bamboos,” remarked Harvey, “till I thought my back was being skinned.”

“And he tried to hang me twice over. Never mind,” replied Jack, “we’ll show them all that we’ve got some British pluck left, and we’ll save him, or——”

He paused.

“Or what, my very impulsive young friend?” asked Mr. Mole, with a cynical smile.

“Turn up our toes, sir,” replied Jack.

“What may that mean?”

“Croak, sir. Get ready for your six feet of polished elm or oak, if your family can afford the luxury.”

“You should not joke about such subjects, Harkaway. It is wrong. I trust neither you nor Harvey will want a coffin; but, if you should, depend upon it, I will do the best I can, taking into consideration the slender resources of the country.”

“Well,” said Jack; “that’s cool.”

“I trust I am always cool in the hour of danger, Harkaway,” replied Mr. Mole.

“Well, sir, laughing’s better than crying, and I daresay we shall hit upon a dodge of rescuing Hunston without losing our lives.”

“Let us hope so.”

Jack was rather annoyed with Mr. Mole for the selfish way in which he spoke, and, rising, beckoned to Harvey.

“Come on deck, Dick,” he said.

“Are you going?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Yes, we are going.”

“You leave me with my friend,” said Mr. Mole, playfully tapping the wine-bottle.

“Take care of it, sir. It’s the only friend you’ve got, and he won’t turn out a real one,” replied Jack.

Directly he had said this, he was sorry for it.

Mr. Mole got up, and running after Jack, caught him close to the entrance to the cabin.

He looked hurt, and really felt hurt, for it was the first time either of the boys had said anything unkind to him, or noticed his growing weakness for the bottle.

“Harkaway,” he exclaimed, touching his shoulder.

“Well, sir,” replied Jack.

“You said something, which I thought very unkind, a moment ago. Did you mean it?”

Jack’s heart was in his mouth in a moment.

“No, sir, I didn’t,” he replied; “and I’m very sorry I said it. Will you forgive me?”

“Our lot,” said Mr. Mole, “is cast in a foreign land, and we are in the midst of danger. I may have drunk too much, Harkaway; perhaps I have——”

“No, sir——”

“I’m not blind to my own faults, but it cuts me to the quick to be ridiculed by my own pupils, my dear friends, for I love you both as my own children.”

“I believe you do, sir,” replied Jack.

“You must not think I am a silly old man,” continued Mr. Mole. “Out here I may indulge too much occasionally, but why shouldn’t I? Look at the surrounding circumstances. What are they?”

“Niggers and sea, sir,” replied Harvey.

“With occasional snakes and mutineers,” said Mr. Mole. “But seriously, my dear boys, do not say anything rude to me again. I cannot bear it. Believe me, that however foolish I may seem to you occasionally, I do value your good opinion, most highly. I do, indeed.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t mean anything. I didn’t want to be cheeky,” said Jack.

“And I’ll say more, Harkaway, now I’m on the subject,” Mr. Mole went on. “I admire the courage you have displayed under the most trying circumstances. It’s been a source of pride and wonder to me.”

“Don’t butter me too much, sir; I can’t lend you half-a-crown if you want it,” replied Jack, smiling.

“No, no; you must not make fun of what I say. I do my best, but I cannot equal you. However, we are not of an age, and youth is always ardent.”

“That’s it, sir,” exclaimed Jack. “Please accept my apology for hurting your feelings. I wouldn’t have done it for a fiver. Will you forgive me?”

“Forgive you, Harkaway? There’s my hand.”

Jack took it, and grasped it heartily.

“Now we’re friends, sir,” he said.

“Yes, Harkaway.”

“And you’re perfectly satisfied?”

“Perfectly. God bless you! No one shall say that Isaac Mole ever bore malice, but I wouldn’t lose the esteem of you two boys for anything. Remember that, and if I do say anything foolish, try and think well of me.”

“I assure you, Mr. Mole,” said Jack, “that we have a strong regard for you, and if we leave you now it is because we have business to attend to.”

With this assurance Mr. Mole rested satisfied, and the boys went on deck.

“Well, Jack,” exclaimed Harvey, “what’s the little game now?”

“I don’t know, I’m cornered,” replied Jack.

“About Hunston, I mean.”

“I know what you mean, well enough,” Jack exclaimed. “But how to get him out of the hands of those blessed mutineers is more than your humble servant, Jack Harkaway, can tell.”

Harvey looked puzzled, and they were both silent for some little time.

CHAPTER XXI

JACK DOES HIS BEST FOR HIS OLD ENEMY

IT was some time before Jack could hit upon a plan for being of service to Hunston.

That he should not die if he could help it, he determined.

At the same time he was equally firmly resolved that he would not give up the ship to the mutineers.

As the vessel was so short-handed, he could not take any one but Harvey with him.

We have already spoken of the two small cannon they had on board.

Looking at one of these, Jack said—

“I think I know how to do it, Dick.”

“How?” asked Harvey, “I’ve had my thinking-cap on for a long while, and can’t hit upon any dodge which comes within a mile of the proper thing.”

“Suppose we put one of these cannon on board the boat, load it up to the muzzle, take a slow match with us, sail in to the shore, and when we get within range of the mutineers let them have it hot and strong.”

“That will do, if they let us get near enough,” said Harvey.

“The cannon,” replied Jack, “will carry farther than their rifles, so that we shall not be in danger.”

“What if Hunston is in the line of fire?”

“He isn’t at present. I have been looking through the glass, and he is tied to a tree on the left. The tree, perhaps, to which they mean to hang him.”

“What are the mutineers doing?”

“Just what might have been expected, drinking and gambling. They have one or two packs of cards and seem greatly excited. Shall we try the plan?”

“If you like. It’s better than nothing,” answered Harvey.

“At once, or wait for night?”

“Oh, at once. I hate waiting,” said Harvey.

“All right. Send Bouncer aft, with Monday. We will sling the gun into the boat, and get ready,” exclaimed Jack.

It did not take long to put the little gun in the bows. They loaded it nearly up to the muzzle with bullets, slugs, and pieces of old iron.

With them they took a bag of similar ammunition, so as to be ready for a second discharge.

Over the gun they threw a bit of old bunting, to prevent the mutineers seeing it and having their suspicions aroused.

“Is it all ready?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Bouncer.

“Jump in, Dick.”

Harvey took his place in the stern and Jack followed him.

“Going to give them pepper, sir?” said Bouncer, smiling grimly as he regarded these warlike preparations, which were intended for his old comrades.

“I think I’m justified in doing so,” replied Jack.

“They are murderers, for they killed the officers of their ship, and are consequently out of the pale of the law.”

“That’s right enough, sir.”

“Therefore,” continued Jack, “in dealing with them I need not follow the rules of civilised warfare. If I can shoot them like dogs, they deserve it, for they’d cut our throats without the least compunction, if they got the chance.”

“So they would. I can’t say much for them,” replied Bouncer; “and I did all I could to stop the mutiny, though what is one against a dozen or more?”

“Shove her off, Dick,” said Jack, who had not much faith in Bouncer’s hypocritical assertions of innocence.

The boat, by dint of successive tacks, made for the shore.

As they got nearer they clearly distinguished Hunston bound to a large palm-tree on the left of the cave.

He looked very miserable.

The mutineers were gambling and quarrelling, but they desisted when they saw the boat.

They thought that Jack was coming to make terms with them, and did not apprehend an attack.

“Lie down in the bows, Dick, and get the match ready,” whispered Jack.

Harvey did so, and Jack lowered the sail when they were within what he judged to be a proper distance.

Holding the tiller, he kept the nose of the boat well in front, so that Harvey might point the gun without any difficulty and in such a manner that it might do good execution.

“Ahoy, there! Ahoy,” exclaimed Jimmy Clark, who was in the centre of his companions.

“What cheer?” replied Jack, putting his hand to his mouth to make a speaking-trumpet.

“Are you come to give up the ship?”

“Speak louder; I can’t hear,” said Jack, pretending he could not distinguish what was said.

“Do you agree to our terms?” continued Jimmy.

Jack bent down.

“Are you ready, Dick?” he asked.

“Half a minute,” replied Harvey.

“They’re all in a heap. Cover them well, and fire as soon as you can. Remember, all depends upon the first fire. They will scatter and shelter if we don’t chaw them up.”

“I’ve got a message for you,” said Jack aloud.

“What is it? Let’s have it,” replied the mutineer.

“Look out then, it’s coming. Now, Dick,” he added, “aim low, and shoot straight.”

The mutineers, numbering a dozen or fourteen, were grouped together.

They were not at all prepared for the sort of message Jack was going to send them.

Only a few of them thought it advisable to stand to their arms.

Suddenly a little tongue of flame shot up in the air, as Harvey applied the lighted match.

Then there was a puff of smoke and a sullen roar.

The next moment terrible shrieks rent the air, and more than half the number of the mutineers fell to the ground mortally wounded.

The others were so panic-stricken that they took to their heels, and ran for their lives.

Jack hoisted the sail, and saying, “Stand in,” grasped the tiller again, and sent the boat rolling towards the land.

Harvey held a loaded rifle in his hand, and was prepared to pick off any of the survivors who showed themselves.

“Mind the boat as well as you can, Dick, and cover me while I go ashore,” exclaimed Jack.

“Aye, aye!” replied Harvey.

Setting his teeth firmly together, Jack dashed into the sea as soon as the boat grounded.

In one hand he held a pistol, in the other a knife.

His intention was to cut Hunston loose.

Running across the sand, he soon gained the tree, and with a few vigorous cuts severed the cords which bound him.

Hunston was scarcely able to believe the evidence of his senses.

“How can I thank you?” he said, with tears in his eyes.

“Say nothing about it,” replied Jack.

“I’d rather have owed my life to anybody else, but life is sweet, and if I can ever do you a good turn, Harkaway——”

“Never mind that. Take this pistol, and cut it to your friends the Pisangs as quick as you can.”

“Won’t you take me on board with you?”

“No; that’s asking too much. Good-bye,” said Jack.

He gave Hunston a friendly nod, and ran back to the boat.

At that moment Harvey’s rifle was fired off with a sharp crack.

His quick eye had seen one of the escaped mutineers emerge from the cave where he had taken refuge.

He had levelled his rifle at Jack, but a leaden messenger of death cut short his career before he could pull the trigger.

Hunston was off like a shot.

He disappeared in the jungle, and the boys knew he was safe.

Jack put the boat about, and trembling with excitement, waited for the wind to catch her and send her out to sea.

Again Harvey’s rifle was discharged, and again a mutineer fell to the ground.

“They shan’t show a head,” he exclaimed; “if they do I’m down on them like a beaver.”

“Well done, Dick,” replied Jack. “I think we deserve the Victoria Cross. Do you know, I am as pleased at saving Hunston as if I had escaped myself from a great danger.”

“So am I,” said Harvey, adding—

“Look at those fellows. What are they up to?”

Jack looked towards the shore, and saw five of the mutineers, who had emerged into the open from their temporary place of concealment.

They held their arms over their heads, as if to indicate that they surrendered and were defenceless.

“Ahoy!” cried one, who appeared to be the spokesman.

“What do you want?” inquired Jack.

“Take us to the ship, sir,” answered the man. “We the only ones left alive, and we must starve on this island.”

“Serve you right; you should have thought of that before,” replied Jack.

“Have mercy upon us, sir,” continued the mutineer. “We surrender.”

“But you have been guilty of mutiny on the high seas, and are murderers.”

“We’re very sorry. Take us prisoners, and convey us to Singapore in irons, if you like, sir, to take our trial,” the man went on.

Jack hesitated.

“The fellows seem sorry enough, Dick,” he remarked. “They’re regularly licked. Shall we take them on board?”

“We’re very short of men, and if we pardoned them they might turn out good men and true,” answered Harvey.

“All our leaders are dead, sir. We had no hand in the mutiny. It was Sam Parsons and Jimmy Clark,” said the mutineer.

“Come down to the beach, then,” replied Jack, “and stand there unarmed. If you try any games on I’ll pistol the lot of you.”

The mutineers did as they were directed.

Jack stood in shore and allowed them to come on board, making them sit down on the thwarts.

He held pistols in his hands in case of any treachery.

But the poor fellows were so cowed that there did not seem to be the smallest mutinous spirit left in them.

“If you’ll try and look over it, sir, we’ll work the ship like slaves for you,” said the leader: “we will indeed.”

“I can’t promise you a pardon,” answered Jack. “It depends in a great measure on your own conduct. If you behave yourselves I may be inclined to say nothing about the share you took in the mutiny, though you know well enough what the British consul would do to you.”

“We were misled, sir, and acted on bad advice. All we want is to return to our duty, and get back to England. We’re all—every one of us—married men, sir, and have wives and children, think of that!”

“I can’t say any more than I have said,” Jack exclaimed. “My conduct in the matter will depend upon your behaviour, though I’ve a good mind to have you lashed to a grating and give you a couple of dozen lashes apiece.”

“Do that, and welcome, sir. We deserve it,” replied the mutineers, in a body.

They spoke humbly enough, and in the end proved themselves very good men, and were of great use to Jack in the navigation of the ship.

He did ultimately pardon them, and did not have them flogged as he threatened.

They were grateful for his kindness, and it was clear that after the death of their leader they were pleased enough to return to their duty.

With this accession of strength, he hove up the anchor that afternoon and stood for Limbi to get a few natives to help make up the complement of his crew.

Mr. Mole was loud in his praises when he heard the successful result of Jack’s expedition.

“A good action, Harkaway, is never thrown away,” he said. “You will sleep all the better for it, and I’m sorry now that I tried to dissuade you from the enterprise. What did Hunston say?”

“We hadn’t much time to talk, sir?” answered Jack; “the mutineers were popping away at me.”

“Did he appear thankful?”

“Very much so. He was quite doubled up by his feelings. But that wouldn’t last long. He wanted to join us, and be taken on board.”

“Which you, of course refused?” replied Mr. Mole.

“I didn’t see it, sir. A black sheep in the flock is not desirable.”

“You put coals of fire on his head. Ah, well, it was a gallant action, and one you will never regret. And, now, whither away, may I ask?”

“Limbi is our destination, sir,” answered Jack.

Mr. Mole trembled.

“My prophetic soul,” he exclaimed, “warns me that my wives will seek to annoy me. What am I to do?”

“Do the best you can, sir.”

“Bad will be the best, I am afraid. However,” replied Mr. Mole, with a groan, “I will hide myself, and trust to fortune.”

Early next morning the “Seahorse” was standing off Limbi.

They fired a gun to give notice of their arrival to the inhabitants of Tompano.

An hour afterwards several boats put off from the shore.

In one was the new king, Selim, who reigned in the stead of Monday’s father, Lanindyer, and with him were several of the most prominent chiefs.

“Where’s Mole?” asked Jack of Harvey.

“I don’t know; he wasn’t at breakfast. He’s vanished into the coal bunk or somewhere,” replied Harvey.

“Ain’t there some women in that last boat?”

“Yes, I can see two.”

“Mole’s wives, for money!” said Jack. “I’ll bet a pound to a pinch of snuff they are Mole’s wives.”

“Shouldn’t wonder,” replied Harvey.

In the meantime the little fleet of boats drew nearer.

CHAPTER XXII

MR. MOLE BECOMES A BASE DECEIVER

JUST as Hardaway was speaking he saw Monday with a sheet on his arm.

“Hi, you Monday! come here,” he said.

“Can’t stop, sare. Monday very busy,” replied the black.

“What are you doing with that sheet?”

“That one secret, sare. Mist’ Mole and me do business.”

“Oh, Mole’s in it, is he? What’s the business you’ve got on?” asked Harvey.

You not tell, Mast’ Harvey?”

“Not I. Out with it.”

“Mist’ Mole, him sham dead.”

“Do what?” cried Jack and Harvey in a breath.

“Sham dead, sare,” replied Monday. “Him much ’fraid him wives come on board, so he sham dead. Monday go to lay him out and put the sheet on him. You not say a word.”

“Where is he?”

“In the cabin, sare. Him lie stretched out on a table, and if Ambonia and Alfura come, I got to say he fight like a warrior and get kill.”

“Oh, that’s it. He’s getting dodgy in his old age,” remarked Jack. “Well, cut along, Monday. I shan’t split.”

Monday disappeared down the companion, and, turning to Harvey, Jack said—

“We must spoil old Mole somehow.”

“I should like to,” replied Harvey. “Fancy the beggar going to sham being dead!”

“How can we do it?”

“His sorrowing wives will weep over him,” said Harvey. “Can’t we stick a pin in his leg and wake him up?”

“He’s a base deceiver. A pin might galvanise him, only, unfortunately, we haven’t got one. There isn’t such a thing to be had.”

“I’ll tell you what we can do,” said Harvey.

“What?”

“Tell Ambonia it’s the custom in our country, when a man dies, to pull out twelve hairs from each whisker and twenty-four hairs from the head.”

Jack laughed.

“You’ll be the death of me, Dick,” he said.

“And tell her,” continued Harvey, “that to save trouble she can pull the hairs out in bunches, and count them afterwards.”

“What is she to do with them?”

“Oh, wrap them up in a palm leaf and keep them as relics,” said Harvey.

“That will do.”

“We might add that the hairs from the head are to be pulled out behind, where it is most tender; and if Mole don’t halloa out ten thousand murders, I’m a donkey.”

“All right,” said Jack; “I’ll speak to her when she comes.”

The boats approached nearer and nearer.

At last they came near enough for those in them to speak to those on board the vessel.

They were invited on board, and a grand banquet got ready for them.

Ambonia and Alfura were in the last boat, which was filled with fruit, with which they had intended to do a trade with the strangers.

When they heard that Jack and Harvey were the commanders, they freely made them a present of their cargo.

Their first inquiry, however, was after their husband.

“I’m afraid he is very ill, if not dead,” replied Jack.

“Dead!” echoed Alfura and Ambonia.

“Yes, Monday is attending upon him, and he will tell you more about it; but will you come into the cabin and see?” replied Jack.

Both the ladies set up a most cruel yelling, and Jack put his fingers in his ears.

“Don’t cry like that,” he replied. “He may be all right, though I fear the worst If he is dead, he fell fighting bravely.”

“Let me see him,” said Ambonia.

Alfura wept silently.

“It is our custom,” continued Jack, “for the widow of a chief to pull out twelve hairs from each of the deceased’s whiskers, and twenty-four hairs from the back of his head; you may pull them out in a bunch, if you like, and afterwards they are to be kept in your house to remind you of your husband. Mind you do this if he is dead.”

“Call Matabella,” said Ambonia.

Jack went to the companion, and called Monday.

He came up, and when he saw Mr. Mole’s wives, told them, with a sorrowful face, that he was no more.

“He fell fighting, and has since died of his wounds,” he exclaimed.

“When did he die?” asked Ambonia.

“This morning. He is scarcely cold.”

“Oh, my poor husband! He was a great chief, and his child will be fatherless,” said Ambonia.

Monday did what he could to prevent them going below, but the wives could not be persuaded to stop on deck.

So Monday led the way to the cabin, followed by Jack and Harvey.

When they entered the cabin, they found Mr. Mole stretched out on a table covered with a white sheet.

Their grief was about to burst forth again, when Jack whispered—

“Remember what I told you about our customs.”

“Oh, yes! We will do that,” replied Ambonia.

Removing the sheet from Mr. Mole’s face, she took hold of a bunch of whiskers and gave it a sharp pull.

It did not come out.

Then she tugged again, and it yielded.

Mr. Mole gave the comer of his mouth a short comical twinge.

But he did not cry out.

“Take those hairs, and count them, Alfura,” said Ambonia. “I will now try the other side of our dear husband’s face.”

Mr. Mole’s whiskers were scanty, and there was not much hair left on the right side.

He suffered the most acute pain, but bore it like a stoic.

Setting her feet firmly on the floor of the cabin, Ambonia took another hand full and pulled it vigorously.

The hair came out in a bunch like the other.

Something like a stifled curse escaped from the unhappy sufferer.

“Count them, Alfura,” said Ambonia, handing her the second tuft.

Alfura proceeded to do so in dolorous silence, and she bathed the grizzly hairs with her tears.

Jack approached and whispered—

“Shall I hold up his head for you?”

Ambonia nodded, and went on with her duty of affection.

She twisted her knuckles firmly in the back hair of the supposed dead man, which was long and tangled.

There was a wrench.

Mr. Mole could bear no more—the pain was too great.

He sprang up and threw the sheet from him.

The resurrection of Lazarus could not have more surprised the beholders than this sudden coming to life.

Ambonia and Alfura darted back, and looked at the late corpse with undisguised terror.

“What the deuce do you mean!” cried Mr. Mole, rubbing the injured part savagely.

“Aren’t you dead, sir?” asked Harvey stifled with laughter.

“This is your doing, Master Harvey,” replied Mole. “I’ll be one with you; and as for those furies. I’ll be the death of one or both of them.”

Jack and Harvey laughed immoderately.

The wives began to regain their courage, and advanced to their husband with a boldness which they had not shown at first.

He certainly was not dead.

If so, he had been playing them some trick.

Ambonia grew angry, and her yellow face glowed with passion.

CHAPTER XXIII

RUNNING A MUCK

IN his anger, Mr. Mole caught hold of Monday by the ear and shook him.

“You’ve betrayed me,” he cried, “and I’ll have it out of you.”

“No, sare; not me, sare,” replied Monday. “You let go um ear, sare.”

“I’ll give it you, you black swab,” continued Mr. Mole.

Fortunately for Monday, Ambonia rushed up and pushed her husband away.

“Him dead man just now,” remarked Monday, grinning with pain; adding, “Oh, golly, how um pull um ear.”

Mr. Mole grasped a chair, and brandishing it in the air, threatened to strike any one who came near him.

The women shrank back crying—

“Amok! amok!”

This is a word of peculiar significance among all the Malay tribe.

If a man is unhappy with his wife, unsuccessful in business, and miserable in any manner, he does “amok.”

That is to say, he runs into the street with a knife and stabs every one he can meet.

In return for this the inhabitants raise the cry of “Amok !” and run after him with whatever weapon they can obtain.

Eventually he is killed like a mad dog.

It is the Malay mode of committing suicide.

The custom has become proverbial among Englishmen abroad, under the term of running a muck.

Even Monday got out of the way, thinking Mr. Mole was going to “amok.”

Jack advanced to Mr. Mole, fearing from his wild appearance that he would do somebody some harm.

“I say, sir!” he said.

“Well, Harkaway, what is it? Keep off, I’m desperate,” replied Mole.

“Turn it up, sir.”

“I tell you I’m desperate. I tried a little plan of my own, and that black thief betrayed me; may his father, the devil, seize him.”

“Are you going off your nut, sir?” asked Jack.

“Let me get at him! I’ll pound him,” cried Mr. Mole, making a dash at Monday.

“Amok! amok!” exclaimed the terrified women, fully believing that their liege lord and master had gone mad, and was about to run a muck; and, “Amok! amok!” cried Monday, who also thought the same thing.

The wives rushed up on deck, followed by Monday.

“Amok! amok!” rang through the ship.

The native chiefs heard the cry, and they, too, grew alarmed and sought the deck.

“Amok! amok!” cried everybody, with as much terror as we in England say “Mad dog! mad dog!”

The chiefs drew the dreaded creese, or curved knife, so common among the Malay tribes.

Every one stood on the defensive.

When they saw it was a white man who was “amoking,” and that white man was Mr. Mole, the great Tuan Biza of the whites, they forebore to strike.

Jack ran on deck after him, and exclaimed in the native language—

“Don’t touch him! He’s all right.”

“Am I all right?” replied Mr. Mole, hitting King Selim on the head with his chair.

Selim fell to the deck stunned.

“Dropped him like a bullock,” continued Mr. Mole, with a ghastly grin. “Who is the next gentleman?”

Turning to Harvey, Jack said:

“Mole’s cranky, and no humbug about it!”

Madura, the old chief, came up to remonstrate with the white man.

But Mr. Mole was ready for him.

“I’ll floor you,” he said, “if you come any nearer.”

“Listen to the words of wisdom,” replied Madura. “You have married our princesses, and you are dear to us as——”

“Bother the words of wisdom! Take that!” interrupted Mr. Mole.

Madura fell by the side of the king, and the Limbian chiefs began to get angry.

Knives flashed in the sun.

Again the ominous cry of “Amok! amok!” rose on the air.

Ambonia and Alfura now made their appearance on deck.

Alfura fell fainting into Monday’s arms.

But Ambonia, being made of sterner stuff, ran to her husband.

“Put down that chair, and come home,” she exclaimed.

“Never!” replied Mr. Mole; adding, “Mind your eye!”

He made a push at her with a chair, and struck her in the mouth with one of the wooden legs.

Ambonia began to cough and choke and fell on her back in strong convulsions.

“She’s swallowed a tooth,” said Jack.

“Ha, ha!” exclaimed Mr. Mole, with a light of insanity in his eye. “Who is the next? Will you kindly keep the ball rolling?”

Nobody seemed inclined to oblige him, and the knives flashed more ominously than ever in the sunlight.

The Limbians were waiting for him to make a rush down the deck, where they were prepared to cut short his mortal career as quickly as possible.

But Ambonia was a woman of spirit.

She was one of those estimable women you don’t knock down for nothing.

It is true she had swallowed a tooth, as Jack surmised.

But what then?

She was for the moment subdued, not conquered, and as soon as the tooth was properly down and she could breathe again she was on her feet.

Advancing to Mr. Mole with the quickness of a cannonball, she grasped the chair which he brandished on high, and a desperate struggle took place between them.

“Amok! amok!” cried the natives, advancing threateningly.

Wresting himself free from Ambonia’s grasp, Mr. Mole sprang on the taffrail, and throwing up his arms ex claimed—

“Thus do I free myself from the strange women, and the house of bondage!”

With that he cast himself headlong into the sea and disappeared.

Jack was now fully assured that Mr. Mole had really gone out of his mind for a time.

“Man overboard!” cried Bouncer, who was standing near.

Jack had an idea that Mr. Mole could not swim, and was determined to save him at all hazards.

“Lower a boat and man her!” he exclaimed.

“Aye, aye, sir!” replied Bouncer. “We saved the lives of two hundred and fifty men off the coast of Africa, and——”

“Hang your yarns! Obey orders!” shouted Jack.

He caught sight of Harvey, who was taking off his Jacket.

“Toss you who does it, Dick!” he exclaimed.

“All right,” said Harvey; “I’ve got a coin in my pocket. First time. Man or woman?”

He put a small coin between his hands and Jack said—

“Man.”

“Man it is; over you go,” said Harvey.

The next moment Jack was diving like an otter after Mr. Mole.

He fortunately saw him as he rose to the surface, and grasping him by the arm held him up.

In a short time the boat which had been duly lowered under Harvey’s superintendence came up.

It took them both on board.

Mr. Mole was insensible and raved incoherently, as if stricken with a fever.

They drew him on board, and put him to bed in what they call a sick bay or hospital.

Ben Blunt was still an inmate of this cabin, but he could get about a little, and readily undertook to nurse and look after Mr. Mole.

“I’ve seen many a fever, sir,” he remarked, “and cured ‘em too; they’re common enough in these latitudes. The gentleman may be bad for a few weeks, but it’ll do him good afterwards.”

“He’s very ill, Ben,” replied Jack.

“Yes, sir; it’s the mental excitement. He’s been worked upon.”

“So he has, Ben.”

“And there’s another thing, sir; he’s had a good drop to drink lately, as I know of, and I shouldn’t wonder if it wasn’t no real fever after all.”

Ben Blunt shook his head significantly as he spoke.

“No fever, Ben?” said Jack.

“No, sir. It’s the delirium tremblings; that’s what it is.”

“Keep your eye on him, Ben, and say nothing to anybody. I must go on deck, and see to the women.”

“Very well, sir,” replied the boatswain.

“This affair has upset the banquet. We were going to put on a feed for the natives.”

“Lor’ love you, sir, they can allers eat,” said Ben; “and they’ll be none the worse for waiting. Though I may say as I did laugh that hearty as I was fit to bust, when I heard them a-crying ‘amok! amok!’ and saw the gentleman floor them beautiful.”

Jack took leave of Ben, after exacting another assurance that he would look after his patient.

Then he went on deck.

Harvey had kept the women quiet, and was trying to explain matters to the chiefs.

The king and Madura were not much hurt, and under the soothing influence of a glass or two of good wine, which was handed round by Monday, speedily regained their good temper.

Ambonia begged to be taken to her husband.

Jack was obliged to refuse this request, though he told told her she might see him later in the day.

It was soon understood that Tuan Biza Mole had been attacked by fever.

“He’ll be all right in a short time,” said Jack to the two wives; “and I know he really loves you both, though of the two I think he’s rather more spoony on you, Ambonia.”

The lady’s eyes flashed at this announcement, which pleased her greatly.

“He’s always talking about you,” said Jack.

“Will he come on shore, and go to live with us at Tompano, when he gets better?” she asked.

“Of course he will; he’s only too anxious.”

“Bless him,” said Ambonia, in her own language, “I could go and kiss every bit of him.”

It was lucky Mr. Mole did not hear this expression of affection on the part of his biggest wife, or he might have died there and then.

Jack succeeded in assuring her that Mr. Mole had in the morning been attacked with a faintness that Monday thought was death, and that no one had played any trick upon her.

After that, he gave her his arm, and led her into the chief cabin.

Harvey took Alfura in, and the chiefs followed in order of merit.

The banquet consisted of all the eatables and drinkables they could find in the ship.

Jack had arranged for the pardoned mutineers to wait at table, which they did with great steadiness.

The banquet passed off capitally. All the chiefs enjoyed themselves immensely, and some drank so much wine that they had to be carried out and put gently into their boats.

Alfura and Ambonia had a look at Mr. Mole before they went to shore.

This time they were satisfied that he was really ill, and said they would bring him some fruit in the morning.

Harvey gave Alfura a kiss on the sly, as he handed her over the ship’s side, and she squeezed his hand in return.

Such are wives in Limbi.

King Selim readily lent Jack half a dozen of his subjects to help work the ship.

It was understood that they should be sent back again to their native land, and they were chosen by Monday from among his personal friends.

So popular were the white men, that they could have got a hundred men if they had wanted them.

Instead of the question being who should not go, there was a rush of men of all ages to get the chance.

When all was ready for sailing, Jack went ashore to return the complimentary visit of the Limbians.

He had also an object in going.

Madura was an old chief of great knowledge and experience.

He wished to ask him some questions about the City of the Golden Towers.

Who more likely than the venerable Madura to give him the information he sought?

CHAPTER XXIV

AYOUB

ON arriving at Tompano, Jack sought Madura and explained, as briefly as he could, the object he had in view.

“I want,” he said, “to recover this English girl, Emily, before I return to England.”

“You say,” said Madura, “that she has gone with the fugitive Pisangs to the City of the Golden Towers?”

“Yes. Do you know where it is?”

“I do. I have been there,” replied Madura.

“Have you?” cried Jack, joyfully. “That’s your sort, old man. That will do; tell us all about it.”

“I cannot give you much information,” replied Madura; “and for this reason——”

Jack’s countenance fell again.

“I was very young when my father and I were out fishing, and the pirates captured us. My father died in the City of the Golden Towers, and I lived there some years.”

“How did you get back here?”

“I escaped with some others in a boat, and can only dimly remember a great city, very rich, with many ships; and all the people pirates.”

“That is a nice place indeed for my poor little Emily to be sent to,” said Jack.

“Your Emily is young and beautiful,” said Madura, “and they will guard her as carefully as they would a pearl of Sirendib.”

“I hope so, I’m sure. But can’t you tell us how to steer to get to this wonderful city of pirates?”

Madura shook his head.

“There is one amongst us who can if he will,” he said, after a thoughtful pause; “and that is old Ayoub, the Arab. He is a great sailor, and was a pirate himself once, some say.”

“Where is he to be found?” asked Jack.

“He has a house here in Tompano. You must have seen him, for he attends the council. It is now ten years since he came ashore in a boat and became friends with us, settling down and taking a Limbian woman to wife.”

“Let us go to him. Is he very old?”

“No. Though his hair is tinged with grey, he is younger than he looks,” replied Madura.

“Will he pilot us to this city?”

“Ask him. I dare say he will.”

They walked to the house occupied by Ayoub, the Arab, who was sitting outside, with a little curly-haired child on his knee, that was just learning to call him father.

Madura, in a few words, explained to the venerable-looking man the object which Jack had in view.

“He has got a good ship, plenty of men, arms, ammunition, and provisions. All he now wants is to discover the City of the Golden Towers, rescue his beloved Emily, and return to his own land,” concluded Madura.

Ayoub’s eyes flashed with a keenness that showed he could remember the scene of his early days.

“Is it not written,” he said, “that the bold man may be overthrown, and the wise man be confounded, but the patient man overcometh?”

“I’m not in a hurry, governor,” replied Jack; “and am rather in favour of taking things easy.”

“There are few nations and countries, my son, that I have not seen,” continued Ayoub. “Most of my countrymen travel from the Bar-el-Sham to the Bar-el-Gemm” (really, Syria to Arabia Felix), “and say they have seen the world, but I——”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” interrupted Jack, who saw that the Arab was a prosy old fellow, whatever else he might be.

“Speak. It is well to listen; so say all the men of understanding.”

“I’ll give you and your wife and kids a free passage to Arabia, if you will come on board and pilot us to this city of the pirates.”

The old man’s eyes sparkled.

“You have well said, O my son,” he replied “These old eyes yearn to behold my friends and relations once more. I would fain lay my bones with my fathers.”

“Do you accept my terms?” said Jack.

“Yes, I will go with you,” said Ayoub. “When I reached this land in a little boat, and all those who had sailed with me were dead and gone, I was received with kindness, which I have endeavoured to repay by lifting my voice in the council, but I thought to die here. You come to me, young man, like pleasant water to the traveller in the desert, and behold, I find your speech good.”

“Pack up your traps,” exclaimed Jack, “as soon as you like. Say good-bye, and don’t take more luggage than is absolutely necessary. By the way, is the missis agreeable?”

“My wife obeyeth me in all things,” replied the Arab. “For is it not written that ‘a virtuous woman is a crown to her husband?’ ”

“You are sure that you can pilot us to the City of the Golden Towers,” continued Jack.

An expression of lofty scorn sat on the old man’s face.

“The dreams of the young,” he said, “are stronger than the realities of the old; but for many years I have steered the ships of the pirates in these China seas. So that they are become familiar to me as a well-trodden pathway.”

“How many days will it take us to get there?”

“When one moon shall have come and gone, then shall we behold the Towers of the Golden City,” replied Ayoub.

“That means a month,” replied Jack. “Time enough too.”

He returned to the ship, however, much pleased at having obtained a guide to the mysterious city.

The next day the ship sailed.

Ayoub took the post of pilot, and directed the vessel’s course.

In a short time both Mr. Mole and Ben Blunt were well enough to get about again.

Mole’s wives had been assured that their husband would return to them in a month or two.

They were desirous of accompanying him on the voyage, but this Jack could not permit.

Each hung a charm round his neck, to guard him from evil spirits.

Alfura’s charm was a dried tree-toad and Ambonia’s the tail of a snake also dried.

Whether they were efficacious or not, the fever left him in a few days, and he went about as usual.

As far as Jack could make out, Ayoub caused the ship to skirt the Malay peninsula, going towards Cape Pentani.

Everyone was well on board, and in high spirits.

Harvey did not like Ayoub.

He communicated his suspicions to Jack, who laughed at his fears.

“The old fellow talks to himself, and smiles when no one is looking, as he thinks, at him,” said Harvey.

“He’s all right enough,” replied Jack, carelessly.

“I don’t know so much about that,” continued Harvey. “We are going amongst Malay pirates.”

“Well?”

“Well,” said Harvey, “they are a daring and bloodthirsty race. This Ayoub has been amongst them.”

“What then?”

“He may intend to betray us. I don’t say he will, still we should keep an eye on him,” said Harvey.

This conversation produced a great impression on Jack.

He watched Ayoub narrowly, but did not for some time discover anything that would lend confirmation to the suspicions Harvey’s remarks had excited in his mind.

CHAPTER XXV

H. M. S. “VICTOR.”

AYOUB, the pilot, seemed a harmless, inoffensive man, and Jack could see no just ground for the suspicions in which Harvey indulged.

He had undertaken to guide him to the City of the Golden Towers, and he appeared to be keeping his word to the best of his ability.

How Jack longed to reach that mysterious nest of the Malay pirates, that hidden stronghold, where the defeated Pisangs had gone, and where Emily was a prisoner.

A slight incident occurred which tended to give some confirmation to Harvey’s injurious remarks about Ayoub.

After they had been some days out, they sighted a large ship.

Ben Blunt was standing by Jack’s side, and before a glass was brought to bear upon her, Ben said—

“I’m a Dutchman, sir, if that’s not a man-of-war.”

“Yankee?” asked Jack.

“No; she’s not a Yankee either. That’s one of Her Britannic Majesty’s cruisers. I ought to know the shape of ’em if any one does, seeing I served aboard one for so many years.”

“What’s she doing out here, Ben?”

“After the pirates, maybe; or going from one station to another. Lor, sir, England’s such a great power by land and sea that she’s got ships and armies, leastways regiments, pretty nigh everywhere.”

“Cut down below, Ben, and see that the cabin is all straight and shipshape,” exclaimed Jack.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“If I’ve got to receive on board my ship one of the captains in the Royal Navy, I should not like him to go away with the impression that we are a set of lubbers. You know how to do it, and how things ought to be, Ben?”

“Do you think I’m a sucking porpoise, sir?” said Ben, in a tone of indignation.

He went below to execute his orders, and the two ships gradually neared each other.

It soon became clear enough that Ben’s sharp eyes had not deceived him.

The approaching vessel was a man-of-war, and the mutineers whom Jack had taken on board getting wind of it, came aft.

“I ax your pardon, Captain Harkaway,” said the foremost, “but here’s one of the Queen’s ships.”

“What of that?” replied Jack.

“We’ve tried to do our duty, sir, and we’re only poor fellows who were misled by others. You’re not going to send us to Singapore, to be punished for the mutiny? Give us your word, sir, that’s all, or we’d rather jump overboard.”

“Go forward, and do your duty,” answered Jack, “I shan’t be hard on you.”

“But, sir——”

“Do you hear when you are spoken to?” cried Jack, in the commanding tone he could assume when he liked. “Be off.”

The men touched their hats and went forward, much comforted by the way in which Jack spoke to them, although they were not quite relieved from a fear of the consequences of their actions.

The man-of-war fired a gun as a signal that the “Seahorse” was to lay to, which she did.

Then a boat was lowered and manned, pulling towards the merchantman.

Mr. Mole, who, like Ben Blunt, had recovered from his illness, heard the news and came on deck.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “a ship, I perceive, Harkaway, a big ship. They tell me an H. M. S., which I presume you are aware is short for her majesty’s service. They have lowered a boat. They propel it in man-of-war fashion through the waves and they near us perceptibly.”

“They’ll board us directly, sir,” exclaimed Jack.

“And why so? Is not our ship private property, and why should they board us?”

“Nothing unfriendly about it, sir. There’s opiumsmuggling going on, and pirates are about in these seas. They only want to see our papers, and know who we are.”

“Ah, I apprehend I may be of service to you,” said Mr. Mole. “My age, my manner, my position as a land-owner in China, will give me weight with our visitors. They will treat me with more deference than they would bestow upon a mere boy.”

“Mere boy as you call me,” said Jack, biting his lips with annoyance, “I think I can manage my affairs better than any one can manage them for me.”

“Listen to reason, Harkaway, I——”

“Mr. Mole,” interrupted Jack, “without wishing to be in the least degree in the world discourteous to you, I must tell you, once for all, that you are only a passenger on board this ship, and the sooner you recognise the fact the better it will be for all parties.”

“Oh! as you please, as you please,” replied Mr. Mole, shrugging his shoulders. “If you reject my well-meant offer of assistance, I can only regret your utter want of appreciation.”

He walked away along the deck in high dudgeon.

In a short time the boat ran alongside, and an officer came on board.

He looked round him and stared, when Jack said—

“I am the captain of this ship, sir; anything you have to say I shall be happy to hear.”

“You!” repeated the officer, who was a naval lieutenant about forty years of age, dressed in uniform, and who, from want of interest, had not been able to attain a higher rank.

“I have already had the honour to inform you that I am the captain of this vessel, and if you doubt my word I will give you satisfactory proof of the truth of what I say.”

“I beg your pardon. You are so young that I trust you will forgive my momentary hesitation,” said the officer.

“And who may I be talking to?” asked Jack.

“I am Lieutenant Skeffington, of H. M. S. ‘Victor,’ Commander Dacres, cruising in the China Sea in search of pirates, who have done a vast amount of mischief lately amongst the English and other merchantmen.”

“Will you follow me into my cabin? We can talk more at our ease there,” continued Jack.

The lieutenant bowed, and Jack, preceded by Ben Blunt, conducted his visitor into the cabin.

Directly Lieutenant Skeffington was seated and saw Ben, he said—

“I have seen you before, my man.”

“Your honour’s right,” replied Ben. “I was bo’sun on board the ‘Rattlesnake,’ Captain Howard, nigh upon two years ago, and your honour was second luff.”

“I remember you taking your discharge when we were paid off. I consider your presence on board this ship as a guarantee of the respectability of its captain,” said Lieutenant Skeffington.

Ben bowed and scraped in true sailor fashion in recognition of the compliment, and retired outside the door, waiting within call.

Jack, in as few words as possible, explained to the lieutenant how he came to be in his present position, and why he was going to the pirates’ stronghold.

“You have had some strange adventures, Mr. Harkaway,” said the lieutenant. “Wrecked, cast on a desert island, nearly killed by savage head-hunters—you are quite a hero of romance, and will be the lion of the London drawing-rooms on your return to your own country.”

“I have no wish to be a lion,” replied Jack, laughing.

“Those who go down to the sea in ships, become acquainted with strange perils. However, I hope you will find, and rescue this young lady in whom you take such a laudable interest. We too are in search of this City of the Golden Towers.”

“Do you know its position?”

“We do not, though we are told it is somewhere near here, on the coast of the Malay Peninsula. Has not the pilot, Ayoub, of whom you speak, told you where it is situated?”

“No, he is very reserved. He says he will take me to the city, but he is not at all inclined to be communicative,” said Jack.

“It is our intention to burn all the ships we can find, and then blow the town about the ears of the pirates. We might sail in consort.”

“With pleasure. The ‘Victor’ would be an agreeable companion.”

“Do you mind sending for this Ayoub? I will put some questions to him.”

“Certainly.”

Jack called Ben and despatched him for the pilot, with whom he presently returned.

The venerable Arab looked suspiciously at Lieutenant Skeffington, and asked what his pleasure was with him.

“What is the position of the pirates’ stronghold, and how are we to steer to it?” said the lieutenant.

Ayoub’s face assumed a sullen demeanour.

“I am not at liberty to make any disclosures,” he answered.

“And why not?”

“Because you would go there in an unfriendly spirit. Those Malays, pirates though they be, were once my friends.”

“That is as much as admitting that you were a pirate yourself.”

Ayoub turned pale under his dusky skin.

“No,” he said, “you do not speak the words of truth. I was not one of them, though they saved my life, and my lot was cast among them for many months.”

“You have undertaken to conduct Captain Harkaway to the city?”

“I have, but he means no harm.”

“What is to prevent us from following in your wake, and stringing you up to the yard-arm if you play us false,” asked the lieutenant, fixing his clear grey eyes searchingly upon him.

“My poor life is of little value, and if an English officer thought fit to hang the poor Arab, he would be welcome to do so; yet would Ayoub, if he saw the British man-of-war following this merchantman, run her upon a rock, so that all should perish.”

“The villainous old scoundrel!” muttered Skeffington, adding aloud, “you would destroy the ship and all on board of her?”

“As surely as the water-logged and dismantled vessel, when caught by a swift current, rushes swiftly to her doom, so would Ayoub steer the ‘Seahorse’ to the waters of death.”

“But reflect, Ayoub,” said Jack, “those pirates are bloodthirsty villains; they murder people and sink ships; they are the robbers of the sea; do they not deserve death?”

“Ayoub has spoken.”

“I am very much displeased with you. Return to your duty,” exclaimed Jack, angrily.

The old man salaamed, and retired.

“He would be as good as his word, too,” said the lieutenant. “Can you do without him?”

“Impossible. There is no one on board who knows where this mysterious city is but Ayoub, and I might wander up and down a dangerous coast, of which I have no chart, for months and never find it.”

“I have heard that it is placed some miles up the mouth of a river. However, if you must have Ayoub’s services, we can not keep your company, that is evident.”

“It is my loss.”

“You are very good to say so,” answered the lieutenant, politely. “I will make a favourable report of you to my captain, and I hope we shall not be long in finding out the town.”

“I hope so, too.”

“I have a word of advice to give you. Beware of that old man.”

“Why? He is honest enough,” said Jack.

“I don’t think so,” answered the lieutenant, shaking his head gravely. “He has a bad face. His eyes are full of deceit, and I fear he means to betray you.”

“He will be clever if he does.”

“His refusal to allow us to accompany you tells against him, but if you should be given up to the pirates——”

“By Ayoub?”

“Yes.”

“We would fight to the last man, first,” said Jack.

“Aye, aye, that is all very well, but you can’t fight against treachery. Should you be a prisoner, will your friends, when we come to the city, and commence shelling it—for all things are possible—hoist a white flag over the house in which you are? and I will direct our gunners to spare that particular building.”

Jack smiled incredulously.

“I hope, Lieutenant Skeffington,” he replied, “that you are taking too gloomy a view of what may happen.”

“I hope so, too. Promise me, nevertheless, that you will remember my undertaking.”

“Certainly I will, and I thank you very much for the kindness you have shown in thinking so far ahead of the chances of war.”

“And now farewell,” said Skeffington.

“Can I offer you any refreshment?”

“Thanks, none at present. Is there anything we can send you? Medical stores, or things of that sort.”

Jack declined the offer.

The lieutenant rose, and shook him heartily by the hand.

“I am very pleased to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Harkaway,” he said; “you have displayed great tact and courage under very trying circumstances and you are an honour to the merchant service; I feel that the royal navy has suffered a heavy loss in not having you as one of its sons.”

Jack uttered his thanks at this praise, and conducted the lieutenant to the side of the vessel.

As he was getting into his boat, he said—

“Once more, keep an eye on that villanous Arab.”

“Never fear,” replied Jack.

In less than a minute the oars fell into the water, and the measured sound of their rise and fall in the rowlocks fell upon the ear with that regularity which only a man-of-war’s crew can produce.

“Now, my lads,” said Jack, “give them a cheer. Don’t be afraid of it. Three times three, and let it be a rouser.”

Instantly the members of the crew, who had congregated on deck, gave a tremendous cheer in true British fashion.

The man-of-war’s men acknowledged the compliment by raising their oars, and standing them upright in a row in the centre of the boat.

Then they fell with a splash, and the launch returned to H. M. S. “Victor,” which looked the picture of beauty as she rode proudly on the rippling waves.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE CASTAWAY

JACK was rather alarmed at the confirmation which Harvey’s suspicions had received.

It was strange that Ayoub should show such a decided disinclination to have the “Victor” for a consort.

And yet, on consideration, Jack made excuses for his desire to save from fire and sword those amongst whom he had lived, and who had been kind to him.

However, he was sincere in his determination to find Emily, and nothing would have induced him to turn out of his course.

Harvey was anxious to know what had passed between him and the officer of the British vessel.

Jack repeated their conversation.

“What did I tell you?” said Harvey. “I knew that Arab was a bad lot.”

“He won’t do us any harm,” replied Jack.

“I don’t feel so sure about that. You are too easygoing.”

“My dear Dick, if one was always to fancy danger ahead, one would be worried into the grave. Time enough to face it when the peril comes,” answered Jack.

“If I saw any indication of foul play I’d shoot him through the head, as a warning to others.”

“So I will. He shall have a bullet through his head in double quick time,” Jack said.

The man-of-war set her sails, and was soon lost to sight in the distance.

About midday the lookout reported an object in sight.

“Where away?” asked Jack.

“Abaft the beam,” was the reply.

Jack gave orders to bear down upon it, and in about an hour, a small boat was clearly made out.

Whether there was anyone in it or not could not be distinguished.

But as the “Seahorse” got nearer, the body of a human being was discovered lying down between the thwarts, apparently in the last stage of exhaustion.

Lowering a boat, Jack had the castaway brought on board.

He was laid on the deck, and seemed to be only just alive, if the spark of life wasn’t already extinguished.

As Jack’s eyes fell on his face, he uttered a cry of amazement.

“Dick,” he exclaimed, “come here.”

Harvey was by his side in a moment.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Don’t you see?”

“See what?”

“The fellow’s face. It is Hunston.”

“Bless my soul! so it is; but how altered,” replied Harvey. “He is pinched with hunger. Case of starvation. Poor beggar!”

“Poor beggar, indeed,” said Jack, visibly annoyed. “I almost wish we hadn’t seen him, and that the man-of-war had picked him up instead.”

“You can’t abandon him now.”

“I don’t mean to. But it looks as if he had done it on purpose.”

Harvey could not help smiling at this view of the case.

“Have him put in a bunk,” he said, “and attended to. Ben! Where’s Ben Blunt?”

“Present, sir,” replied Ben, coming up.

“Here is a man you have seen before. He was the friend and companion of your mutineers. Mr. Harkaway saved his life if you remember.”

“They say a bad penny is sure to turn up, sir,” remarked Ben.

“Have him taken below, please,” returned Jack, “and pour some soup down his throat; he is in the last stage of exhaustion. Do what you can for him, Ben.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” answered the boatswain.

Hunston, pale, emaciated, scarcely breathing, was attended to with a care peculiar to sailors when cases of distress are brought before their notice.

Monday brought a report a couple of hours later, that the sick man was progressing favourably.

“Him eat um soup, sare,” he replied, “and him wink at it with um eyes.”

“Is that a good sign, Monday?” asked Harvey.

“Always um good sign, sare, when um wink um eye,” replied Monday.

“All right. Keep near him. He shan’t say we are behind the age in civilisation; we are not barbarians, and know how to behave ourselves even when an enemy comes amongst us.”

“We’ve got two of them now, Dick,” observed Jack.

“Two?”

“Yes; Hunston if he lives—and Ayoub, that is, if your suspicions are well founded.”

Mr. Mole now came on deck with a book in his hand.

He had found a box of books in the captain’s cabin, and he passed the principal part of his time lolling on a couch near an open porthole, smoking some good cigars, which he had also found and “requisitioned,” and drinking brandy and water, which he called brandy pawnee.

“Fine thing, brandy pawnee,” he said. “Stuff all Indian gentlemen drink; that is to say, all gentlemen—all English gentlemen—in India drink; for we can’t call the native Mahomedans, Hindoos, and what not gentlemen.”

“Well, sir, what’s the time of day?” said Jack.

“You know very well, Harkaway,” answered Mr. Mole, “that when I was in captivity among the Pisangs, the wretched Hunston stole my watch.”

“Just like him, sir. He’d steal another if you’d got it.”

“No, he wouldn’t, my lad,” replied Mr. Mole, with a knowing look; “Hunston is vegetating on his island.”

“What will you bet about that, sir?” said Jack.

“Bet? I’d bet my—my tea-garden in China. It’s a man-of-war to a fishing smack, or Homer to a boy’s first Greek exercise.”

“I’ll take you, sir. If Hunston is now on board this ship, and I convince you of the fact, your tea-garden becomes mine?”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Mole, puzzled.

“Monday!” said Jack.

“Coming, sare,” replied Monday, who was in the centre of a group of sailors, whom he was entertaining with an account of Hunston’s villainy.

“Isn’t Hunston on board the ‘Seahorse’?”

“For sartin, Mast’ Jack; wuss luck, too. No good come to ship while villain Hunston on board of him,” said Monday.

“Don’t call names, Monday,” replied Harvey.

“Is this a joke, Harkaway?” said Mr. Mole. “If so, it is a very bad one, and I will cudgel this black fellow for joining in it.”

Monday grinned.

“Candidly, sir, it is no joke. We picked Hunston up this morning lying in an exhausted condition in a boat”

“All by himself?”

“Quite alone,” replied Jack.

“Where is he now?”

“Monday will show you.”

“Come, my coloured friend,” said Mr. Mole, “I must behold him with my own eyes; seeing is believing. No offence to you, Harkaway. Lead on, Monday.”

“Did you ever see a whale, Dick?” asked Jack.

Harvey put his tongue in his cheek, and Mr. Mole, turning sharply round, said—

“Harkaway, it is too bad of you to make fun of my poor attempt at a song. I will never oblige you again in a similar manner.”

“Don’t say that, sir,” replied Jack, as he moved away. “Mole’s awfully touchy about his song,” he added to Harvey.

“Yes, he knows it’s a bad one, and he would not have sung at all, if he had not been made, so he gets needled.”

Presently Mr. Mole came back.

“Have you seen him, sir?” asked Jack.

“Yes, but what a wreck!”

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am not,” replied Mr. Mole emphatically. “I look upon Hunston’s presence in this ship as a fertile source of disaster. How do you suppose he came into that boat?”

“That’s what the father asked about his son in Moltere’s comedy—‘How the deuce did he get into the boat?’ ” replied Jack.

“I think I can make a guess,” cried Harvey. “He must have started with some Pisangs, for the City of the Golden Towers, a storm came on——”

“Or they had a free fight,” put in Jack.

“That’s probable at all events. The remainder of the crew were washed or thrown overboard, Hunston remained alone, and couldn’t manage the boat by himself. Starvation ensued, as he lost his way on the pathless ocean.”

“Don’t become poetical, Dick,” exclaimed Jack.

“Why shouldn’t I, if I choose? You show me a road on the sea, and I’ll never apply the epithet pathless to it again.”

“Have a care, Harkaway, how you warm a viper in your bosom,” said Mr. Mole.

“I am not in the habit, sir, of imparting artificial heat to vermin of that description,” replied Jack.

“Nonsense! You know what I mean.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, I do not.”

“Then,” said Mr. Mole, “you are more obtuse than I gave you credit for being—I spoke figuratively. Mind that, if you are kind to Hunston, he does not, as he has done before, turn round upon you.”

“I’ll keep my weather eye open, sir. But you would not have had me turn the poor beast adrift in the state in which we found him,” said Jack.

“Well, no; on consideration, decidedly no. There is something which beats under the fifth rib. Harkaway, which counsels a more humane course.”

“The heart?” said Jack.

“Precisely; you have guessed rightly. We have hearts, we must be human. We are Christians, and must play the part of the good Samaritan. Will any of you boys come into the cabin and partake of pawnee?”

“Don’t mind if I do so. Been reading,” said Jack.

“Yes, just a little go in at the higher mathematics, Harkaway. Having the advantage of books, one must keep one’s hand in,” replied Mr. Mole.

Harvey and Jack followed him into the cabin, to have some brandy pawnee, and Harvey whispered—

“The old humbug. Do you know what he has been reading? It’s not mathematics at all. I looked at the book while he had it under his arm.”

“What was it, then?”

“A French novel,” answered Harvey laughing.

It must be confessed that Mr. Mole was a bit of a humbug.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE STORM

THE boys stayed in the cabin with Mr. Mole until that gentleman became very good-tempered, and was more highly pleased than ever with his brandy pawnee.

Feeling an increased motion of the ship, Jack said the wind was rising.

“Let it rise,” replied Mr. Mole grandly. “I trust we are superior to changes of the weather. In my young days, I knew the time when I was very glad to raise the wind.”

“Uncle, sir?” said Harvey.

“Precisely so, but not for luxuries or superfluities. If I spent money, it was on my studies. Books, Harvey, were what I bought. I could live on a crust of bread and a draught of water for a week.”

“You’ve changed a good bit since then, sir. Haven’t you?” said Jack.

“Now, my dear boy, I am in the noontide of life, I have a tea-garden in China. Circumstances alter cases,” replied Mr. Mole.

“If we get any rough weather I hope we shan’t come to grief,” Jack remarked.

“Ah,” said Mr. Mole, “that’s the worst of putting boys in men’s places.”

“What, sir?”

“It’s the case of the square peg in the round hole, Harkaway.”

“Am I a square peg?” asked Jack.

“Very square, and to use a vulgar expression, you may find yourself in a hole. You should have made good use of your time and have learnt navigation.”

“I know a little—enough for everyday use, sir,” Jack said.

“It’s my opinion there is only one man on board this ship who knows how to work it,” Mr. Mole continued.

“Who’s he?” said Harvey.

“Myself, Harvey. Isaac Mole, your humble servant.”

Jack laughed.

“Do not laugh, my young, but still intelligent friend,” Mr. Mole exclaimed; “it is not becoming to laugh at those older than yourself. I have an observant eye.”

“Did you ever see a whale, sir?”

“That question shows a want of respect, and I shall devote my conversation to Harvey,” answered Mr. Mole in high dudgeon.

“Certainly, sir,” Harvey said. “Curious creatures, whales, ain’t they?”

“If you indulge also in the puerile amusement called chaff, I shall retire into myself, smoke the cigar of peace, and hold my peace,” said Mr. Mole, mixing himself another pawnee.

Monday entered the cabin.

“Good-morning, Monday,” said Mr. Mole forgetting that he had seen him before that day.

“It’s not morning, Monday, now, sir,” remarked Jack.

“Eh?”

“It’s Monday afternoon, sir,” said Jack perpetrating a joke, and adding—

“What is it, Mon?”

“Um Ben Blunt want Mast’ Jack. The weather, him getting very bad, sare.”

“Hang me if I didn’t think so, ” replied Jack, rising with an uneasy expression of face.

“It’s all Mast’ Hunston, sare; him like um Mother Carey’s chicken. When him come on board, all go wrong,” exclaimed Monday.

“I am not superstitious enough to believe that, though I don’t like the look of things at all.”

Suddenly the ship gave a lurch.

She was struck by a heavy squall, and had heeled a little on the left side.

The men were all at their stations, and touching his hat, Ben reported to Jack, as he hurried on deck, that the foresail was split.

“Bend another,” replied Jack.

The crew set to work, unbent the split foresail and bent another.

For some hours the weather got worse.

They experienced a succession of heavy squalls, and shipped water.

At four o’clock a heavy sea burst into the main deck, sweeping water casks and loose gear overboard.

“Go forward, Dick, and ask Ben to ascertain if the cargo has shifted,” said Jack.

Harvey returned with Ben, who said he thought the first tier had shifted a little, but not to an extent of any consequence.

“What’s the damage?” asked Jack.

“It’s carried away the mainsheet,” replied Ben, “and the peak halyards.”

“Anything else?”

“Monday reports that the cabin windows are smashed in.”

“Man the pumps,” exclaimed Jack, “and at the same time secure cargo and repair damages.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Ben, who liked to be commanded in this navy fashion.

If Jack had lost his head and said, “What are we to do?” perhaps the old boatswain would have lost his too, and the men would have followed suit.

Example is everything to men in a subordinate position.

The majority of men can obey, but they can’t order.

Jack was as cool as a melon, and went about everywhere, encouraging the men with his presence.

At nine o’clock the pumps had hove out a quantity of water mixed with tea which had got loose in the hold.

There was a high cross sea.

Jack stowed foresail and jib, set close-reefed mainsail and hove the ship to, with her head northwest.

The night passed without any change.

Mr. Mole was nowhere to be seen, though Monday hinted he was on his back, snoring loudly, under the mingled influence of fear and brandy pawnee.

In the morning the sea raged with dreadful fury.

Jack had not closed his eyes all night.

Ayoub still kept the helm, and stated that the coast was at times very stormy, and he knew they were not far from their destination.

“How many days’ sail are we from the City of the Golden Towers?” asked Jack.

“Two, sahib,” replied the Arab.

“Only two?”

“If we run before this wind, we shall make the land sooner, but we have to run some miles up a river,” continued Ayoub.

“Then,” thought Jack, “Lieutenant Skeffington was right in his suspicions. This remarkable city does lie up a river, and there is more chance of H. M. S. ‘Victor’ finding it out than I first thought there was.”

While he was talking to Ayoub a sea swept the bowsprit from the bollards and the foremast from the deck.

“Hullo! God help us,” ejaculated Jack, who remembered his first wreck.

Another sea followed, and the mainmast snapped like a reed, three feet above the deck.

One man was hurt badly, and the cargo shifted.

The ship tossed, and swayed her spars with great violence.

Ben Blunt hastened to the helm.

He pushed Ayoub on one side saying—

“What’s the blundering old ass about? He’s no better than a woman at the wheel in a gale of wind.”

“Wear her, Blunt, wear her,” cried Jack.

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the veteran.

Ayoub looked on with the passivity of an oriental.

“Steady, Blunt, for your life, steady,” continued Jack. “She’ll bilge and founder else.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Ben, again, as the wheel flew round under his practised hands.

It was a great risk, but the ship answered to the helm, and she was brought to windward.

Jack now ordered the crew to cut away abaft, holding on forward.

In a short time she floated clear, but the once beautiful “Seahorse” was a perfect wreck.

The storm was now at its height.

In a short time it began visibly to decline, and the immediate danger was over.

But Jack’s heart grew sad when he thought of the irreparable damage that was done to the lovely ship he had hoped to reach England in, but which would now be useless.

Ben reported the rudder-head disabled, and the wheel broken.

She was drifting at the mercy of the waves towards an unknown coast, the only inhabitants of which were a nest of pirates.

With difficulty the rudder was wedged, and damages again repaired in the best manner under the circumstances.

Finding the port anchor stock to be the best elevation, Jack had a globular light placed upon it, during the night.

Then the wind went down and the gale abated, but not before it had swept away the storm drag, leaving the vessel a helpless wreck.

A small spar was stood by the stump of the mainmast, and secured as well as possible.

This formed a jury mast.

Two oars were clinched together for a yard and bent to a piece of canvas.

This set a sail, leg-of-mutton fashion.

With this curiously-rigged mast, and a signal of distress flying, the “Seahorse” drifted for two days.

Mr. Mole obstinately refused to move, and the boys took all the responsibility upon themselves.

Ben Blunt, who was an old sailor, gave Jack great credit for the way in which he had handled the ship.

“Under Providence, sir,” he said, “you’ve saved this vessel, young as you are. I’m an old salt, and I know how things should be, though I couldn’t have done as you did, and I doubt whether many a first luff in her majesty’s service could have done better.”

“I did my best, Ben,” Jack answered.

“And a good ‘best’ it was, sir. We’ve saved our lives and we may hope to make a port somewhere.”

Jack and Ben Blunt were standing alone, Harvey was with Mr. Mole in the cabin, for Mr. Mole had not been at all well.

Either the brandy pawnee or the storm had not agreed with him.

In Jack’s face could be discovered a trace of sadness and disappointment.

Jack had got to love the old ship.

She was to have borne him and Emily back to England, when he had rescued her from the pirates to whom the Pisangs had taken her.

How had his prospects altered in a few days!

The trimly-built “Seahorse” was floating like a helpless log upon the water.

He did not think that his life or those of his companions were in danger.

There was a chance of making land, which Ayoub declared solemnly could not be far off.

All at once a pale, thin, skeleton figure crept up the main hatch.

It walked with difficulty, and, as it neared Jack, the latter exclaimed—

“Hunston!”

He had not gone near him or spoken to him while he was recovering from his privations, though he had caused every attention to be paid him, so that he wanted for nothing.

“Harkaway,” Hunston said, in a hollow voice, “I am better now, and I have come to thank you for caring for me as you did.”

“Don’t say anything about that,” exclaimed Jack.

“But I must. I have heard from Harvey how you picked me up and took me in.”

“Glad of it,” said Jack.

“No, you are not glad. I know you would much rather you had not met me, but you are a kind-hearted English fellow, and behaved as you thought you ought to.”

“You might do as much for me some day,” suggested Jack.

“Wrong again,” replied Hunston. “If I had seen you adrift in a boat, I should not have stirred a finger to save you.”

“You speak plainly, anyhow.”

“I do, and I say what I mean. You have the advantage over me in generosity and good-nature, if that is any gratification to you.”

“Yes; it is. I’d rather be thought a decent fellow than a brute,” replied Jack.

“I don’t care what people think of me. I’ve got over that weakness long ago.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Perhaps, but if a man’s hardened he can’t be worried by scruples of conscience. I have just been snatched from the brink of the grave. I was at my last gasp.”

“Yes.”

“And I don’t thank you for saving me,” replied Hunston, whose malicious eyes twinkled with malignity as he spoke.

“I don’t want you to,” replied Jack.

“The fact is, Harkaway, I’m not a humbug, I never was. You can’t accuse me of being a sham. I was always straightforward.”

“I can’t say that. You’ve done a lot of dirty things,” answered Jack. “But you are ill and weak, and I would rather not argue with you while you are in that state.”

“That be bothered. I should show the same spirit if I were dying,” Hunston said. “Talk to me, or put me in my boat and cast me adrift once more.”

Jack gazed at him with astonishment.

“Put me in the boat. I’m in your power,” continued Hunston.

“No; I won’t do that.”

“Listen, then. I’m your enemy still, though I thank you for saving me. That’s candid, isn’t it?”

“Very much so,” said Jack. “But look here, old fellow, if we can’t be friends, the world is wide enough for both of us. I’ll take care of you, and put you ashore wherever you like.”

“You haven’t much choice,” said Hunston, with a sneer. “Your ship isn’t the vessel it was when you stole it.”

“Stole it!” repeated Jack indignantly.

“Yes.”

“I only took it from the mutineers, and intend to return it to the owners.”

“Oh, of course; your intentions are highly virtuous,” said Hunston. “But while I am on board, am I to consider myself a prisoner?”

“No; you can do what you like.”

“Then I shan’t trouble you any more; and as soon as I can get away, I shall.”

As he finished speaking, Hunston walked away and amused himself by talking to Ayoub, who was again at the wheel.

Something he said seemed to excite the Arab’s attention, as they were soon engaged in earnest conversation.

“He’s a beast,” said Jack, half aloud.

“Who’s a beast?” exclaimed a voice at his elbow.

CHAPTER XXVIII

JACK KEEPS HIS EYE ON AYOUB

IT was Harvey who spoke.

“Who’s the beast?” repeated Jack. “Why, Hunston. He’s not a bit thankful for being saved. I thought he would be. When I rescued him from the mutineers, he did say, ‘thank you.’ ”

“Then,” replied Harvey, “the fear of death was present to his mind. Now the case is different. He knows very well he’s right, and can afford to be cheeky.”

“What’s he saying to Ayoub, I wonder?” asked Jack. “There is some villainy on, I’ll bet.”

“Lieutenant Skeffington warned me against Ayoub, and told me to keep my eye on him.”

“Do it, then. It’s my advice too,” said Harvey.

“I wish I could hear what they are saying.”

“So do I.”

“Can’t you fox them in some way?” said Jack.

“Not now,” replied Harvey. “They would see me and stop talking. I’ll tell you how to manage it, though.”

“How?”

“I’ll go up and stand close to Ayoub, ask him some questions and so on. Hunston will go away, and they’ll meet again later, when we can watch.”

“Good again, Dick; I always said you were a genius,” said Jack.

Harvey went up to the wheel, and, as he had expected, Hunston walked away, going down to his berth, from which he did not emerge till the evening.

It was with difficulty that Ayoub could, with the badly-broken rudder, keep the ship before the wind.

But he contrived to steer somehow, and ere nightfall land was discovered.

Great were the rejoicings of the crew, more especially when the mouth of the river was seen, and Ayoub declared that it was the very one they were in search of.

“In four-and-twenty hours, crippled as we are,” said the pilot, “we shall be anchored near the City of the Golden Towers.”

There was no further danger from the elements, for the storm had altogether subsided.

Harvey, who was worn out, went to his berth and slept soundly.

Jack, however, was watching Hunston.

Darkness had fallen and all was still, when he heard Hunston leave the cabin in which he was berthed, and go on deck.

He followed.

Ayoub was standing amidships, looking at the crescent moon, just rising in the heavens.

“Is it you, my son?” he exclaimed, as Hunston touched him on the shoulder.

“Did I not say I would meet you when the moon rose at this spot?” replied Hunston.

“You did.”

“You hate these white men, and so do I; as far as that we agreed this morning. We were interrupted in our conversation.”

“My son,” replied the Arab, “I was formerly the most famous pirate in the City of the Golden Towers, but I was cast on the island of Limbi, and seeing no means of getting back to my friends, unless I braved the perils of a voyage which was nearly fatal to you, I determined to wait.”

“You settled on the island?”

“Yes; and when this boy, Harkaway, asked me to steer him to the Golden City, I was more than glad to do so. It was the wish of my heart. I have heard all about you, and I know that your friends, the Pisangs, have gone to the Malay pirates in large numbers.”

“They have.”

“With them they bore a lovely English maiden,” continued Ayoub.

“You know that?” cried Hunston.

“And more than that, you love her. Harkaway loves her, and there is a hatred between you.”

“You are right there,” Hunston said, between his teeth. “The more he does for me, the more I seem to detest him. The reason I have come to speak to you is that I do not think you mean to keep faith with him.”

“Can I trust you?” said Ayoub.

“I’ll take any oath you like.”

“What are oaths to men like you and I?” replied the Arab, contemptuously.

“You must have sense enough to know that you can trust me, and if I can give you a hand in any villainy, I’m ready to do so.”

“I don’t know that you can do anything,” replied Ayoub, “yet it is a relief to have some one to talk to. The ship is a wreck, and scarcely worthy of the pirates’ attention.”

“Are we near the pirates?” Hunston asked.

“Yes, they will be here soon. I shall hoist a red light at midnight, to show them there are friends on board.”

“What then?”

“When they board the ship they will spare the lives of all who are near the red light, the rest they will slay.”

“There will be an end of Harkaway then,” said Hunston, with a savage smile.

“And all his friends,” replied Ayoub.

Jack was listening intently to this conversation. “The fiends!” he muttered.

“You shall marry the white maiden, and be a great chief among the pirates,” continued Ayoub.

“That will suit me exactly. I should like to be a pirate king.”

“I held a high position among them,” the Arab went on, “before I was wrecked off Limbi. Often have I longed to return to the scene of youth and manhood. But the voyage was too perilous to be undertaken alone.”

“Are the pirates Malays?”

“Not all. They have men of all nations with them. French, English, Spanish and American. We are nearing the mouth of the river now. Can not you see under the bluff headlands on the right some lights dancing like fire-flies?”

“Yes.”

“Those are the lights of the pirates’ proas riding at anchor. There is a safe anchorage there, and many ships remain there to guard the entrance to the river.”

“There must be a lot of them from the number of lights,” cried Hunston.

“Twice six, and full of armed men. What chance has this disabled ship of contending against the pirate fleet?”

“Have they seen us yet?”

“Not yet. We are hull down in the water,” said Ayoub, who talked in the Limbian language, that being perfectly intelligible to Hunston.

“Have you got a red light ready?”

“I have.”

“Will they recognise it?” continued Hunston.

“They will,” replied Ayoub with a smile. “I used to go out in a boat on the lookout for a passing ship, telling the captain I was a pilot, who would navigate his vessel through the dangerous channels with which the coast of the Malay peninsula abounds, and when I got them here I showed the red light, which means blood.”

Jack shuddered.

“They will say, ‘Heaven is good to us,’ ” continued the Arab; “ ‘our old friend Ayoub, the mighty, has come back again. Blood will run like water. Come, my brethren, let us go to Ayoub, and slay the disciples of the cross.’ ”

“You are sure they won’t kill you and me by mistake?” said Hunston.

“Our lives are safe in my hands; though, had you not spoken to me to-day, yours would have been sacrificed with the rest.”

As he spoke, the infamous wretch who had been all along planning this massacre of the officers and crew of the “Seahorse,” took up a lamp he had concealed behind some spars.

He held it up in the air, saying, “Behold the signal.”

The next moment Jack had levelled a pistol at his head, and crying—

“Rascally Arab, take that,” he fired.

Ayoub, shot through the forehead, uttered the single word “Allah!” and fell forward at Hunston’s feet.

There was another barrel in the pistol undischarged.

Jack played restlessly with the trigger.

“I’ve a deuced good mind to give you the contents of number two, Mister Hunston,” he said.

Hunston’s eyes fell, and he trembled a little.

“Ha!” said Jack noticing this, “does the fear of death come upon you after all?”

“I am weak and ill. You forget what troubles I have gone through lately. It’s the body that trembles, not the spirit,” Hunston replied.

“Your companion revealed himself in his true colours at last, and he died the death of a traitor.”

“Shoot away, if you are going to shoot,” cried Hunston; “only don’t stand jawing at me. You’re as bad as the chaplain of a gaol preaching a condemned sermon.”

Jack’s hand still held the pistol, and the least movement of his finger would have hurled Hunston into eternity.

He hesitated, however, to fire.

The recollections of the old days at school came over him.

CHAPTER XXIX

ATTACKED BY PIRATES

THE sudden death of Ayoub, and the consequent collapse of his treacherous plans, alarmed Hunston.

He saw that Harkaway was very angry, and he expected to be shot every moment.

“At least I will have a struggle for it,” he muttered between his clenched teeth.

Rushing upon Jack, he endeavored to wrench the pistol out of his hand.

Had he succeeded in doing so, he would undoubtedly have shot him.

But Jack would not release his hold.

They swayed backwards and forwards.

All at once the trigger of the pistol was accidentally pulled, and, as the muzzle happened to be presented against Hunston, he received the charge in his left arm.

The injured limb hung helplessly by his side.

He staggered against the bulwarks, pale as death, and cursing his ill-luck.

“It was your own fault; you would have it,” exclaimed Jack.

Ben Blunt, attracted by the firing, advanced, and examined the injured limb.

“It must come off,” he said.

“What?” cried Hunston. “Lose my arm?”

“There is no help for it,” replied Ben.

“Be a one-armed man all my life!”

The expression of Hunston’s face, as he uttered these words, was fiendish in the extreme.

“You ought to think yourself lucky you have escaped with your life,” remarked Harvey.

“I’ll be revenged on you, Harkaway for this,” cried Hunston, writhing with pain.

Jack turned contemptuously from him.

“Wherever you are—in whatever quarter of the globe—I am more than ever your enemy, and I will find you out,” continued Hunston.

He would have said more, but, faint from loss of blood and severe pain, he sank on the deck insensible.

“Take him below, Ben, and see to him,” said Jack.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“And some of you fellows throw that carrion overboard,” added Jack, pointing to the dead body of Ayoub.

His orders were obeyed, and Ben carried Hunston below.

Ben Blunt had a rough knowledge of surgery, having been in more than one action, and with Harvey’s help, he amputated Hunston’s arm just below the shoulder.

A sharp knife and a saw were all that was required, with a bit of silk for a tourniquet to take up the veins.

Bandaging it round afterwards, he left the wretched young man to go to sleep.

His thoughts were not pleasant.

For the remainder of his life Hunston would be a one-armed man.

His wickedness had been punished at last.

A good lookout was kept on board, and the best weapons that could be found were supplied to the crew.

Jack anticipated an attack from the pirates.

Nor was he mistaken.

About midnight they with difficulty made out half-a-dozen heavily manned boats rowing towards them.

“All hands forward to repel boarders,” exclaimed Jack.

Directly he heard this order, Mr. Mole disappeared.

The remainder of those on board, however, evinced every inclination for the fight.

Steadily the pirates came on.

The movement of the oars in the rowlocks became more distinct.

Dividing into two parties, the pirates began the attack on each side simultaneously.

With their cruel sharp knives in their mouths they swarmed up the sides.

Volley after volley was fired at them.

Many fell back into the boats or the sea mortally wounded.

Others immediately took their places.

Jack fought valiantly.

A stalwart Malay singled him out, and after a few attempts succeeded in cutting him down.

Jack fell to the deck, badly wounded.

The fall of their leader damped the ardour of the English crew.

In vain Harvey strove to lead them forward.

They were overpowered by numbers, and surrendered at discretion.

Ben Blunt was stabbed to the heart, and his body stiffened in the moonlight.

Harvey had a flesh wound in the leg, and could only limp about.

When the fighting was over, the Malays ceased the work of slaughter.

It was the custom of the pirates to take as many prisoners as they could, in order to obtain ransom.

Monday had fought valiantly, and, strange to say, was unhurt.

Perhaps in the confusion the Malays, from his dark skin, mistook him for one of their own party.

The faithful fellow attended to his young masters and bound up their wounds.

He spoke to the pirates and told them they were great chiefs.

This made the Malays treat them with great consideration.

Mr. Mole was captured and fastened to Monday with a chain.

Jack and Harvey were conveyed below, and the latter did all that lay in his power for his old friend.

When the pirates had cleared the deck of the dead, they began to tow the ship to the mouth of the river.

All night long they continued to work and by morning the vessel was moored alongside a landing-place, in the city of the Golden Towers.

Harvey was disappointed at the first view of the city.

It was like most oriental towns; an assemblage of narrow dirty streets.

In the centre rose a temple which had a dome, surrounded by twelve towers or minarets.

These were covered with gilding.

It was this temple that gave the pirates’ stronghold the romantic and fascinating name of the City of the Golden Towers.

Ill as Hunston was, he contrived to speak to the pirate chiefs.

The result was that he was not classed with the other prisoners.

Probably he referred to the Pisang chiefs, who had left their own country and joined the pirates.

At all events he was treated with distinction, while Harkaway, Harvey, Monday and Mr. Mole were removed to a loathsome dungeon in the city.

Jack lay upon a heap of mouldy straw, Harvey by his side.

His wounds were very painful, and he was weak in the extreme.

“I shall never get home again, Dick!” he exclaimed, in a low voice.

“Yes, you will. Eat some of this rice, and drink some water,” replied Harvey.

“I can’t eat. Give me the water.”

He drank copiously, for his blood was hot and feverish.

“They’ve done for me this time,” he moaned.

“What’s that you say, Harkaway?” exclaimed Mr. Mole. “Don’t give way. Look at my position.”

“You’re not hurt, sir, as Harkaway is,” rejoined Harvey.

“No; but I am suffering the intolerable indignity of being chained to a negro in this stifling vault.”

Monday gave the chain a pull.

“Don’t do that,” cried Mr. Mole; “you’ll wrench my leg off.”

“Speak Monday civil,” replied the black. “It’s no good um grumble now. Monday pull um leg off if not quiet.”

Mr. Mole groaned dismally.

“I wonder if they will spare our lives?” he said. “Perhaps owing to the way I fought, they will be extra savage against me.”

No one took any notice of him, and he continued to grumble to himself.

The position of the little party was anything but agreeable.

Two of them were wounded, and they were confined in a hot, stifling vault; the only air and light they enjoyed penetrating through a little grated window high up in the wall.

Thus a week passed.

Food was brought them regularly every day, but they could glean no information from their gaoler, who refused to answer any questions.

Jack wanted quinine and fresh air to complete his cure, but there did not seem much hope of his obtaining them.

Their despair was at its height when they received a visit which put new life into them.

The gaoler one morning introduced a fairy-like vision, which Jack, from his straw bed, at once recognized.

He made an effort to rise, but was too weak to do so.

“Emily,” he murmured, softly.

Her eyes, accustomed to the blinding sun, could not distinguish him in the semi-darkness.

Guided by his voice she ran to the side of the straw bed and sank on her knees.

Seizing his thin, transparent hand, she bedewed it with tears.

“Oh, Jack dear!” she exclaimed. “It is so sad to see you like this; but I would rather meet you thus than not see you at all.”

“Thank you, Emily,” replied Jack. “I wanted to see you before I died. I can die happy now.”

“Die! Are you hurt?”

“I was wounded with a creese when the pirates attacked us. How did you get in here?” he said.

“I live in the palace of the pirate king, and he sent me to you to ask what ransom you could pay,” replied Emily.

“Where is Hunston?”

“Very ill. He has had a bad attack of fever, and has been delirious for some days, which is lucky, as he might have done you some harm. All his Pisang friends are here, and he is being taken care of.”

“Why have the pirates kept us here so long?” asked Jack.

“I cannot tell exactly,” answered Emily. “But I have heard them say that one of Her Majesty’s ships has been cruising about the mouth of the river.”

“And that has occupied all their time?”

“Exactly.”

A ray of hope lighted up Jack’s face.

“Dick!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” replied Harvey.

“That ship they speak about must be the one we met, H. M. S. ‘Victor,’ Commander Dacres.”

“I hope to goodness she is,” replied Harvey.

“Well, Jack dear, what shall I say to the pirate king?”

“Tell him we’ve got lots of money at home, and we will ransom ourselves handsomely, as soon as we have means of communicating with our guardians,” said Jack.

“Very well.”

Suddenly a voice said—

“Young lady!”

It was Mr Mole who spoke.

“Who is that, Jack?” asked Emily.

“Only Mr. Mole.”

“One of your friends?”

“The best, truest, and staunchest that Harkaway ever had, miss,” replied Mr. Mole.

“ Indeed, sir.”

“I have shed my blood for him on innumerable occasions, and I will show my magnanimity now.”

“That’s right, sir,” said Harvey.

“Monday,” remarked Mr. Mole, “don’t pull so hard on that confounded chain; do you hear? You gall my leg.”

“Never mind um leg, sare,” replied Monday, “go on with the magnanimimums.”

“I, young lady, am the proprietor of a tea-garden in China,” continued Mr. Mole.

“Yes?” said Emily.

“Tell your pirate friends that I will make them a present of this lovely tea-garden, if they will give us our liberty and let us go.”

“Bravo,” cried Harvey. “Mole isn’t such a bad sort after all.”

“When you have occasion to allude to me, Harvey, you will please to address me as Mr. Mole.”

“Beg pardon, sir.”

“It is granted,” replied Mr. Mole, grandly.

Emily spoke a few words to Jack in a low voice, begging him to keep up his spirits, and holding out hopes of speedy liberation.

Then she took her departure.

CHAPTER XXX

SHELLING THE PIRATE CITY

“ANGELS’ visits are few and far between, and don’t last long,” said Jack, as if speaking to himself.

“Have l not behaved handsomely, Harkaway?” asked Mr. Mole.

Jack was thinking of Emily, and made no answer.

“Harvey, I appeal to you,” continued Mr. Mole.

“You know, sir, that land is not like money. The pirates could never go and claim your land, because you could say who they were, and have them taken up,” replied Harvey.

He had been thinking over Mr. Mole’s apparent generosity, and the more he considered it, the less he believed in its reality.

Jack remembered what the lieutenant of Her Majesty’s ship had told him when he overhauled the “Seahorse.”

Emily’s remark about the pirates being worried by a vessel of war, raised his spirits considerably.

When Harvey damped the bandages with water and replaced them over his wounds, Jack said—

“I feel better, Dick.”

“That’s right, old man. Keep up your pluck,” replied Harvey.

“It’s so difficult to do that when you’re ill. You don’t know what a change illness makes in a fellow. It seems to take all the go out of him.”

“I know it does. I was ill once—had a fever.”

“But I feel different now. Emily has put new life into me.”

“I thought she would, bless her!” said Harvey.

“And I don’t believe we shall be prisoners much longer,” continued Jack.

“Why not?”

“The ‘Victor’ has found the pirates out, and they will shell the city.”

“It’s an advantage, then, to be shut up in this vault.”

“Well,” said Jack, “so far as escaping the effects of the bombardment, it is. I know the British government have been trying for some time to exterminate the nest of pirates who have infested these seas so long.”

While he was speaking, a loud booming was heard.

The whiz of a shell made itself distinctly audible as it flew over the devoted city.

There was a crash of falling masonry, and then for a minute all was still.

“By Jove, they’re at it!” cried Harvey.

“Sooner than I expected,” said Jack, with a quiet smile playing over his emaciated face.

Presently the sound was repeated, and it continued at intervals of half a minute.

The crashes were incessant.

It appeared that by morning there would not be one stone left standing on another in the famous City of the Golden Towers.

“That’s splendid practice. How well they fire,” said Jack, delightedly.

“Hurrah for the royal navy, and our rattling blue jackets!” exclaimed Harvey.

“What is all this hubbub?” asked Mr. Mole, trembling all over.

“The British fighting the pirates. They have found them out at last,” replied Jack.

“How do you know?”

“I’m sure of it. We shall be free in a few hours, sir.”

“That is good news. I hope this casement is shot-proof,” said Mr. Mole, adding, “Monday!”

“Sare?” replied the black.

“Don’t pull so confoundedly hard on that chain.”

“Can’t help um, sare.”

“You drag on it.”

“Monday do um war dance, sare.”

“Well, then, kindly postpone it, because it is painful to my feelings, and my skin is tender.”

“All right, sare,” replied Monday, “him stop um dance.”

The bombardment had continued for four hours without a break.

Jack was anxious about Emily.

Suddenly he was relieved by seeing the door open, and his darling rush in, her hair dishevelled and showing signs of terror.

“Oh! Jack,” she said, “I’ve had such an escape.”

“From what, dear?” he asked.

“The city is on fire in a dozen places, and the pirates are leaving in crowds.”

“Is it the ‘Victor’?”

“I don’t know the name of the ship, but it is a British man-of-war, and it is giving it the pirates finely.”

“Hurrah!” cried Harvey.

“The pirate chief wanted to take me with him up the country somewhere, and make me his wife,” she said.

“Beast!” ejaculated Jack.

“I escaped and ran through the burning city. How I missed being shot, or crushed by the falling masonry, or burnt, I don’t know, but I thought it best to come to you.”

“Did the guards let you in?”

“There are no guards; they have all run away. I merely slipped back the bolt, and here I am,” she replied.

“Thank Heaven you are near me,” rejoined Jack. “Sit down by my side, and let me hold your hand in mine, dear.”

She did so.

Crash, crash, continued the shells.

H. M. S. “Victor” was in earnest this time.

The destruction is terrible when an unfortified town is bombarded by all the appliances of modern science.

At the expiration of about six hours, as well as the boys could guess, the firing ceased.

“Dick,” said Jack, “are you well enough to walk?”

“I can limp about a bit,” answered Harvey.

“Go then to the riverside with something white, and let the English know that British prisoners are confined here.”

“All right, I’ll try.”

“Shall I go with him?” asked Emily.

“No, my precious one,” answered Jack, “I can’t part with you; sit still where you are.”

She pressed his hand affectionately.

Harvey was at a loss for something of a white colour.

He, as well as the rest of the party, had a handkerchief and a shirt.

These, however, had long ago ceased to bear any resemblance to white.

If any colour at all, they were black.

“To sally forth with such a thing, would be to hoist the black flag,” as Harvey said, with a laugh.

Emily blushed.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, “you can have a bit of my petticoat. It is clean, for I washed it out myself, yesterday.”

“You, Emily?” exclaimed Jack.

“Yes; and I’m not ashamed of it. There are no laundresses here, for the best possible reason.”

“What’s that?”

“The people don’t wear any clothes to speak about.”

Everyone laughed at this answer.

“Now don’t look at me and make fun,” she went on.

“As if we could do such a thing,” rejoined Harvey.

“Oh, I know what you boys are,” she answered smiling.

Turning round, she lifted up her dress and dexterously tore off a part of her petticoat, which she handed to Harvey.

“If you lose that, I’ll kill you, Dick,” said Jack. “It’s more precious than cloth of gold.”

“Don’t be foolish, Jack,” said Emily.

“I’ll guard it with my life,” answered Harvey, “and if I’m asked what flag it is, I shall say it’s the flag of all nations.”

“All nations?” repeated Emily.

“Yes; every man strikes his flag to a petticoat,” said Harvey.

He had no difficulty in opening the door and going up the mouldy steps which led from the dungeon. He reached the open air.

A strange spectacle met his gaze.

The city, a few hours before proud and wealthy, was literally a heap of ruins.

Flames shot up into the air in different directions, and a thick pall of smoke obscured the sky.

No one was to be seen.

The city was deserted by its inhabitants.

He had not picked his way far between the debris, when a shot went by his ear and pinged against a wall.

“Hi!” he said. “Rule Britannia. Don’t shoot a countryman.”

He held up his strange flag.

The next moment he was face to face with a party of marines.

“Who are you, my lad?” asked the officer in command.

“British prisoner, sir; wounded in the leg, and taken out of a merchantman with others by the pirates.”

“How many are there of you?”

“Five in all, and one’s a lady,” replied Harvey.

“In that case, I had better get you out of this and put you aboard. Lead on to the prison,” said the officer; adding, “now, my lads, keep your weather eye open for an ambush. By your right quick march!”

“Slow march, if you please, sir,” said Harvey.

“Why?”

“Didn’t I tell you I had a game leg? Give me an arm. It’s uncommonly stiff I can tell you.”

“Ah, I forgot that; lean on me,” said the officer. “Those creeses of the Malays give nasty wounds.”

“That they do,” exclaimed Harvey, limping along.

With a wildly beating heart he led the way to the dungeon.

Hope dawned in his breast once more.

Their troubles were nearly over.

CHAPTER XXXI

ON BOARD H. M. S. “VICTOR.”

IN less than an hour the prisoners were removed on board the “Victor.”

Here all the surgeon attended to Jack’s wounds, and were treated with the utmost kindness and consideration.

It was a pleasant and happy change.

A large quantity of valuable property was recovered from the burning city, and this put the sailors in a good temper, as they could look forward to prize-money.

The pirates being thoroughly beaten and their city destroyed, the “Victor” dropped down the river.

It was the captain’s intention to land the captives at Singapore.

His cruise was not yet over, and he could not leave the China Seas.

At Singapore no doubt a vessel would give them a passage to England.

Good food, fresh air, and excellent surgical attendance was all that Jack and Harvey required.

They soon recovered, and went about as usual.

Emily was the pet and darling of the whole ship’s company, but she had only eyes for Jack.

There was one man on board Jack did not like.

He was tall and thin, with dark, flashing eyes.

His father was a merchant at Singapore, and a friend of the captain of the “Victor.”

The young man, who was about nineteen, not being in very good health, had been received on board the ship as the guest of the captain, and taken for a cruise.

His name was Frank Davis.

He fell violently in love with Emily, and persecuted her with his attentions on all occasions.

Being an idle man, and having no duty to do on board the ship, he was able to roam about when and where he liked.

Emily did not encourage him, but she did not like to be rude.

Consequently Jack often saw them together and his face flushed as he saw Frank Davis bending over her.

Pointing him out to Harvey, Jack said—

“I shall punch that snob’s head some day.”

“I wouldn’t,” replied Harvey. “You are not strong, and we shall soon make Singapore, when we shall get rid of him.”

“It’s a nuisance to think I have got another fellow to worry me, just when Hunston is wiped out and we have made an end to all our troubles.”

“Do you think Hunston is dead?”

“I fancy he must have died in the burning city. Ill as he was, he could scarcely escape,” replied Jack.

“At all events, he is not on board this ship. That’s one comfort,” remarked Harvey.

Jack watched Mr. Davis carefully, and in spite of Harvey’s advice, sought an opportunity to pick a quarrel with him.

Davis, however, was very civil to him and seemed to try to avoid a rupture.

Mr. Mole went about from one to another of the crew, and recounted his valiant exploits among the savages.

Monday caused the sailors great amusement.

He begged and borrowed from them a complete sailor’s dress, and was very proud of it.

The “Victor” had to go out of her course to chase some pirate craft.

Sighting an island, a boat was lowered to go and obtain a supply of water.

Monday ran up to Jack in great excitement.

“Mast’ Jack!” he exclaimed.

“Well,” replied Jack.

“That’s Limbi. That’s my island. I know um well.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. You ask the Tuan captain if he let you and me go and land with the sailor men.”

“Would you like to see the island once more?” asked Jack.

“Very much like, sare,” replied Monday.

“All right. I’ll go and get permission.”

Jack went to the captain, stated the case, and asked leave for himself and Monday to accompany the boat.

Leave was at once granted.

They embarked in the boat, and the Limbians came to receive them.

When they saw Jack and Monday they made a great feast in their honor, and would not allow the English sailors to do any work, but filled the casks with water for them.

They went up to the city, and Jack called upon Alfura and Ambonia.

He was asked a variety of questions about Mr. Mole, who, he said, had remained in the pirate city.

“Will he come back?” asked Ambonia.

“Oh, yes,” replied Jack. “He is very anxious to see you again. Can I take him any message?”

“We have a surprise for him,” said Alfura and Ambonia in a breath.

“What?”

“Two little babies; such beauties. Mine is a boy, we call Isaac, and Alfura’s is a girl, named after her.”

Jack whistled.

“Two kids,” he exclaimed. “Mr. Mole expected this.”

“Did he?” asked Alfura.

“Yes; and he wants you to send the children to him. Cannot the nurse take them in a basket?”

“We should not like to part with them; but if it is their father’s wish——”

“It is,” rejoined Jack.

“Then the dear little Innocents must go,” replied Ambonia.

She went into an adjoining room, and the nurse who had charge of them brought them in for Jack’s inspection.

They were not quite so dusky as their mothers, but there was a half-caste tinge about their complexions.

“Bless ’em!” said Jack.

He kissed their foreheads.

This gracious act quite won the hearts of the mothers.

The infants were placed in a basket, covered over.

On the breast of one Jack put a piece of paper, on which he wrote “The gentle Isaac.”

On the other he placed the inscription, “The lovely Alfura.”

And on the top of the basket he wrote—“A present from Limbi, for a good Mole.”

“Now, nurse,” he said, “carry that down to the boat. You will come with us to take care of the precious babbies.”

“Have they far to go?” asked Alfura.

“Only a few days’ voyage.”

“And will Mr. Mole come soon?” sighed Ambonia.

“Before another moon has passed,” replied Jack.

The mothers began to cry, and Jack cleared out, making for the boat, where the crew were waiting for him.

When the lieutenant in charge asked who the old woman was, Jack informed him that she was taking something on board for Mr. Mole, and it would be all right.

The children, having been well fed, slept placidly.

At length the boat reached the ship, and the basket was taken up and placed on the quarter-deck.

“You stand back till you’re wanted,” said Jack to the nurse.

The captain and officers crowded round the basket.

The crew looked on at a distance.

Jack saluted the captain, and the captain saluted Jack.

“What’s this, Mr. Harkaway?” asked Captain Dacre.

“A present for Mr. Mole, sir,” replied Jack.

“Pass the word for Mr. Mole,” said the captain.

The word was passed and Mr. Mole emerged from the captain’s servant’s cabin, where all the good things were kept.

He wiped his mouth as he came out and he exhaled a smell of brandy.

“You did me the honor to send for me, sir,” he said.

“Your former friends have sent you something,” replied the captain.

“Ah! indeed. They remember my valorous feats. This is kind of them, and also proper.”

“Will you open the basket now?”

“I will, sir, with your permission.”

Mr. Mole stooped down and untied the fastenings of the basket.

The cloth was thrown back, and the children revealed to view.

Mr. Mole staggered, and uttered a groan.

“The gentle Isaac and the lovely Alfura,” he murmured.

The officers burst into a roar of laughter, and even Captain Dacre himself could not refrain from smiling.

Suddenly Mr. Mole’s manner changed.

He grew furious.

“Who has done this? Who has played me this base trick?” he cried.

“They are your children, sir,” replied Harkaway. “You know you married two wives in Limbi, and these children are the consequence of the rash act.”

“I’ll have none of them! Away with the reptiles; the vermin; the little black images!”

“I appeal to these gentlemen if the sleeping innocents are not the exact likeness of their father,” said Jack.

“Into the sea with them,” cried Mr. Mole.

He grasped the basket and would have cast them over the ship’s side, had not the nurse run forward and seized him by the ear.

“Oh! my ear, my ear! The she-fiend; she’ll wring it off,” vociferated Mole, dropping the basket.

The children began to scream.

Leaving her hold of his ear, the nurse attended to the children.

Mole danced up and down like a madman.

“Mr. Harkaway,” said the captain, “this may be a very good joke, but we cannot be burdened with this sort of live stock.”

“Beg pardon, sir. Didn’t wish to put you to any inconvenience,” said Jack.

“Possibly not.”

“Fact is, sir, I’ve got a feeling heart,” said Jack.

“Every sailor ought to have one.”

“Mr. Mole, sir, has deserted his wives, and the poor infants will be half orphans, if——”

“Yes, yes,” said the captain, rather impatiently, as he detected a half twinkle in Jack’s eye; “we know all about that; but you have given me the trouble of again lowering a boat to send these children and their nurse to the shore.”

“Won’t you have the half orphans, sir?”

“Not on board this ship; it is absurd to ask me. Any one would take you for their father, you are so anxious about them.”

“I, sir? No, sir. Wouldn’t do such things,” answered Jack, with a broad grin.

“Go forward, Mr. Harkaway if you please,” said Captain Dacre, sternly. “We have had enough of this nonsense.”

Jack retired, whistling—

“It’s nice to be a father.”

When Mr. Mole saw that the captain was going to send the gentle Isaac and his sister back, he recovered himself.

“Remove the brats at once, sailors,” he said, “and you shall have a crown to drink my health.”

A boat was soon lowered, and the nurse, with the “precious tits,” as Jack called them, put into it.

“This proper and decided act of the captain’s has saved me the trouble and work of buying some vermin-destroying powder,” muttered Mr. Mole. “Ugh! the black beasts.”

“They’re yours, sir,” whispered Jack at his elbow.

“Harkaway, this is a painful joke,” replied Mr. Mole.

“Bad for the poor half orphans, sir.”

“You have exposed me to the ridicule of the officers and crew of the vessel.”

“Never be ashamed of your own, sir,” said Jack.

“The captain has behaved like a gentleman. Look at that boat conveying the vermin to the shore. It is a pleasant sight.”

Mr. Mole sighed deeply.

“You’re a gay deceiver, sir; but I shouldn’t wonder if Ambonia followed you to England.”

“If she does, I’ll——”

Mr. Mole stopped abruptly.

It did not exactly occur to him what he could do in the event of such an unpleasant contingency.

Jack did not worry him any more, though he had many a laugh over the affair with Harvey.

The ship went on to Singapore, and there landed the little party.

Monday had made up his mind to go to England.

As Jack and Mr. Mole were the richest, they drew bills on England, and got them discounted to pay their expenses.

Before the “Victor” left, they made the captain a handsome present.

Jack took care of Emily, who, now her father and mother were dead, was a penniless orphan.

They all lodged at the same hotel.

Monday insisted on being Jack and Harvey’s servant, but he would not do a thing for Mr. Mole.

“He one humbug, sare, that what Mist’ Mole is,” he used to say.

The boys secured a passage to England in a fast steamer, which was to sail in a few days after taking in cargo.

“Our worries are all over now, Dick,” said Jack, gleefully.

“About time they were,” replied Harvey.

CHAPTER XXXII

JACK BECOMES JEALOUS

WE have said that Emily was very grateful to Jack for all he had done for her.

Had it not been for him she might have endured an intolerable captivity among the pirates.

She might even have been compelled to become Hunston’s wife.

It was not much she could do in return, so she said.

But Jack thought it a great deal.

She could give him her heart, and promise to be his wife some day when he was a man.

“Whatever shall I do, Jack dear,” she said, “when I get back to England? I have no parents now—no home.”

His eyes filled with tears.

“Stay with my father and mother, Emily,” replied Jack. “They will make you happy for my sake.”

“Oh, I don’t like to do that. I’ll go out as governess.”

“You shall not,” Jack said, emphatically. “I should like to see anyone bullying my darling. You’ll stay with us.”

“If you think your friends will let me——”

“I know they will; so don’t fret about that, my pet.”

“I have often thought lately, Jack,” she exclaimed, “that it was very fortunate you were among the savages.”

“We’ve had our trials, Emmy, but it doesn’t matter so long as we’ve pulled through, does it?”

“No,” she answered; “that is the great thing: and I am so happy to know that you love me.”

Mr. Mole came in just then, and interrupted any further conversation of a private nature.

“I’m going home with you, Harkaway,” he said.

“I always thought you were, sir.”

“No; I had it in my mind to proceed to China, but I shall sell my tea-garden.”

“Sell it?” replied Jack.

“As soon as possible. I have had enough of savage life. I went forth ‘strange countries for to see,’ as the song has it, and I have seen enough of them.”

“I think you have come to a wise determination, Mr. Mole,” said Emily.

“I cannot doubt that I have, my dear, if you say so.”

“As for Harvey and myself, we shall be glad to have you with us,” said Jack.

“My idea,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, “is to go to some university town.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; I am fond of teaching, and I shall establish myself as a private tutor.”

“But you have an income?”

“I dare say, when my tea-garden is sold, I shall have two or three hundred a year. Well, with that and the proceeds of my teaching, my life will glide calmly on.”

“Capital, sir,” exclaimed Jack.

“Calmly on,” continued Mr. Mole, “until I go over to the majority, which means the greater number, or those who have gone before to their everlasting home.”

“You are becoming sentimental, Mr. Mole,” remarked Emily.

“I feel so, my dear young lady. When a man has come to a great determination, and settled a crisis in his life, he ought to feel happy.”

The skipper of the homeward-bound sent word to say that his ship would not be ready to sail for at least three weeks.

He had a quantity of cargo to take on board, and this would delay his start.

There was nothing for it but to make themselves as comfortable as possible at their hotel.

When the “Victor” sailed, Frank Davis, of whom we have spoken as an admirer of Emily, remained behind.

His father was a rich merchant.

The sea air had done him good, and he was now able to stay on shore and resume his ordinary duties. Not that he did much work.

He would stroll down to the counting-house with a cigar in his mouth, stay for an hour or two, and then go away again.

Frank Davis had been born in England, though most of his life had been passed in Singapore.

He had long, dark hair, regular features, and a keen, flashing eye.

Altogether he was not bad looking, though his face wore a conceited and haughty expression. Jack hated him.

Having made acquaintance with our little party on board ship, he thought himself privileged to visit them at their hotel, which he did very frequently.

He talked to Mr. Mole, and made himself very agreeable to Emily, but scarcely condescended to speak to Jack and Harvey.

One evening he had been for more than an hour turning over Emily’s music while she sang and played.

Jack was biting his lips with vexation, for he really loved Emily, and did not like to see her encourage, as he thought, this comparative stranger.

At length she rose and went to the sofa.

Jack placed himself by the side of her immediately.

Davis walked up to Mr. Mole, and began to talk about the higher mathematics.

“Emily,” said Jack, “do you find the society of that fellow Davis so very entertaining?”

“He praises my playing, and turns my music for me,” answered Emily.

“Couldn’t I do the same?”

“Of course; only you and Harvey get together and talk about old times, and never come near me. I must talk to some one. What am I to do?”

“I thought I wasn’t wanted,” said Jack.

“Nonsense!” she said, with a musical laugh. “You’re not going to get jealous in your old age.”

“I am jealous.”

“You stupid old Jack. You deserve that I should scold you.”

“But look here, haven’t you been going on anyhow with that ugly brute, Davis?” asked Jack.

“I’m sure he isn’t ugly, and he knows how to make himself very agreeable to the ladies,” replied Emily, who, like all pretty women, was a tyrant, and wished to torment him a little.

“That is as much as to say I’m not.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“And you like him best? Very well; I’m glad you’ve told me,” said Jack, flushing angrily.

“Now, Jack, I shall be very cross with you indeed, if you run away with a mistaken idea like that,” replied Emily.

“All right, you have said quite enough,” said Jack, savagely.

He got up and walked away.

“Dick,” exclaimed Emily, appealing to Harvey.

“What is it?” asked Dick.

“Do, please, go after Jack. He’s in such a rage, and I’m afraid there will be a quarrel between him and—and Mr. Davis.”

“Shouldn’t wonder if there was,” replied Harvey.

“Why?”

“If it had been me, I’d have punched his ugly head long ago.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” replied Emily.

“I don’t know about wrong,” replied Harvey. “You’ve been carrying on anyhow with that fellow.”

“I was only civil to him.”

“I’m Jack’s friend, you know, Miss Emily,” continued Harvey, “and I don’t like to see him made a fool of. He’s awfully fond of you.”

“So am I of him,” she said.

“Well, you don’t go the right way to show it,” Harvey answered bluntly.

“Never mind; I will explain all to Jack presently, only go after him, will you, please, and tell him how sorry I am. I don’t want a quarrel. Mr. Davis might hurt him.”

Harvey laughed scornfully.

“Hurt him? Hurt Jack!” he said, contemptuously.

“Yes.”

“Why, Jack wouldn’t make a mouthful of him. He’s bigger than either of us, but I should be sorry if his face came against Jack’s fist. Hurt Jack! Not much. Don’t fret about that.”

“Will you go and speak to Jack?” urged Emily.

“If you wish it, though I’d rather let them alone,” replied Harvey. “Mr. Merchant’s son is sure to get a jolly good walloping.”

“Very well,” said Emily, leaning back; “I can see you are both against me.”

“Let them alone, I tell you,” replied Harvey. “I know what Jacks game is.”

“What?”

“He is too much of the gentleman to have a row in his own room, with a fellow who is his guest.”

“I hope so,” said Emily; “but what will he do?”

“Oh, square him up somehow. Let them alone,” replied Harvey.

Frank Davis now took his leave, the fact being that Mr. Mole rather bored him with cube roots and one thing and another.

Emily rather distantly wished him good night.

She had not intended to encourage his advances, and wished to draw back as soon as she saw Harkaway was annoyed.

A little way from the hotel Davis met Jack and said—

“Good-night. I wondered where you had gone to.”

“I came out here to speak to you,” replied Jack.

“That is funny. I have spent the evening in your room, and you have had every opportunity of talking to me.”

“I did not choose to talk to you upstairs.”

“And I don’t choose to talk to you in the street. That’s the difference,” exclaimed Davis, in his usual sneering manner.

“Excuse me; you cannot help yourself.”

“Oh! but I can,” replied Davis, walking on.

Jack ran forward, and placed himself before him.

“Really, Mr. Harkaway, this is very strange behaviour,” said Davis, finding himself stopped.

“Not at all.”

“Perhaps you have lived so long amongst savages that you forget how to behave yourself amongst gentlemen.”

This remark stung Jack.

“I simply want to tell you that I wish your visits to cease at my hotel,” he said; “that’s plain enough.”

“I don’t come to see you,” said Davis insolently.

“That is a remark which if you dare to repeat, I will knock you down for,” cried Jack.

“I have no reason to say it again,” replied Davis, “since you have heard it once, and seem to appreciate the force of it.”

Jack’s fingers itched to strike him, but he restrained himself.

“Who do you come to see?” he asked.

“Use your eyes, and you will find out.”

Jack felt inclined to spring upon him, but at that moment Monday came up.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Mist’ Harvey, him send me, sare,” replied Monday; “him think you want me.”

“So I do,” replied Jack.

“What um for, sare?”

“Kick this fellow in front of me. I won’t dirty my hands with him at present.”

“Mist’ Davis, sare? Kick um friend?” said Monday, in surprise.

“He’s no friend of mine. Wire in!”

Davis looked alarmed.

“I warn you,” he said, “that if this black fellow touches me, I will have him punished.”

“You can do your little worst, my boy,” answered Jack, adding, “go in, Monday; let him have it.”

Monday did not hesitate any longer.

Jack’s word was law to him.

He administered several hearty kicks and cuffs to Davis, who ran swiftly up the street, with Jack’s derisive laughter ringing in his ears.

“Monday kick him well, sare?” asked the black.

“Beautiful!”

“Um proper kicks, sare?”

“Lovely, Monday. I’ll buy you a new hat,” replied Jack still laughing heartily.

The way in which the dandified merchant’s son ran away pleased him immensely.

Returning to his hotel, he found Emily had gone to bed, saying she had a bad headache.

Mr. Mole and Harvey were at supper.

Jack joined them and told them how he had made Monday treat Davis.

“Impetuous as usual, Harkaway,” said Mr. Mole. “Just like you.”

“Why shouldn’t I, sir? He tried to spoon on Emily,” replied Jack.

“She should have snubbed him. You were wrong, and it is unfortunate just now.”

“Why, sir?”

“Because we have been put up for election at the English club, of which Davis is a member. Two black balls in the ballot exclude, and he may so vote and influence his friends as to get us shut out.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“Of course you didn’t. You bull-at-a-gate fellows never do think of consequences.”

“I dare say we shall pull through, sir,” remarked Harvey.

“We may; but it would not be pleasant during the short time we stay here to be shut out of the only club in the place, and for people to say that we were blackballed at the ballot. You really should think of these things, Harkaway.”

“I’m not a bit sorry I made Monday kick him,” Jack replied, obstinately.

“It would not have been so bad if you had kicked him yourself.”

“I know that, and that’s why I made the nigger do it.” answered Jack.

“He has a revengeful face. I would rather have him as a friend than an enemy,” said Mr. Mole.

“He can’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that. Never make an enemy. The mouse once helped the lion.”

“That’s a fable, sir,” said Jack.

“It is, but we often see it exemplified in real life.”

“Bother fables!” exclaimed Jack, yawning.

“That young man’s father is one of the richest merchants in Singapore,” continued Mr. Mole; “and he tells me that he is to be sent shortly to England.”

“Indeed?” ejaculated Jack.

“Yes; he is to go to a university to complete his education. His health is not good, and it is thought that the climate of England will do him a vast deal of service.”

“We’ve enough scamps in England without him,” replied Jack.

“Never mind. Take my advice, and don’t make an enemy of the young man. This is only a half-civilised place after all, and you don’t know what he might be capable of.”

“I only know one thing, sir,” said Jack.

“What’s that?”

“He won’t stay here any more; I’ve put the kibosh on that.”

“My dear Harkaway——”

“My dear Mr. Mole. Good-night. I’m not in the humour for a jaw, and I shall have a glass at the bar, and then turn into my virtuous bug-walk.”

“I should rather call it mosquito-run,” added Mr. Mole, with a smile. “But good-night, if you are off. Harvey and I will finish the wine over a game at crib. Eh, Harvey, what do you say?”

“I am agreeable, sir,” replied Harvey.

Jack left them to themselves, and they did not retire till nearly midnight.

CHAPTER XXXIII

A SCENE AT THE ENGLISH CLUB

THE English club was an unpretending building near the custom-house.

Its windows overlooked the water of the harbour, which flowed up to its walls.

All the Englishmen and the Americans in Singapore belonged to it; and when our travellers were put up for election, it was considered as a compliment which the residents wished to pay them.

Captain Hammond, of the “Rangoon,” the steamer in which they were to sail for England, which was now taking in cargo, had put them up.

They were influentially seconded.

On the morning after the fracas in the street between Frank Davis and Monday, Jack and Harvey walked down to the club to ascertain the result of the ballot.

They were ushered into the reading-room of the club, which was also the smoking-room.

Through the open window of the club they could see the shipping in the harbour, and the bright sunbeams danced gaily over the water.

Captain Hammond approached Jack and said—

“I have much pleasure, Mr. Harkaway, in informing you that you and your friends were elected members of this club last evening. I was just coming to your hotel to bring you the news.”

“Thank you very much for your kindness, which I shall not forget, and for which I thank you on behalf of myself and friends,” replied Jack.

“Your friends were elected without opposition, and you had only one blackball.”

“Indeed,” said Jack. “I wonder who could have favoured me with that? My stay here has been so short that I was not aware I had had time to make any enemies.”

Suddenly he thought of Frank Davis.

“Is Mr. Davis a member of your club?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. I remember that he came in last night just in time for the election,” answered Captain Hammond.

“In that case, I know where to look for my enemy, though I care very little for the malice of a blackguard.”

A slight cough arrested his attention.

Looking up, he saw Davis sitting on the ledge of one of the open windows, smoking a cigarette.

Had he known he was there, he would not have spoken so openly.

The attention of the few members in the club-room was called by this speech to Davis.

Looking very red in the face, the latter exclaimed—

“I think I heard my name mentioned?”

“Yes,” replied Jack, promptly. “By me.”

“I wish you would say anything relating to me in my presence, and not attack me behind my back,” answered Davis.

“I am perfectly willing to repeat what I said. My remark merely had reference to your attempt to keep me out of the club last night.”

“If I chose to blackball you, I only exercised my right. I have no wish to associate myself with objectionable people. But was that all you said?”

“I called you a blackguard, if you particularly wish to know,” exclaimed Jack, boldly.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Captain Hammond, “permit me to remind you that this is deplorably bad taste.”

“Can’t help it, my dear sir,” replied Jack. “It is his doing.”

Frank Davis grew very pale, and bit his lip.

“I have no wish to create a scene,” he said; “but when I am grossly insulted by a man who has lived among savages, and makes a friend of a nigger, I really must protect myself.”

“Certainly, certainly,” observed some of Davis’s friends.

Owing to his father’s wealth and reputation, Davis was a great man with a certain set.

“Come outside, and have a dust-up with fists,” said Jack. “Give and take alike, and if you lick me, I’ll shake hands.”

“It is impossible, sir,” answered Davis, “that I could so demean myself. If I fight, I use the weapons of a gentleman.”

“What may they be?”

“Swords or pistols, either of which I place at your disposal,” replied Davis.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” again said Captain Hammond, “I really must beg that you will remember where you are.”

“I decline your challenge. It is not the custom of Englishmen to fight duels. But I repeat, that if you want to see who is best man, I am ready for you with a bunch of fives,” exclaimed Jack.

“Just what I might have expected from a man of your stamp,” answered Davis, with one of his most offensive sneers.

“What do you mean?” asked Jack.

“Simply that, relying on your natural cowardice, you think you can insult a gentleman with impunity.”

“Why, you ugly little whipper-snapper, you counterjumping land-lubber, I’ve a good mind to punch your head,” said Jack, indignantly.

“Of course. Cowards are always bullies. But vulgar abuse only lowers you still more in my eyes; and let me tell you, my blustering friend, that I shall be under the painful necessity of horsewhipping you in public if you do not mind what you are saying.”

Jack could bear this no longer.

He rushed across the room, regardless of clubs, rules and etiquette.

Davis was still sitting in the open window, with his back to the water of the harbour.

Without giving him any notice, he struck him full in the face with his fist.

The blow caused the little dandy to lose his balance, and with a ludicrous cry of rage and fear, he toppled over, and fell with a splash into the water.

“Hullo!” exclaimed Harvey, as he disappeared, “where has he gone to?”

“Kingdom come, I hope,” replied Jack, smiling grimly.

The members of the club rushed to the window in great excitement.

Davis was seen to rise to the surface, and shake his fist at Jack.

Then he swam away to a boat, climbed up the side, and was rowed, dripping wet, to the shore.

Jack laughed heartily; but Captain Hammond looked grave.

“This will have to be brought before the committee,” he said.

“What will the result of that be?” asked Jack.

“I fear your election will be cancelled.”

“That won’t break my heart,” answered Jack.

“I will try to avoid it, because that little wasp Davis will go about saying you were kicked out of the club for ungentlemanly conduct.”

“Was it ungentlemanly?” inquired Jack, thinking the matter over for the first time.

Captain Hammond laughed.

“Ask yourself,” he said. “That sort of thing would do very well on board ship, but in a club, my dear fellow, we allow no wrangling.”

“Well, good-morning. I am much obliged to you all the same,” replied Jack.

He made a stiff bow to the gentlemen in the room, who regarded him coldly.

Some acknowledged his salutation, and others simply stared rudely at him.

As he passed out he heard such remarks as—

“Bull in a china shop.”

“Uncultivated boor.”

“Turn the club into a bear-garden,” etc.

“Come along, Dick,” he exclaimed to Harvey. “It appears we’re not good enough for this lot.”

“They’re no great loss,” answered Harvey.

With a defiant air they left the club, and were just in time to see Frank Davis, covered with mud, wet through, and bareheaded, get into a carriage to be driven home.

His face wore the expression of a demon.

“I say, Jack,” said Harvey, “mind that fellow doesn’t knife you.”

“Not he,” replied Jack. “The beggar hasn’t pluck enough to come within a mile of me.”

The boys strolled about for some hours, visited several of the ships in harbour, and at length returned to the hotel to dinner.

“A note for you from the English club, Harkaway,” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

“Read it, sir, if you please,” replied Jack.

Mr. Mole did so.

“Dear me,” he said. “It is a notice from the committee stating that, owing to your conduct this morning, the committee feel bound to censure you strongly; but on a vote being taken, it was decided to retain your name on the books by a majority of one.”

“I’m glad of that,” answered Jack; “because if I had been expelled, it would have been a triumph for that fellow Davis.”

“What have you been doing?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Only punching, sir. Knocking this cove Davis into the sea for cheeking me.”

“Ah! that is bad. What a pity you cannot keep your fighting propensities in check, but you always had too much of the bull-dog in you.”

“Can’t help it, sir,” answered Jack. “It’s the nature of the animal.”

“You seem to have a great spite against Mr. Davis.”

“It’s his fault. Oh! here’s Emily. First time I’ve seen her to-day,” exclaimed Jack. “Emmy dear, I’m sorry to say I’ve been slipping into your friend.”

“What friend?” asked Emily.

“Mr. Frank Davis.”

“He’s no friend of mine. I merely regarded him as an acquaintance of yours,” she answered.

“Don’t tell fibs, Emmy. You know you like him.”

Emily began to cry.

“If you are going to treat me so cruelly,” she sobbed, “I shall go upstairs again. I’m sure I did not put myself out of the way to be civil to him. You would not, I thought, like me to be rude to your guests.”

Jack’s heart melted in a moment.

Springing to her side, he kissed her tears away, and said—

“Don’t cry, darling. Say you forgive me, and I’ll never be naughty again.”

“It’s a great shame of you,” she replied.

“So ’tis. I’m a beast, but that stuck-up, sneering cad riled me. I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I mauled him about a bit.”

“I shouldn’t care if—if you kil—killed him,” Emily answered continuing to sob, “if—if you were not so unkind to me.”

It was some time before Jack could make his peace with her, but at last he succeeded and they were better friends than ever.

Emily wiped away her tears. Dinner was brought up; they all sat down, and as if by common consent, Mr. Davis’s name was never once mentioned, and no allusion was made to the disturbance at the club.

After dinner the gentlemen lighted their cigarettes, and Emily took up a book to read.

Suddenly Monday burst into the room out of breath.

“What’s up now, Monday?” cried Jack. “You’ll bust up if you waste your wind like that.”

“Take your hat off,” said Harvey, removing his broad-brimmed Panama straw. “Why don’t you learn decent manners?”

“I should think there was going to be a donkey-race tomorrow,” remarked Dick.

“Where?” asked Harvey.

“All round Monday’s hat. Sold again. I had you then, Dick,” replied Jack, laughing.

Monday now found his tongue.

“Oh! Mast’ Jack,” he exclaimed, “such um big fire down street.”

“A fire! ” cried the boys, jumping to their feet.

“Yes, a big one. All the houses crackle and burn ever much so. Come on, sare, and see um fun.”

“By Jove! I’m in that,” exclaimed Jack, putting on his hat.

His example was followed by Harvey.

“And I, too,” said Mr. Mole. “I will accompany you to the scene of the conflagration. Perhaps with my usual bravery I may be instrumental in saving some poor creature’s life.”

Before he had finished speaking, the boys were out of the room.

They followed Monday down the street, and were soon in the midst of a great crowd.

Smoke rose in dense masses, and sparks fell around in all directions.

Some wooden buildings used as warehouses were in flames.

How they had caught fire no one knew.

The firemen had already brought up their hand-engines, and were busily engaged in laying the hose, and getting to work.

“Man the pumps,” shouted Jack, pushing his way to the front.

He laid hold of the handle of the nearest engine, which was speedily manned.

Harvey seized the hose, and directed it against the burning building.

A plentiful supply of water was secured from the harbour, which was not far off.

The crowd took Jack and Harvey for British officers, owing to their uniforms, and having a great respect for the English, they let them do just as they liked.

A small tree grew near one of the houses, but sufficiently distant to be safe from the effects of the fire.

Mr. Mole espied this, and with difficulty climbed up, sitting astride one of the branches.

“This is capital,” he said to himself, as he rubbed his hands. “I shall have a good view here, and be out of the crowd. Harkaway will not know where I am, and I can say I bore an active part in extinguishing this dreadful fire.”

The houses, being made of wood, burnt fiercely, and in spite of the torrents of water poured upon them, they were speedily destroyed.

Fortunately, they were nearly empty at the time of the fire; had they been full of goods, the result would have been much more disastrous.

Jack worked at the pumps like a nigger, and at length left off from sheer fatigue.

The fire was nearly out now, and had been prevented from extending any further on either side.

Looking around him, Jack perceived Harvey guiding the hose as if he had been born a fireman.

“I say, Dick,” he said, stretching his limbs, “you got a better berth than I did.”

“Talent, sir, talent,” replied Harvey.

“Hullo!” exclaimed Jack; “there’s some one who has got a better berth than either of us.”

“Who?”

“Old Mole.”

“Where is he?” asked Harvey.

“Up that tree. Pump on him,” said Jack.

Harvey looked round and saw Mr. Mole serenely perched up in the tree, and half hidden by the leaves.

In an instant he diverted the hose from the burning building.

It did not much matter now as half-a-dozen engines were at work on it, and the fire was nearly over.

“Mind your eye, sir; the tree’s on fire,” shouted Harvey.

The next moment a shower of water fell like a deluge on Mr. Mole.

In his eyes, his mouth, knocking of his hat, in his stomach, filling his trousers and boots, came the unceasing stream.

“Wo!” he cried. “I say, Harvey, I am up in this tree”—splutter, splutter—“you’ll choke me. I shall be drowned. Ho, ho! I say, stop that performance.”

But Harvey continued to water him as if he was syringing a plant in a green house.

“Go it, Dick. Give it him hot,” said Jack.

“This is unseemly. Bother those boys!”—splutter, splutter—stammered Mr. Mole. “They’ll be the death of me before they’ve done; I know they will. Ugh! I’m half full of water already, and nearly drowned.”

The cascade played gracefully upon him.

Much amused, the crowd looked up and began to laugh.

Mr. Mole could bear it no longer, and toppled off the branch, falling on the heads of the crowd below.

This fortunately broke his fall, and he was only a little shaken.

Rushing up to Harvey, he shook his fist in his face.

“You scamp!” he exclaimed. “What do you mean by this?”

Harvey said—

“Sorry to knock you off your perch, sir. Mind your eye, again.”

He lifted the hose, and sent another jet right into his face.

In vain Mr. Mole capered and danced and tried to hit him.

The water drove him back, and he turned tail, running away to his hotel.

“Well done, Dick. Wire in, old man,” cried Jack.

Suddenly Monday touched Jack on the shoulder.

“Mast’ Jack,” he said in a thrilling whisper, “you take care!”

“What of?” asked Jack.

“Mist’ Davis close by. He speak to one man, and him a big scoundrel.”

“What did he say?” inquired Jack.

Instead of answering, Monday turned rapidly round.

At the same moment a knife glided up Jack’s arm, and he felt the hot blood slowly trickle down his sleeve.

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE HIDDEN HAND

“I’M wounded!” cried Jack, clutching his arm as a trickling sensation ran through it.

Turning round, he saw Monday struggling with an ugly-looking native, who, with a jerk of his leg, threw Monday off, and ran away, being speedily lost in the crowd.

Having heard Jack say he was stabbed Harvey came up at once.

“I hope you are not hurt?” he exclaimed, anxiously.

“Not much, I think,” answered Jack, “though I believe the fellow tried to get at my heart with his bread-and-cheese cutter. Where’s Monday?”

“Here him be, sare,” said the faithful fellow.

“What does all this mean?” quickly inquired Jack.

“Monday him hear Mist’ Davis point you out, sare, to that black thief, and just when I speak to you, him whip out um knife to stick with.”

“Ah, I see; you turned the blow?”

“Monday seize him arm, sare, and turn him off. Don’t know how he got away. Some twist him give with um leg.”

“Perhaps you’ve saved my life,” said Jack. “I didn’t think Mr. Davis was one of that sort.”

“But I did,” answered Harvey. “Lean on me, and let us find a doctor. You must have your arm seen to.”

With some difficulty they found a doctor, who happened to be an Englishman.

He examined the wound, and said—

“Where did you get this, young gentleman?”

Jack told him it was done in a scrimmage at the fire.

“Ah!” replied the doctor, “such things are not uncommon hereabouts; and if, sailor fashion, you will go in for free fights, you must take the consequences. My advice is, keep out of them.”

“I will in future,” answered Jack. “Is it anything serious?”

“No, it is not. I find it is merely a flesh wound; just a rip of the skin. You have had what we should have called a shave, when I was a medical student at Guy’s.”

“I’m the luckiest dog out,” exclaimed Jack, joyfully. “Always drop on my legs, don’t I, Dick?”

“I must say you certainly do,” answered Harvey.

When the wound was washed and strapped up, they went back to the hotel. Jack experienced nothing more than a slight weakness, with some smarting stiffness in the arm.

Mr. Mole was sitting before a big fire, huddled up in a thick dressing-gown.

A tumbler of steaming grog stood before him, and he had his feet in a pan of hot water.

“What on earth are you doing, sir?” said Jack.

“Enjoying the comforts of civilization, of which I have been deprived for some time,” replied Mr. Mole.

“But a fire in the tropics, when it is hot enough to melt an iceberg in three minutes——”

“Is necessary for the preservation of my health. I have been shamefully treated, and already feel bronchitis fastening upon my chest.”

“The ducking will cool you, sir,” Jack said, laughing.

“It has done so. Can you find me a tallow candle, to tallow my nose with?”

“I don’t suppose you’d get such a thing here, sir. Candles all melt. Try some soft soap.”

“Harkaway, no joking; this is serious. Where’s Harvey, the wretch? If I were not so ill, I would chastise him for his cruel joke.”

“I am here, sir,” answered Harvey. “Glad to see you’re not dead yet.”

“No thanks to you,” said Mr. Mole, severely; “you see the wretched state you’ve reduced me to. Dreadful cold coming on—come on, in fact—and no candle to tallow my nose with. Awful!”

The boys could not help laughing.

Mr. Mole perceived that Harkaway carried his arm in a sling.

“What’s the matter?” he inquired. “Nothing much, I hope.”

“Oh, nothing half so bad as your cold, sir,” answered Jack, carelessly; “only a stab in the arm.”

“A stab? Dear me! Who did it?”

“Davis hired a fellow to knife me out of the way. It appears to be the custom out here. Nice sort of a place to live in, isn’t it, sir?”

“Dear me, how quietly you take it. Bless my soul, is there not some sort of justice here?”

“Perhaps, yes; perhaps, no. But where’s Emily?”

“I don’t know. She was not here when I came in, and I have been so much taken up with my cold that——”

“Bother your cold. Ring the bell, Dick,” cried Jack.

“Impulsive youths,” remarked Mr. Mole, “are like obstinate mules; they will have their own way.”

Harvey rang the bell, and Jack questioned the servants about Emily.

One said he saw her go to the door to look at the fire, and while standing there a man came up and requested her to come to Mr. Harkaway, who wanted her.

Jack turned deadly pale.

“I never sent for her,” he said.

“She went a little way down the street, sir, and then I saw her get into a carriage, which drove off at a rapid pace,” continued the domestic.

Jack sank into a seat faint and ill.

“It’s a trap,” exclaimed Harvey.

“Brandy,” cried Jack; “give me some brandy.”

His request was complied with, and he freshened up a little.

“Who has done this base thing?” asked Mr. Mole. “Who can have carried off our little Emily, the life and soul of our party?”

“There is only one man in Singapore,” replied Harvey, “who could have done it.”

“And he is——”

“Frank Davis.”

Jack was too agitated to speak.

“It is all part of a planned thing,” continued Harvey. “Davis is in love with Emily—Jack insults him; he arranges to have Jack assassinated, and at the same time carry off Emily.”

“I fear you are not fat wrong,” said Mr. Mole.

Jack got up and paced the room impatiently.

“Call Monday,” he said.

Harvey went into the hall, and sent for the faithful Limbian.

When he entered the room he saw at a glance that something had happened.

“You taken worse, Mast’ Jack?” he said.

“Look here, Monday, you must do me a service,” said Jack.

“Monday lay down um life, sare. Can’t say any more.”

“I know that, and perhaps you will have to risk your life. Miss Emily has been carried off, we expect, by Davis.”

“Missey Emily gone, sare?”

“Yes; not an hour ago.”

“Where she go to, sare?” asked Monday.

“That we can only guess. I have heard that Mr. Davis’s father has a house a few miles inland, which he very seldom uses. Find out where that is; go there at once, and bring us what news you can.”

“Monday him go now, sare. He find the Missey Emily.”

“Take off those togs, and go about as if you were a native of this place. You will attract less attention,” said Harvey.

“A good suggestion,” remarked Mr. Mole. “I forgive you now for pumping upon me, Harvey, I do indeed, and pardon you freely, for your cleverness.”

“I thank you, sir; I’ll make a note of it,” answered Harvey.

“Off you go, Monday,” continued Jack, “and mind you don’t come back without news of some sort.”

Monday nodded, and started on his errand.

Turning to Harvey, Jack said—

“You and I will work the city. If I could only catch that cowardly hound Davis, I’d wring the secret out of him somehow.”

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Mole, “it is not Mr. Davis after all.”

“Who else can it be?” replied Jack.

Puzzled at this question, Mr. Mole was unable to give any answer.

“If I were not so ill I would accompany you,” he remarked. “You must take the wish for the deed.”

Harvey was as much concerned as his friend, and he gladly accompanied him on his voyage of discovery.

“Let’s go to the club first,” said Dick. “We may see or hear something of Davis there.”

A short walk brought them to the club, where they found several people they did not know talking about the fire.

In a small community like that of Singapore a fire is an event of importance.

Talking to some friends. Jack saw Frank Davis, who did not seem any the worse for his immersion.

With some difficulty he restrained himself from rushing up to him.

The folly of such a proceeding occurred to him, and he fortunately drove back the wild beast feeling that will take possession of all of us at times.

“Watch him,” whispered Harvey. “We can always follow him when he attempts to go.”

To Jack’s intense surprise, Davis no sooner saw him than he walked up, and extending his hand before everybody, exclaimed—

“Will you shake hands with me, Mr. Harkaway?”

“With you?” replied Jack.

“Yes; I was a little hasty this morning, and provoked you. I am willing to forgive that disagreeable shove you gave me into the water, for I can’t bear malice.”

The members of the club were much interested in this scene.

“Capital fellow!”

“Good heart!”

“Always said so,” and so on arose from various quarters.

“I would rather not make friends with you,” said Jack.

“Come, come, don’t cherish a nasty feeling. You a sailor, Harkaway, and treasure up a grudge!” exclaimed Captain Hammond in his cheery voice.

“I have my reasons,” said Jack.

“I am sure they can’t be very good ones.”

“I’m the best judge of that,” Jack exclaimed, dryly.

“Well, you must please yourself, Mr. Harkaway,” continued Frank Davis, with an apparently open smile. “I have made the advance, which there was no occasion I should do, I’m sure; but we have been friends and travelled together, so that I can afford to put a little ill-feeling in my pocket. Have you hurt your arm—dear me! I did not notice that you wore it in a sling.”

Jack was confounded at his cool impudence.

“I was stabbed in the crowd at the fire,” he said, looking Davis straight in the face.

The latter did not quail or flinch in the least. He bore the scrutiny without so much as lowering his eyes.

“He’s got the nerve of old Nick himself,” thought Jack.

“Stabbed!” repeated Davis, incredulously. “Now you are drawing upon your imagination.”

“I am telling the plain truth without any varnish,” answered Jack.

Many gentlemen crowded round him, and pressed him with a dozen questions, to all of which Jack replied—

“Ask Mr. Davis. He pretends to be ignorant of an attack which was directed at my life, when he knows more about it than I do.”

Eyes were turned inquiringly at Davis.

“Really, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “Mr. Harkaway is an enigma to me, and I am at loss to a understand his meaning.”

“He insinuates that you tried to assassinate him,” exclaimed one gentleman.

“No, I don’t insinuate anything,” answered Jack. “I say openly that he hired a man to kill me, and I can prove it.”

“How? ”

“By the testimony of my black servant who saw him in the crowd, and heard him point me out to the ruffian in his pay.”

Frank Davis turned away with a laugh.

“Is he drunk?” he exclaimed.

“I’m as sober as you are, perhaps more so,” replied Jack, furiously; “and in spite of your sneers, I’ll unmask you yet.”

“Gentlemen,” said Frank Davis, appealing to the members of the club, “I have tried to soothe the savage breast. What can I do more?”

“No, no; let him alone. Give him up,” said his friends. “He must be mad.”

What Jack would have said or done it is difficult to say, had not Captain Hammond seized him by the arm and drawn him towards the door.

“Let go my arm,” said Jack, struggling.

“No, I will not. There will be a riot presently if you stop.”

“What if there is?”

“Every man in the club except myself is against you. Come along,” persisted Captain Hammond.

“I will not go to let that fellow have the best of me,” said Jack.

“You shall. Come, come, I am a man, and you are only a boy after all. I will have my own way in this instance,” Captain Hammond said good-naturedly.

“That is right. Get him away. Our time will come,” remarked Harvey.

He was not blinded with passion and a sense of wrong as Jack was, and he saw that it would be of no use to have a row in the club just then.

By the exercise of main force, Captain Hammond drew Jack out of the room.

Presently they stood in the street, Jack panting and glaring fiercely at his friend.

“Well,” laughed the captain, “are you going to eat me?”

Jack said nothing.

“Come, that’s better. I thought you were going to make a meal off me. Take a stroll and let us talk the matter over.”

As Jack hesitated, Harvey said—

“Do, there’s a good fellow. Captain Hammond’s advice is sensible I feel sure.”

Jack put his uninjured arm in that of the captain’s.

Harvey took the other side, and they walked up the quay.

CHAPTER XXXV

MONDAY AND THE BLOODHOUND

IT was not difficult for Monday to discover the locality in which Mr. Davis’s country house was situated.

But when he heard that he possessed two, it was not easy to decide which to go to.

The idea which had struck Jack was that Frank Davis had carried off Emily to a country residence, where by threats and confinement he would try to induce her to marry him.

If he had succeeded in his attempt to assassinate Jack, his task would have been easier.

Mr. Mole would not have occupied himself much about Emily, and it was doubtful whether Harvey would have done more than communicate with the authorities about the affair.

When Monday, who thoroughly endorsed his master’s idea, heard that one of Mr. Davis’s houses was situated in a lonely place and seldom or ever inhabited, he concluded that it was very likely Frank had caused her to be conveyed there.

It was late in the day when he had gathered all the information he wanted, but he did not hesitate to start at once and on foot, for the house.

The moon was shining brightly when he reached it, and saw a small, one-storied, pavilion-like house, surrounded with those verandahs so common in the east.

Gardens filled with lovely flowers and shrubs environed it, except at the back, where were built the stable and domestic offices.

Penetrating through the gardens, Monday cautiously advanced to the house.

A window in the Venetian style opened on to the lawn, and a light burning on a table enabled him to look inside.

Lying on a sofa, bathed in tears, with her hair hanging loosely over her shoulders he saw Emily, who was evidently plunged into the depths of despair, and overwhelmed with grief.

He was about to rush forward, when he found the window was carefully guarded with thick iron bars, which, while permitting the cool evening air to enter, effectually prevented anyone going in or out.

Advancing cautiously to the bars, Monday said in a low voice—

“Missey Emily, Missey Emily.”

The girl started, and rising, looked eagerly towards him.

“Is it you, Monday?” she cried. “Oh, I am so glad. Where am I?”

“You not know?” asked Monday, in surprise.

“No. I have not the remotest idea. All I am aware of is that I was induced to go down the street to meet Jack, thrust into a carriage, driven off at a gallop, taken here and put into this room, where I have only seen an old negress.”

“This is Mist’ Davis’s house,” said Monday.

“Then it is he who has carried me off. Does Jack know this?”

“Him suspect it, Missey Emily, and he send me to find out.”

“Where is he now?” she inquired.

“In Singapore; but he soon come take you out,” answered Monday.

“Oh, pray lose no time, but go at once. I am so frightened.”

“Monday go now, Missey Emily. Before tomorrow morning she get ’way.”

Emily thanked him heartily.

“Keep up your pluck, missey; all be right soon,” said Monday.

He retired as cautiously as he came, and reaching the extremity of the garden jumped over the wooden fence, alighting in the road.

He was much pleased with his success, and prepared for a sharp run home.

All at once the sound of horse’s hoofs fell upon his ears, and by the moonlight he saw a man on horseback, followed by a big dog of the bloodhound species, approaching him.

His sharp eyes enabled him to recognise Frank Davis.

But the recognition was not mutual.

Stripped to the skin like an ordinary native, Monday appeared to Frank to be some prowling robber.

“Hilloo, you black thief, what are you doing here at this time of night?” he exclaimed.

“Do? Nothing, sare,” replied Monday. “Him as much right on the road as you.”

“Have you, my good follow, we’ll see about that,” answered Davis. “Here, Juno! Here, lass.”

The dog looked up in its master’s face and wagged its tail.

“After him, girl; fetch him down,” continued Davis.

Monday took to his heels, having no fancy to be mangled and torn by the bloodthirsty hound.

His only weapon of defence was a long knife, which he had stuck in his girdle.

Although he could run fast, the hound could run faster, and sprang after him with huge bounds.

Hearing the panting brute just behind him, Monday turned, and drawing his knife, stood at bay.

Frank galloped up to see what he called fun.

A fight between his dog and a common nigger just suited his truculent and cruel disposition.

“Hi, at him! Stick to him! Hi, at him! Loo! Loo!” cried Davis.

Encouraged by her master’s voice, Juno seized Monday by the arm, and drew him on his knees.

Then a terrible fight began.

Monday stabbed at the dog, and the dog tore his flesh in various places, always trying to get at his throat.

This Monday struggled to prevent, as he knew the beast would strangle him if she succeeded in doing so.

They rolled over and over in the dusty road.

Frank laughed immoderately at the sport, and kept on encouraging the dog.

At length Monday made a home thrust, which struck the heart of his enemy.

With a short yelp, the dog turned over on her back dead.

“Confound you,” cried Davis angrily, “you’ve killed my best hound. If I had a pistol about me, I’d shoot you.”

Monday rose with difficulty; he was streaming with blood, and was much exhausted.

Game to the last, however, he nerved himself for another encounter.

Rushing forward, he seized Davis by the right leg, and jerked him upwards.

Unprepared for such a novel assault, Davis was pitched off his horse, and felt half-stunned by the fall into the road.

The next moment Monday, with the agility of a deer, was in the saddle.

Turning the horse’s head in the right direction, he kicked its sides with his heels and was off like the wind towards Singapore.

Frank Davis picked himself up with a rueful expression, and looked after his horse.

“That’s what I call a clever nigger,” he said with a laugh. “He’s killed my best hound, and hooked it off with one of the fastest horses in the governor’s stable. Well, I shan’t holloa. He deserves it, hang me if he doesn’t.”

He shook the dust off his clothes, and walked along to the house.

“Now,” he muttered, “for an interview with my little Emily. I wonder how she will receive me. It’s a pity my fellow did not kill that infernal Harkaway right out, but I haven’t done with him yet.”

We must leave this amiable young gentleman to visit the bird in the cage, while we accompany Monday on his wild career to the city.

It was nearly midnight when he dismounted at the door of the hotel.

Jack and Harvey had just come in, after a long walk with Captain Hammond, which had cooled Jack’s hot head.

Mr. Mole had gone to bed.

Bursting into the room, covered with blood and dust, Monday appeared to resemble some dreadful spectre.

“Why, Monday, what’s come to you?” said Jack.

“Me found Missey Emily, sare,” said Monday.

“Have you? That’s first rate. You’re a trump, Monday; but you’re hurt.”

“Never mind um hurt, sare. Mist’ Davis he set um dog on me.”

“What! that bloodhound I have seen with him? What a beastly shame.”

“Great big dog, big as a man, sare. Monday kill him with um knife, and come home on Mist’ Davis’ horse.”

“Good again. You can do it,” cried Harvey.

“But tell us all about it.”

“No time lose, sir. Just tie up Monday’s wounds,” replied the black, “and order carriage and two horses; quick, tell um all on the road. Missey Emily and Mist’ Davis all ‘lone together.”

“He’s right,” answered Jack. “Cut downstairs, Dick, and order the carriage, while I tie up his bites; he’s bleeding like a pig.”

Harvey went downstairs, and Jack getting a sponge and a basin of water, wiped away the blood and dust, and then, tearing a shirt into strips, bound up the principal injuries which the black had sustained.

“Now um all right. Lose no more blood. That what um ’fraid of, sare,” said Monday.

At the same time he tottered with weakness, and was obliged to lean against the table for support.

“Here, drink this,” said Jack, pouring him out half a tumbler of brandy.

He did so, and it revived his drooping energies.

When the carriage was ready Monday directed the driver what road to take, and as they went along he related his adventures to his young master, who highly commended him for his cleverness and his courage.

“That must have been a nasty tussle with the pup,” remarked Harvey.

“It would have been all up with Monday if he had not carried a knife. I know what those cross-bred Cuban hounds are,” said Dick.

“Him think once it all up, sare,” replied Monday. “The big brute him get me down and his face come close to my face. Ugh! It close shave.”

They stopped the carriage at a little distance from the house, and told the driver to pull up by the side of the road and wait.

“Don’t take the bridles off, or get down from your box, even,” said Jack; “we may want to bolt in a hurry. Let this case of pistols remain by your side, for I shall sit on the box, and we can’t tell what will happen.”

The man said he fully understood, and Monday led the way to the back of the house.

It would have been useless to go to the front, as it was impossible to get through the iron bars which guarded the windows.

A door stood open, through which they passed, walking on tiptoe.

The sound of voices guided them to a room at the end of a long corridor.

“Listen!” said Jack, holding up his hand as a signal for his companions to stop.

They did so.

It was Emily’s voice.

“I tell you plainly, Mr. Davis,” she said, “that I can never love you, and after this declaration, if you persist in annoying me, you are guilty of an outrage which no gentleman should be guilty of.”

“Lovely Emily,” replied the young man, “my love for you must be my excuse. I am passionately fond of you. With my wealth I can make you take a position that a princess might envy.”

“All that I have heard before. I beg you to restore me to my friends.”

“Your friends cannot help you. Believe me, you are entirely in my power.”

“Not so much, perhaps, as you may think,” Emily said.

“Do you defy me?” Davis asked. “If so, there is nothing before you but a long captivity. Who could find you in this lonely house?”

“Jack Harkaway would find me anywhere,” she answered.

“Bravo, Emily!” muttered Jack.

“Do not rely upon him; he is a broken reed,” said Davis.

“Am I?” muttered Jack, again. “I’ll let you know, my tulip, in a minute or two.”

“Mr. Davis,” said Emily, “I have always believed you to be a gentleman. Why do you act in this extraordinary manner?”

“Because I love you, and mean to have a kiss,” he replied.

“Sir,” she exclaimed, “I am helpless and defenceless, yet I have the weapons nature gave me, and if you dare to touch me with your little finger even, I will bite and scratch!”

“Bravo, Emily!” whispered Jack, a second time.

“By Heaven!” replied Davis, “you are very lovely. I will have a kiss, if I die for it.”

He helped himself to some wine—several decanters were standing on the table—and approached her with an amorous leer on his face.

“Help! help!” cried Emily, as his arm encircled her waist. “Help! Oh, Jack, why are you not here to protect me?”

There was a sound of feet in the passage.

A heavy body rushed towards Davis, a fist clenched so firmly that it resembled iron, was dashed into his face, and he fell on the floor stunned.

The next moment Jack held Emily in his arms, and was covering her lips with kisses.

“I thought you wouldn’t come, Jack dear,” she murmured.

“Just in time,” replied Jack.

Harvey and Monday were busily engaged in tying Davis’s hands and legs.

Having done this, Harvey exclaimed—

“What shall we do with him?”

“Have you tied him fast?” asked Jack.

“Yes.”

“He can’t wriggle out?”

“If he does, I’ll forgive him,” replied Harvey.

“Then chuck him under the sofa like a hundred of coals, and let him lie there for a bit. I’ve got a new idea for punishing him, but it will keep a little while. What have you got in those bottles?”

Harvey examined the bottles on the table, and replied—

“All sorts.”

“Open some champagne; I’ll have a lush of something to celebrate this victory,” exclaimed Jack.

CHAPTER XXXVI

TAR AND FEATHERS

HARVEY contemptuously rolled Frank Davis under the sofa, where he lay as still as a mouse, either being really stunned by Jack’s sledgehammer blow or pretending to be so.

Not a sound escaped him in reality.

“It was fortunate you came when you did,” said Emily. “I can’t tell you how thankful I am.”

“You must thank Monday,” replied Jack.

Monday was grinning with delight.

He presented a singular sight, covered with white bandages as he was.

“Is he hurt, or are his clothes torn?” asked Emily.

“It isn’t clothes; it’s bandages,” replied Jack. “Tell the lady all about it. What are you grinning at, you old mummy?”

Monday complied with this request, and Emily thanked him very much for his bravery.

Suddenly Jack jumped up from the sofa with a yell.

“What’s the row?” said Harvey.

“Something’s bitten me in the calf of the leg, and made its teeth meet,” replied Jack. “Have you any dogs here, Emily?”

“I have seen none,” she answered.

He looked under the sofa and found that Davis had rolled over, and so been able to bite him.

“You brute,” exclaimed Jack. “If you weren’t bound hard and fast, upon my word I could kick you in the face. Why didn’t you fasten him up better, Dick?”

“I thought I had,” replied Harvey. “It was my impression he couldn’t wriggle a little bit.”

“Bring him out, and put him in the middle of the room,” exclaimed Jack.

Harvey hauled him out, and Davis looked up in Harkaway’s eyes with a malicious expression of gratified malignity.

“I shouldn’t care if I had been bitten by a decent sort of a man,” said Jack. “The cad may poison the flesh or something. Perhaps he’s been eating mouldy victuals.”

Harvey laughed.

“He’s not so bad as that,” he said.

“When are we to go home?” asked Emily.

“Presently, my dear,” answered Jack. “I have a carriage waiting outside. But first of all I must settle accounts with this cur here.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“You’ll see if you live long enough,” said Jack; adding, “Monday.”

“Yes, sare,” replied the black.

“Go into the yard, and see if you can find a barrel of tar.”

“Tar?” exclaimed Emily. “What’s that for?”

“Don’t ask questions,” answered Jack. “Be a good girl, and you’ll see what you will see.”

“There generally is tar about a country place to do up the palings with,” said Harvey.

“Of course,” answered Jack. “When you have found it, bring it in here.”

“Yes, sare,” replied Monday.

“What am I to do?” asked Harvey.

“Go into the yard and kill a couple of geese or half-a-dozen fowls, and bring them here.”

“Are you going to have a feed?”

“Never mind; do as I tell you. Off you go—both of you,” said Jack.

Monday and Harvey started together, and were gone nearly half-an-hour.

Jack put his arm round Emily’s waist, and looking at Davis, said—

“You wanted a kiss, just now, from the best girl that ever lived?”

Davis made no answer.

Jack got up and kicked him in the ribs.

“Answer when you are spoken to, or it will be the worse for you,” he exclaimed.

“If I did what then?” asked Davis, with some of his old independent manner.

“Just this; see me kiss her. That’s all, old boy. That’s your share.”

Jack drew Emily to him as he spoke, and she let her head fall on his breast while he bent down and kissed her as he liked.

When he had done he said—

“How do you like that? Nice, isn’t it, Mr. Cowardly Davis?”

Davis groaned.

If he could have got at Jack he would have killed him then and there, regardless of consequences.

Harvey came in first with two fine geese, a turkey, and three hens, which he had surprised in the hen-house, and killed by wringing their necks.

“There they are,” he said.

“Chuck them down,” replied Jack.

“What am I to do?” inquired Emily, with a smile.

“Help Harvey to pluck them, and throw the feathers in a heap on the floor.”

“Oh! what a mess it will make on this beautiful carpet,” she exclaimed.

“Never mind that. I think I shall burn the house down before I go.”

“Oh, Jack?”

“You needn’t say ‘Oh Jack!’ as if I were going to jump down your throat,” said Jack laughing. “Get to work instantly, miss.”

Presently Monday returned, lugging a small barrel of tar with him.

Jack went to Davis, and putting him on a chair, took a knife out of his pocket and stood over him.

“Don’t kill me,” whined Davis, who thought his last hour had come.

“No fear,” answered Jack; “I know a trick worth two of killing you.”

He began to cut away his clothes until he was naked to the waist.

“What are you going to do with me?” asked Davis, who was puzzled at all these preparations.

“You’ll know all in good time,” answered Jack; who added—“Monday, as I tar him you throw feathers on him.”

Monday grinned all over his face.

Jack took up a turkey’s wing, and dipping it in the tar, smeared Davis all over with the sticky stuff.

Monday threw handful after handful of feathers over him, and he began gradually to take the appearance of a feathered creature.

Jack left his face unsmeared, so that people might know him; but he feathered his hair, and covered him in a most artistic manner.

Frank Davis’s rage knew no bounds.

He swore, raved, and threatened them all with the severest penalties of the law.

“Don’t you talk about law, my hearty,” returned Jack. “You have carried off a young lady, tried to have me stabbed, and endeavoured to worry with your dog a poor inoffensive fellow you saw on the road. Law, indeed! I’ll give you enough law, if you want it.”

When he was thoroughly tarred and feathered Jack said—

“Now we are ready to start. Come along, Emily; take my arm. Dick, see to the bird.”

Harvey touched Davis on the leg, and exclaimed—

“Get up.”

Davis refused to move.

“Won’t budge,” said Harvey.

“Won’t he?” replied Jack. “Emily, give me a pin.”

She handed him one, which Jack stuck into Frank Davis’s thigh.

He sprang up in a moment with a cry of pain.

“Found your legs, have you, old fellow? Thought you would,” laughed Jack.

Davis had his legs untied, and walked by Harvey’s side, his arms being fastened behind his back.

They all went to the carriage, which was waiting for them in the road, and getting in were driven to the city.

Davis was made to sit by himself on the front seat, Harvey standing over him.

Monday got on the box, and Jack and Emily sat side by side.

When they reached Singapore it was early morning.

Under the tropics people get up early and sleep in the middle of the day when the sun is fiercest.

Consequently the city was astir.

When the principal street was reached, Jack stopped the carriage near the market-place, and told Davis to get out.

“Get out here?” he exclaimed, with horror.

“Yes; out you go—immediately, if not sooner. Stir your stumps,” answered Jack.

Reluctantly Davis descended the steps and stood in the street.

He presented a strange spectacle.

Half man, half bird.

When the people in the street saw him they set up a great shout.

“Go on,” said Jack; “cut along, or I shall stick a pin into you again.”

Davis knew the locality very well, and his father’s offices were not far off, so that he decided to run as fast as he could through the streets.

He made a start, but could not go very quickly owing to his hands being tied behind his back.

Men, women, and children howled at him and threw any object that came handiest, and it was only when bruised and exhausted that he reached a haven of refuge.

“That will teach him a lesson,” said Jack, laughing heartily.

“I should think so,” replied Harvey. “He will be a week getting the tar and feathers off.”

“Mind one thing, Emily,” exclaimed Jack; “don’t you be humbugged again.”

“I will take very good care I am not,” replied Emily; “and believe me, dear Jack, and you, too, Monday, that I shall never, never forget your kindness.”

“What have I done,” said Harvey, “that I should not be thought of?”

“Oh, you’re nobody; you can go and play,” replied Jack.

When they reached the hotel they inquired for Mr. Mole.

The servant said that he had called him, but he refused to get up.

“Look here,” said Jack; “perhaps Mole’s taken worse; he said he had a cold. I will go and see to him.”

“All right,” said Harvey; “I will see Monday looked after. His wounds are getting stiff.”

Harvey and Monday went away together, and Jack saw Emily to her bedroom, gave her a kiss, and went to Mr. Mole.

“How do, sir?” said Jack. “We’ve got back the lost dove.”

“Glad to hear it, Harkaway; it is more than you deserve,” answered Mr. Mole, who was wrapped up in bed, as if he had a severe attack of influenza, and lived in Kamschatka.

He wore a nightcap which culminated in a most ludicrous tassel.

“Get up, sir,” said Jack, “and take a turn with me in the fresh morning air.”

“No, Harkaway, I distinctly refuse,” answered Mr. Mole. “I have been very badly treated, and I shall not move from this bed for a month.”

“What, sir, sleep for a month?” cried Jack.

“I did not say sleep, but I shall not get out of this bed for a month, and during that time you cannot play me any tricks. I have been pumped upon, and the result is a severe cold, which only the most careful nursing will cure.”

“You’ve got a tile off, sir,” replied Jack.

“Cease, if you please, to make vulgar allusions to the state of my mind, and leave me,” said Mr. Mole.

“As you like, sir,” replied Jack. “Hope you will be in a better temper when I see you again.”

Mr. Mole pulled his nightcap over his eyes, and settled himself down for a second sleep.

Jack was tired and turned in, marvelling at the peculiar state of mind in which he had found Mr. Mole.

CHAPTER XXXVII

MR. MOLE GOES TO BED FOR A MONTH

THE boys did not breakfast till late.

Both were worn out with the fatigue and excitement of the previous night.

Monday’s wounds, though not dangerous, were exceedingly painful, and the doctor who had been called in advised him not to move out of his bed for a day or two.

When Harvey and Jack met over their coffee, the former said—

“Where’s Mole?”

“Gone to bed for a month,” replied Jack.

“Go on!” said Harvey. “What’s the use of chaffing me?”

“I’m not chaffing. He swore last night he would not move. He is sulky because we pumped upon him.”

“Does he mean it ?”

“I believe he does.”

“Oh, I can’t live without old Mole,” replied Harvey.

“Why?”

“He’s such fun. We must have him out.”

“It’s all very well to say, have him out,” answered Jack. “But how are you going to do it?”

“Easy enough,” replied Harvey. “Look at those fellows in the street.”

Jack looked out of the window, and saw some jugglers, who were performing with snakes, which they twined round their necks and even allowed to bite them.

“Well,” said Jack, “what have those men to do with Mole?”

“I’ll show you,” replied Harvey.

He went downstairs, and talked to one of the jugglers for a few minutes, and when he came back, he carried something with him in a small basket.

“What have you got there?” asked Jack, curiously.

“A fine young cobra,” replied Harvey. “It isn’t dangerous, so don’t start; besides it can’t get out, unless I open the basket.”

“Isn’t it poisonous?”

“It was once upon a time; but my juggling friend told me that they had drawn his poison fangs, and that if the thing did bite now, it wouldn’t do any harm.”

“I see,” exclaimed Jack. “Still, I don’t like snakes, whether they are harmless or not.”

“I don’t suppose Mole does either. Don’t you think he would jump, if he found a thing of this sort in his bed?”

“By Jove!” cried Jack, laughing; “he’d have a fit”

“Sorry for him, but he will have to make acquaintance with this new sort of bedfellow.”

“When and how is the nameless deed to be done?”

“Presently he will get up to have his bed made, and then I shall introduce the snake. It will be all a lark.”

“You’re improving,” said Jack, patting him on his back.

“It’s being so much with you,” replied Harvey. “Evil communications corrupt good manners. Come up to Mole’s room.”

They ascended the stairs together, and found Mr. Mole sitting in his dressing-gown, with a cotton nightcap on his head, looking out of the window, through which a cool breeze entered.

The servant was just finishing making the bed.

Jack went up and spoke to Mr. Mole, and when the servant departed, Harvey opened the basket, and allowed the serpent to glide into the bed.

Then he, too, went up, and talked to Mr. Mole.

“Going to turn in again, sir,” he said; “or have you thought better of it?”

“No,” replied Mr. Mole, “I intend to keep my bed until we sail for England. You boys shall not play me any more tricks, I promise you, for I will keep out of your way.”

“What shall we do without you, sir?” said Jack.

“You should have thought of that before. I am sure the deprivation of my society must be a great blow to you.”

“You’re sulking, sir. Don’t sulk; it’s childish,” exclaimed Jack.

“I am the best judge of my own actions, and I tell you flatly, once for all, that I have gone to bed for a month, and no persuasion on your part shall get me out.”

“Won’t anything induce you to change your mind?”

“No power on earth will do it, Harkaway,” answered Mr. Mole, firmly.

He threw off his dressing-gown and stood in his nightshirt, looking very comical with his old-fashioned nightcap on his head.

“In my bed I am at peace,” he murmured.

Turning the clothes down a little way, he crept in, and a smile of placid satisfaction stole over his features.

All at once the placid expression vanished.

He fidgeted in bed, and seemed ill at ease.

“What’s the matter, sir?” asked Jack.

“The slut who made this bed has left something in it. I can feel something about my legs. What the deuce is it?” exclaimed Mr. Mole, uneasily.

“Better have a look, sir. Perhaps it is a dead dog.”

“Drat it!” continued Mole. “It’s something alive. It keeps on moving.”

He rose up and threw down the bedclothes.

The snake had been making itself a nest to go to sleep in, and was annoyed at being disturbed in the midst of its preparations.

It coiled its tail, and sat upright, darting its forked tongue in and out, and emitting a sharp hiss.

“The Lord be good to me!” cried Mole, in dire terror.

“Why, it’s a snake,” said Harvey. “How on earth could it get there?”

“It’s a deadly cobra,” continued Mole. “A venomous serpent. Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! I wish I was well home again. Strike it, Harvey. Take it by the neck and throw it out of window.”

“Thank you, sir; I’d rather not, if it is the same to you,” replied Harvey, coldly.

“Harkaway,” pleaded Mr. Mole, “you are a brave boy.”

“Hope so, sir.”

“For goodness’ sake, seize the snake! It will spring upon me. Already it is fixing me with its awful eyes. Save me, Harkaway; all my worldly goods shall be yours. Save me—save me!”

“Nasty things snakes, sir; don’t like to handle them,” said Jack.

Mr. Mole’s terror increased every moment.

The snake did not attempt to fly at him.

It had been more than two years with the jugglers, and was used to human beings, and expected to be taken up and put through its performance.

“Look,” cried Mr. Mole, white with fear, “look at the venomous creature. It will dart at me, fix its fangs in my flesh, and in half an hour, I, Isaac Mole, will have ceased to exist. Oh, Lord! oh Lord!”

“Neither Harvey nor I dare touch it, sir,” said Jack.

“What am I to do?” asked Mole.

“If I were you, sir, I’d bolt. Perhaps there are more in the room. There is generally a nest where you see one.”

Finding that Mr. Mole did not attempt to handle it, the snake, which was inclined to be tame, thought it would commence the performance by itself.

It put itself in motion, gliding along Mr. Mole’s leg, causing him to utter the most awful yells.

Then it wound round his arm, and reaching his neck, coiled itself in two folds, and bringing its head to a level with Mr. Mole’s nose, looked in a half affectionate manner at him.

Jack and Harvey laughed immoderately.

They had never seen anything so funny.

“It wants to kiss you, sir. Stroke it,” said Jack.

For a moment Mr. Mole had been paralysed with fear.

Recovering himself, he sprang out of bed, and in his night-gown and cap, descended the stairs six at a time, cleared the hall at a few bounds, dashed into the street and ran for his life.

He uttered incoherent cries, and the crowd in the street thinking he was mad, ran after him, hooting and yelling like demons.

The snake clung fast, evidently regarding this as a new performance.

Mr. Mole had only one idea, and that was to throw himself headlong into the water of the harbour, which was at the bottom of the street.

He thought that land snakes could not live in water.

But just as he reached the quay, a rough grasp seized his arm and forced him on his knees.

The jerk threw off the snake, which glided away, looking for its basket.

Unfortunately for it, some boys in the crowd saw it, and speedily dispatched it with stones.

The person who had stopped Mr. Mole’s wild career was Captain Hammond.

“A madman,” shouted the throng.

“Who are you,” asked the captain, “and what are you doing?”

Mr. Mole put up his hand, and finding the snake was gone, breathed again.

At the same moment he looked up and recognised Captain Hammond.

“Do you not know me?” he said.

“No; hang me if I do,” replied the captain.

“I am Mr. Mole.”

“Harkaway’s Mole?” asked the skipper.

“If you choose to put it so. I am anybody’s Mole. Take me back to the hotel; the danger is over now.”

“What danger?”

“Snakes.”

“Snakes?” repeated the captain. “Humbug. They don’t come into this city.”

“Don’t they! There was one in my bed. But take me back. I fear, from the tittering of the crowd, that I present a singular not to say a ludicrous appearance.”

The captain gave him his arm, and in a very tottering state, Mr. Mole was conducted back to his hotel.

Nothing would induce him to go into his bedroom again; he was afraid of more snakes, and throwing himself into an armchair, he sighed deeply and shivered.

“If ever I am caught out of England again,” he exclaimed, “I’ll buy a stick and beat myself.”

Harvey took Captain Hammond on one side and let him into the joke, at which he laughed.

Mr. Mole, however, did not suspect Harvey’s share in the matter.

He thought the snake had crept into the house through the window.

In fact, his mind was so perturbed, that he could scarcely think at all.

“Heaven has been good to me,” he said. “I will make a vow—in olden times, people, after a great mercy had been vouchsafed to them, used to go on a pilgrimage or a crusade. I can’t go about like a pilgrim or a crusader. What shall I do, Harkaway?”

“Go to bed again, sir.”

“No!” replied Mr. Mole, with a shudder. “No more bed for me in Singapore. I shall sleep on a sofa during the remainder of our stay here.”

“About this vow, sir?”

“Ah! What shall I do to show my gratitude for my preservation from that poisonous reptile? I will never pass a blind man without giving him sixpence. There, Harkaway, what do you think of that?”

“Make it a bob, sir; a tanner’s mean, and will look shabby.”

“A shilling be it then. But what are you doing there?” said Mr. Mole.

“Opening a case of wine, sir.”

“Wine?”

“Yes. It has just come. It is directed to ‘Mr. Harkaway, with Captain Hammond’s compliments.’ ”

“Ah! Something very choice, I daresay,” said Mr. Mole, smacking his lips. “Just what I want to revive me after my trials. Pour me out a tumbler full. I will taste it, Harkaway.”

“All right,” said Jack. “You shall have the first swig.”

He drew out a bottle from the case, and removing the cork, poured out a tumbler full, which he handed to Mr. Mole.

The latter drank it at a draught.

“What do you think of it?” asked Jack.

“Not bad—not bad, by any means; but it’s funny tasting stuff, and has a burning in the mouth,” replied Mr. Mole.

“Your mouth’s out of taste, sir.”

“What’s that?” inquired Captain Hammond, who had just finished listening to Harvey’s relation of the trick of which Mr. Mole was the victim.

“We have tapped your wine, captain,” said Jack.

“My wine?” repeated Hammond in surprise.

“Yes! the wine you sent me just now, and for which I have not had an opportunity to thank you before now.”

“My dear fellow, there must be some mistake!” said Captain Hammond.

“How?” inquired Jack.

“I sent you no wine.”

“Look at the direction on the case,” said Jack. “Here it is, as plain as a pikestaff: ‘Mr. Harkaway, with Captain Hammond’s compliments.’ ”

The captain looked carefully at the label.

“Yes; you are right so far,” he said. “But still I’ll swear I sent you no wine, neither is that direction in my handwriting.”

Jack had refilled Mr. Mole’s tumbler, and was going to drink, when the captain said—

“Don’t touch it, my lad. There is something wrong here.”

Jack regarded him with astonishment, in which both Harvey and Mr. Mole shared.

What new danger or mystery threatened them?

CHAPTER XXXVIII

MORE TREACHERY

THE captain was positive that he had not sent the boys the wine, and Mr. Mole became alarmed at having drunk it.

“It seems to me,” said the captain, “that this direction on the case is in Mr. Davis’s writing.”

“My enemy,” remarked Jack.

“Yes, indeed. We have heard at the club all about your tarring and feathering him, and then turning him up in the market-place, more like a bird than a human being. He is the laughing-stock of the town.”

“Why then should he become civil, and send me some wine?” asked Jack.

“Perhaps it is poisoned. Let us procure a dog, and try the experiment on him.”

“No need to do that,” said Jack; “Mr. Mole has drunk half a tumbler— Hullo! what’s the matter with him?”

Mr. Mole had fallen into a chair, and was putting both hands to his stomach as if in pain.

“Got the mullygrubs, sir?” said Jack.

“I’m very bad. I was taken all at once,” replied Mr. Mole, groaning. “Send for a doctor. Get a stomach-pump.”

“Good idea, stomach-pump,” said Jack. “Run, Dick, and fetch a saw-bones. I should like to see Mole pumped.”

Mr. Mole sank from the chair to the floor and writhed in sinuous contortions, while Harvey went for the doctor.

“I’m poisoned,” he said. “It’s very hard to be poisoned. Oh, Lord! what a time they are getting that pump!”

The captain and Jack were much alarmed at the symptoms displayed by Mr. Mole.

There was no doubt that the wine had been poisoned, and that Frank Davis had hoped by these means to kill the whole party.

It was a great relief when at last the doctor arrived with the strange apparatus called the stomach-pump, which was immediately applied.

Instead of feeling any relief, and getting better, Mr. Mole’s limbs contracted, and he appeared to be sinking into a state of stupor.

“He is not going to croak, is he?” said Jack.

“I cannot tell,” said the doctor. “It is a serious case.”

He put his hand on his breast.

There was no movement.

“I fear,” he added, “that the unfortunate gentleman is gone.”

“I’ll have it out of that Davis,” cried Jack.

“Poor old Mole,” said Harvey.

“Well,” continued Jack; “I wouldn’t have lost Mole for anything. Is there nothing you can do, doctor?”

“He is beyond human aid. Allow me to give you the card of an undertaker. In this climate the body must be buried tomorrow morning.”

“I’m flummoxed,” said Jack. “This is getting severe. It’s cut me up more than anything.”

Seeing he could do no more, the doctor retired.

Jack had Mr. Mole put on his bed, and covered with a sheet.

The captain went to communicate with the police of the town, who said that the evidence against Mr. Davis was not strong enough to warrant his arrest.

In fact Davis’s father was so great a man in the town, that they were afraid of attacking him.

Both Harkaway and Harvey were much shocked, and Emily joined in their grief.

They had narrowly escaped a sudden death themselves.

“It’s an awful grief, just now,” remarked Jack, “when our troubles are nearly over.”

“He wasn’t a bad sort,” said Harvey, “and it makes me mad to think that the poor beggar, who had done nothing, should suffer through our rows.”

“I’ve a good mind to have him embalmed, and take him back to England in a glass case,” said Jack.

“Better bury him. You be chief mourner,” replied Harvey.

“No. I should like to have him mummified. There are always embalmers in these countries; we must inquire for one, ” persisted Jack.

Emily laughed.

“I’m ashamed of you, Emmy,” said Jack, putting on a severe look. “Come here and give me a kiss, by way of doing penance, at once.”

“If you want one, you can come and take it,” she answered coquettishly, adding—

“I know it is a very dreadful thing to laugh at a time like this, but the idea of poor dear Mr. Mole being made into a mummy, is so funny.”

“So it is when you come to think of it,” observed Harvey.

“I don’t see it,” replied Jack. “Mole, in a glass case, looking as large as life, with a suitable epitaph, would be highly edifying. Suppose we were to say—“This is the mummified Mole,

Who was a jolly old soul.”

“Give us another rhyme, Dick.”

“Let the bell toll for poor old Mole.” replied Harvey.

“That’s better. Go on,” exclaimed Jack, encouragingly.

“He wasn’t worth a farden,

Till he got his tea-garden.”

“That’s bad. You began well, as you generally do, but you always fall off,” Jack exclaimed.

“If you can’t make a better epitaph than that, you ought to give up the attempt,” said Emily; “and I think your trying to do so is much more disgraceful than my laughing.”

“We don’t mean anything, Emmy,” replied Jack. “If I wasn’t to talk and chaff a little, I should cry. You don’t know how this has cut me.”

“I can say ditto to that,” remarked Harvey. “It’s entirely crabbed any pleasure I feel in going back to England.”

They became grave after this, and it was soon time to retire to rest.

Early the next morning they were astir, and the first visitor at the hotel was the undertaker, who was a Dutchman, unable to speak a word of English.

Jack looked at his card, and read “Mynheer Van Clootz,” and seeing the word “undertaker” in English, divined the motive of his visit, and sadly led the way upstairs.

An assistant followed with a coffin, which was placed on the floor.

Mr. Mole was then perfectly rigid and motionless, and taking him up in his arms, Mynheer Van Clootz laid him down in the coffin.

As it happened he did not quite fit.

It was necessary to bend the legs a little, to make them come in, and this Mynheer Van Clootz proceeded to do with some force.

Jack had turned to the window, and was wiping away the tears as they chased one another down his face.

Suddenly he heard a noise, and Mynheer Van Clootz, uttering strange cries in his own sweet native tongue, ran past him.

Turning to the coffin, Jack saw Mr. Mole sitting up, and looking curiously around him.

“Harkaway,” said Mr. Mole, “I have overslept myself, and the bed feels hard. What have you got for breakfast? My stomach is strangely empty.”

Jack could understand this when he recollected how the doctor had worked the pump the night before.

His surprise at seeing Mr. Mole alive was immense, but his joy equalled his astonishment.

The Dutchman and his assistant were so frightened that they did not stop until they reached their place of business, for they thought they had seen a ghost.

“Where am I?” continued Mr. Mole, looking round him; “and what have I been doing?”

His mind was so confused that he could not recollect anything.

“You have been on a visit to another land, sir, and I’m very glad they let you comeback again,” said Jack.

“Let me see; I drank that wine—I was ill—the doctor came—I got worse, and I suppose you thought me dead.”

“That we did, sir.”

“I must have fallen into a trance. The stomach-pump saved my life, but the effect of the poison was to send me into a deep sleep. What is this? A coffin? Bless my soul! I have had a narrower escape than I thought.”

“You would have been screwed down in another five minutes, sir,” said Jack. “The cold-meat box was ready, and things won’t keep in this climate.”

A shudder ran through Mr. Mole as he extricated himself from the coffin and threw off the ghastly cerements of the grave.

“I say, sir,” exclaimed Jack, “have a lark with Harvey.”

“In what way, may I ask ?”

“Go into our sitting-room, and frighten him into fits. If Emily is there, I will prepare her for your resurrection.”

“Upon my word, Harkaway, I do not think I ought to lend myself to such an imposture,” replied Mr. Mole, with a grim smile.

“Just for fun, sir.”

“And moreover, I am physically incompetent. I am consumed with a raging thirst, and my unhappy stomach is as empty as a drum.”

“It shall be filled, sir, without delay. Tog yourself up a bit, and in ten minutes come downstairs. I will order a cold collation—champagne and cold fowl, or some thing; and if we don’t give Dick fits, I’m not all there.”

“Very well. On that understanding, I fall in with your views, but I will first offer up a thanksgiving for my deliverance from the grave.”

“Perhaps you are reserved for a different fate, sir. Water won’t drown you, poison don’t hurt you, savages won’t eat you, snakes won’t bite you, and two wives only make you grow fat and saucy.”

“Do you mean to imply that I was born to be hanged, Harkaway!” asked Mr. Mole.

“No, sir, we won’t say that; we will say that you were born to be elevated. Don’t rile, sir. Don’t shy your coffin at me. I’m not strong, and mother says I’m not to be hurt,” exclaimed Jack, laughing, as he ran from the room.

“What a boy that is,” remarked Mr. Mole, as he poured some water into the basin and washed his face and hands. “But I do think he is pleased to see me alive. What an escape I have had, to be sure?”

Jack’s first care was to order the banquet, as he called it, and to see the best spread that could be got ready at a moment’s notice was sent upstairs.

The food and Jack entered the room together, and Harvey exclaimed—

“What, grubbing again? You have only just had your breakfast. What a fellow you are to gorge! Have you seen the decent thing done by poor old Mole?”

“Yes; he’s screwed down as tight as wax.”

“How did he look?”

“Fine. I never felt so queer in my life as when I took my last look at him,” said Jack.

“I couldn’t do it,” exclaimed Harvey. “I tried to screw my courage up, but it was no good at all. You’ve more pluck than I have.”

“Of course. You’re not in the hunt with me.”

Harvey wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Hullo!” replied Jack; “why those weeps? You’re doing the briny old woman.”

“And I’m not ashamed of it. If any one would bring old Mole to life, I’d——”

Harvey hesitated.

“What would you do?” asked Jack.

“I’d stand on my head in a corner till dinner time, hang me if I wouldn’t,” replied Harvey, at a loss how to express the gratitude he would feel in the event of such an improbable occurrence taking place.

Jack smiled quietly, and drawing Emily on one side, whispered to her—

“Don’t be frightened. Mole isn’t dead. It was only a trance. I want to startle Dick; do you twig?”

Emily looked astonished and made no reply, though she intimated by a significant look that she understood him.

Going back to the table Jack drank some iced water and exclaimed—

“Perhaps Mole’s ghost will favour you with a visit some of these fine nights, Master Dick.”

“And if it did do you think I should care? I’ve seen too many things in my time to be frightened easily,” replied Dick.

“Wouldn’t anything frighten you?”

“No. I don’t believe any mortal thing would, after the course of Pisang I have been put through,” replied Harvey, boldly.

At this moment Mole entered the room.

He looked gravely, almost threateningly at Harvey, who trembled violently, and showed symptoms of being startled, if not really frightened.

“It—it’s Mole!” he stammered.

Mr. Mole raised his arm, and Harvey shrank back into a corner.

“Jack,” he cried, “what is it?”

“What’s what?” replied Jack, rather ungrammatically.

“Why this—this thing.”

“I can’t see anything,” answered Jack.

“Not see anything? Then it’s a ghost. It’s Mole’s spirit! What shall I do?”

“Get under the table,” suggested Jack.

Thoroughly terrified, Harvey crept under the table and laid still, until a hearty laugh fell upon his ears.

He got out of his undignified position and beheld Mr. Mole eating a salmon steak, done to a turn, as fast as he could.

“Ghosts don’t eat,” he exclaimed.

“Any fool knows that,” replied Jack.

“Then it’s no ghost.”

“Touch him and see. He’s tucking in a good un,” continued Jack. “Thought you said nothing could frighten you, eh, Dick?”

Harvey looked crestfallen; but he was not yet satisfied, and walking up to Mr. Mole, said—

“Is it really you, sir?”

“Yes, Harvey, I am the sleeper awakened. Pour some of that iced hock into the silver goblet,” replied Mr. Mole; “you may be my cup-bearer.”

Harvey did so, and remarked—

“I am delighted to see you again, sir; but I must admit I was considerably knocked off my perch at first, although I wasn’t really frightened.”

“Now, Dick, that won’t do. It’s a clumsy get off,” exclaimed Jack, laughing.

“No more I was.”

“You know you were in a dismal fright.”

“I wasn’t. It was only a slight shock, that’s all. I knew it was Mole all along.”

Emily approached Jack, and said in a low tone—

“I fancy I can see some one listening at the half-open door.”

“Nonsense!” replied Jack.

“I’m almost certain,” she persisted.

“Hold hard,” replied Jack; “I’ll soon unearth the fox. Wonder who it is?”

He approached the door on tiptoe.

“Oh, be careful, Jack!” said Emily.

He nodded, and prepared himself for a struggle.

CHAPTER XXXIX

FRANK DAVIS HAS HIS EAR NAILED TO THE DOOR

THE next minute Jack bounded over the threshold.

A man who was in reality listening at the door, tried to escape.

Jack seized him in his powerful grasp.

There was a short, sharp struggle.

Presently he reappeared, dragging the listener in triumph into the room.

A glance sufficed to show that he had captured his enemy, Frank Davis, though how he came in his peculiar position, or what his motive was, he had yet to find out.

“So, Mr. Davis, you add listening at doors to your other accomplishments,” said Jack, holding him down.

Davis looked sheepishly around.

“I came to pay you a visit,” he said, “to explain, or rather, to demand an explanation.”

“Why did you not send your name up like a gentleman?”

“I did not consider it necessary.”

“You were anxious, I suppose, to know if we were all dead, but you see we are alive and kicking,” said Jack.

“I have heard something about some poisoned wine being sent to you. Though why you should accuse me of the crime, I don’t know.”

“We have our reasons.”

“Ever since you have been in Singapore,” cried Davis, “you have persecuted me. First of all, you knock me into the harbour; then you break into my house, and cover me with tar and feathers; now you assault me, in an infamous manner. What is the reason of it?”

“It’s all very well to put on a face of injured innocence,” replied Jack; “but, as I said, we have our reasons.”

“What are they?”

“Did you not insult me?”

“Not that I am aware of,” replied Davis. “Let me get up, please.”

“Get up, if you like, but if you stir without my permission, when you are on your pins, it will not be well for you.”

Davis rose, and shook himself.

“Now answer my question,” continued Jack. “Did you not hire a man to stab me?”

“Certainly not.”

“Did you, or did you not carry off Emily?”

“I was wrong there, I admit, but I offer a most handsome apology to the young lady,” replied Davis, sheepishly.

“Did you not send me a present of poisoned wine, which might have killed the lot of us, and very nearly settled Mr. Mole’s goose as it was?”

“No, I deny that.”

“Were you not listening at the door to hear what our suspicions about you were?” pursued Jack.

“I repeat,” replied Davis, “that I came to demand an explanation of your conduct, which I hold that I have a right to do.”

“It will be best for you to clear our of Singapore as soon as you can, or I shall insist upon the authorities arresting you,” replied Jack.

“That you can do as you like about,” said Davis, with his accustomed insolence. “Do you still refuse me an explanation?”

“You cowardly humbug!” cried Jack, “you will see directly what I will do with you. Dick, go and get me a hammer and a long nail.”

Harvey ran downstairs at once, and soon returned with what he had been sent for.

“Now,” cried Jack, “hold this cur up against the door.”

Harvey seized the unfortunate Davis, and pushed him up against the edge of the door.

Jack approached with the nail and hammer.

“In Heaven’s name, what new outrage am I to be subjected to?” cried Davis.

He was watching the preparations with dismay.

“You needn’t howl before you’re hurt,” replied Jack.

“Miss Emily,” pleaded Davis, “you are a lady; intercede for me.”

Emily remained silent.

“Mr. Mole,” exclaimed Davis.

“Sir, to you,” replied Mr. Mole, with his mouth full.

“Save me from this treatment. I am a gentleman.”

“Pity you don’t behave as such,” answered Mr. Mole. “I can not help you. People who send other people poisoned wine, and subject them to the exhaustive action of the stomach-pump, deserve no mercy at my hands.”

“Hold him tight, Dick,” exclaimed Jack.

When Davis’ right ear was close to the door Jack put the nail against it.

A sharp blow from the hammer forced the nail through the cartilage, another sent the iron into the door, a third made it fast; and Davis had his ear nailed to the woodwork.

A sharp cry of mingled pain and rage broke from him.

“You shall repent this!” he screamed.

“That is how we serve fellows that listen at doors,” remarked Jack, surveying him complacently.

“It just serves him right,” observed Harvey ; adding, “what a fool he looks.”

“So you would look a fool, under the circs.,” replied Jack.

“Don’t keep him long like that,” replied Emily, whose tender heart felt for him.

“I shall,” answered Jack. “We are all going out for a walk when Mr. Mole’s done pitching in, and he will have to stop where he is till somebody finds him, unless he likes to bolt and leave his ear behind him.”

“I am just getting my second wind,” said Mr. Mole, attacking a larded capon.

“Don’t hurry, sir; the performance is not yet over. Come here, Emily.”

“What for, Jack?”

“To stick pins into him. Come along. Stick them in anywhere soft, and make him holloa again, like the cur he is.”

“This behaviour is worthy only of savages,” protested Davis.

“How about the poisoned wine and abduction?” asked Jack. “Is that civilised?”

“I am sure Miss Emily is too much of a lady to torture me,” continued Davis.

“She will have to do what she is told. You come prick him, Emily, or there will be a row in the house.”

Emily hesitated.

“Let him off, Jack dear; you have punished him enough,” she said.

“This is mutiny in the camp; but I suppose I must, if you ask me, my pet,” replied Jack. “Put on your sun-hat, and let us go out. I can’t breathe while I am in the room with this fellow.”

Davis presented at once a painful and a ridiculous figure, nailed by the ear, as he was, to the doorpost.

His face was distorted with rage.

“Look here, Mr. Harkaway,” he exclaimed.

“What now?” asked Jack.

“You sail in a day or two for England, and you may think that you will escape me.”

“I ain’t afraid of you. Now I know what you are and what your game is, I shall be on my guard.”

“Nevermind; listen to what I have to say. I, too, am going to England to complete my education at a university.”

“I daresay it requires it,” sneered Jack.

“Mark my words, we shall meet again.”

“I hope not.”

“But I say we shall,” replied Davis.

“Well, there is one comfort, England isn’t Singapore; and if you try any of your poisoning dodges on there, you will find yourself in the wrong box.”

“You hope to marry Emily,” continued Davis.

“That’s my business,” replied Jack flushing.

“I tell you, she shall never be your wife. Never, never; as long as I live.”

Jack stared at him in amazement.

“You’re a nice sort of a fellow,” he said. “What do you mean by threatening me?”

“I speak the truth, and you will find that making an enemy of me was the worst day’s work you ever did,” answered Davis, vindictively.

Suddenly a gust of wind blew the door to with great violence.

A horrible cry broke from Davis, who was forced outside. Dismal yells were heard in the corridor.

“By Jove!” said Harvey, “he’s left his ear behind him.”

“Has he? I didn’t mean that,” exclaimed Jack.

He opened the door, and there, on the post, was the unfortunate man’s ear, literally torn from his head.

They could see nothing of Davis.

The fact was that, mad with pain and rage, he had run away, holding his handkerchief to his head, to seek for medical assistance.

“Blow me tight,” said Jack, “that’s a funny thing. He’s a settled member now. I am sorry for it though.”

“You have two enemies, Hunston and Davis,” said Harvey. “The first is one-armed, and the second one-eared.”

“Can’t help spotting them in a crowd, then.”

“Not much.”

“I didn’t mean to wrench his ear off,” observed Jack; “though he deserves it, for what he has done to us.”

“What’s that?” asked Mr. Mole, throwing himself back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction.

“Mr. Davis has bolted, sir, and left his ear behind him.”

“Left his ear! Ha, ha ! You’re joking.”

“I’m not. There it is on the doorpost,” replied Jack.

“Dear, dear! What a strange proceeding. Poor fellow! Well, I had no hand in it, that’s one comfort, though I hope you won’t get into trouble for pulling people’s ears off.”

“It was an accident. I nailed him up, but I didn’t make the door blow to.”

“It came as a punishment to him. He was cursing like a pagan,” observed Harvey.

“Can’t be helped,” said Jack. “Have you fed, sir?”

“Well, Harkaway, very well,” answered Mr. Mole; “the inner man is comforted, and Isaac’s himself once more. I shall now be glad to join you in a drive—say a drive, for walk I can not, with all the luggage I have taken on board.”

“We must not let Emily see this,” replied Jack. “I’ll undo the ear, and you can swab the claret with the tablecloth, Dick.”

The blood was quickly wiped up, and Jack unfastened the ear, which he wrapped in a piece of paper with ghastly precision.

“What shall we do with the lug?” he asked.

A waiter solved the difficulty by coming in and saying—

“Mr. Davis has sent for his ear, sir.”

In spite of the horror of the whole thing, Jack could not helping smiling.

“Here it is; in the paper,” he replied. “Give it his messenger with my compliments.”

The servant, who was an American, and who had seen a little shooting and bowie-knifing, did not seem in the least surprised.

One man had gouged another’s eye out in a bar and then thrown it at him, so that acts of violence were nothing new to his experience.

“That’s done with,” said Harvey. “Wonder if they can stick it on?”

“Not they,” replied Jack.

“Funny idea, a cove sending for his ear.”

“Very. Wasn’t my answer studiously polite?” asked Jack.

“Quite O. K. He’s nothing to grumble at,” replied Harvey.

They went for a drive, and Jack could not help wondering if he should meet with Frank Davis in England.

If Hunston made his way back, and Davis really went to England, he would have two determined enemies to contend with.

“I don’t care,” he muttered, in his dare-devil way; “one’s only got one arm, and the other minus an ear. What is the good of a man with only one ear? Let them rip, they can’t hurt me.”

CHAPTER XL

FRANK DAVIS AND HIS FATHER—PLOT FOR REVENGE—AH SING THE CHINAMAN—POPPY LAND—AN OPIUM FACTORY

LIKE most young men of a daring and adventurous disposition, our hero was apt at times to be a little over confident.

It is easy to despise an enemy, but the one you look upon with contempt may be powerful for evil against you.

Frank Davis was mad with rage at the loss of his ear, which of course disfigured him for life.

He had heard of artificial legs, arms, and eyes, but never of an artificial ear.

It was a void that he was afraid could never be supplied.

Being of a vain disposition, he thought it would sadly mar his appearance in the eyes of the ladies.

He felt that he must have a terrible revenge upon Harkaway.

On his way home he called at the house of a doctor who had attended him before.

All the medical man could do for him was to stop the bleeding, and put some salve on the injured part to allay the pain.

“I can not put it on,” said the doctor, as Davis unrolled the piece of paper in which the ear was wrapped.

“Am I to be a maimed man for life?” asked Davis.

“Yes. There is no help for it.”

“Can’t I have a substitute?”

“Well, you might get one in London or Paris, but not in Singapore. How did it happen?”

“An enemy tore it off. Curse him, he shall repent it. I feel as if I could shoot or stab him.”

“Do nothing rash. Go home, consult your father, and take a rest.”

This was good advice.

Frank paid the doctor his fee and went away, almost broken-hearted at his disfigurement.

His mother had been dead some years, and he lived alone with his father.

Mr. Davis senior’s Christian name was Josiah. He was of Jewish extraction, and a successful merchant in the opium line, which is the principal trade in the Straits Settlements.

He had an opium factory a few miles out of Singapore, and employed a number of Chinamen.

These, about a hundred altogether, lived with their families close by in a village.

Here were opium-smoking dens, Joss-houses, Chinese tea-drinking places, gambling shops, and other attractions peculiar to Chinese communities.

The fields of poppies from which the opium was made was quite a sight when in flower.

Many visitors came from Singapore to see the many miles of matchless colour waving in the wind.

The country residence of Mr. Davis was not more than a mile from his opium factory.

It was here that Frank betook himself when he left the doctor, whom he consulted about his ear.

The millionaire merchant was seated in his study, looking over a map of the island.

A fine property was offered for sale, and he was inclined to buy it.

Singapore is only a small island, about twenty-seven miles in length and in breadth fourteen.

Josiah Davis already owned a goodly portion of it.

He intended it all for his son Frank, whom he loved so much and was so proud of.

Frank was to go to Oxford University in England soon, and be educated like an English gentleman.

His father thought he was very handsome, and ought to marry the daughter of a lord at least.

His horror can be easily imagined and his rage pictured, when Frank entered his study wounded.

It was easy to see at a glance that his ear was missing, for that side of his head was flat, and his cheek was smeared with blood.

“Good heaven!” cried Mr. Davis. “Is it an accident, or the deed of an enemy?”

“The latter.”

“You are disfigured for life, my poor boy!” said his father, feelingly.

“Yes,” snapped Frank.

“Who did it? We must have a terrible revenge for this. What did Moses say when he gave the law to the Israelites, who are our own people?”

“An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, father.”

“Very true. You shall have justice, never fear. Tell me all.”

Frank did not hesitate to do so.

In a few minutes Josiah Davis had heard all that his son could tell him about Jack Harkaway and his party.

“I would give any thing I possess,” concluded Frank, “to injure him as he has injured me, or to kill the fellow right out.”

“We must first get him in our power,” replied the merchant.

“How is that to be done?”

“Let me think.”

Mr. Davis rested his chin on his hand and appeared to be plunged in deep thought.

He knew well, from what he had heard, that Jack was wary as well as brave.

In addition to this he was surrounded by friends.

“My opium factory is a source of attraction to visitors to Singapore,” said Mr. Davis at length. “They wind up by drinking tea at Ah Sing’s house in the Chinese village and sometimes smoke a pipe of opium to see what it is like. Ah Sing is a very clever fellow, artful as a weasel. If Ah Sing could entice Harkaway here, something might be done towards our revenge.”

“Good!” exclaimed Frank, nodding his head approvingly.

“Shall we try it?”

“Certainly; it is a first-rate scheme. What will you do to Harkaway if you get hold of him? Cut off his ear?”

“Father Abraham! I’ll cut them both off,” roared Mr. Davis.

“Bravo! That’s your sort!”

“I’ll let him know what it is to mutilate my son!”

“I can scarcely find words to thank you,” said Frank. “My blood is boiling. I shall never rest until I get square with that man.”

“You shall do so, and that, too, before many hours have passed over your head.”

“It is necessary to act quickly.”

“Why so?”

“Because Harkaway and party are going to England by the mail steamer which is due at this port either today or tomorrow,” said Frank.

“She will not be here for a week,” answered Mr. Davis. “How do you know that?”

“I had a telegram this morning from Malacca stating that her machinery had broken down, and that she had gone into dock for repairs.”

“That is excellent; it will give us time.”

“We must not be seen in the matter,” continued the merchant. “I must study my good name. Ah Sing has been foreman in my employ for several years; he can not refuse to do any thing I require.”

“Where is the Chinaman who would not do anything for money?” laughed Frank.

“True. At a price, John Chinaman will break every law in the Decalogue.”

“We must send for him,” suggested Frank.

“I expect him here every moment with a report,” replied Mr. Davis, adding, “Ah! Frank. You shall be able to laugh as well as this wild rover, Harkaway.”

“I heard his friend, Harvey, state that on their return to England they intended to matriculate at Oxford, and stay there until they graduated.”

“It would not be nice for him to point to your one ear, unless you could point out that he had none at all.”

“I should like to slit his nose, too, as they used to do in the days of the Star Chamber,” cried Frank.

“No, no. It will not be right to overdo the thing.”

“The vicious young cub deserves it.”

“Justice, according to the law of Moses, you shall have,” said Mr. Davis; “an ear for an ear.”

“And the other one thrown in by way of interest or overweight,” replied Frank, forcing a smile.

“Of course. We Hebrews could do nothing without interest.”

As he spoke, a Malay servant (nearly all work in those regions is done by Chinese and Malays) announced that his excellency’s slave, Ah Sing, humbly demanded an audience.

“Let him come in at once,” said the merchant.

Ah Sing was a little, spare-figured man, with almond-shaped eyes, a mouth which seemed made to grin, high cheek bones, and an expression which appeared to say, “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He presented a sheet of paper covered with figures, which was the balance-sheet of the week at the opium works.

“Taken as read,” exclaimed Mr. Davis. “We will postpone business, as I have something else to talk about, which ought to put a thousand dollars into your pocket.”

Ah Sing’s eyes glistened with inherent cupidity.

He was a native of Canton.

For years he had been saving all the money he could to take back to China, where he intended his bones should rest when he died.

“Vellee good,” replied Ah Sing.

The Chinaman husbanded his words, as if he thought that talking was a waste of energy.

“You often show people over my factory, take them to your tea-shop in Chinatown, and make money out of them.”

“You not tellee me that wrongee,” replied Ah Sing.

“I am not saying so now.”

“Ah Sing makee money allee samee Englishmans.”

“I have heard that you send a printed circular to the hotels. Have you one in your possession? If so, show it me.”

Ah Sing did not hesitate a moment; he knew he had his master’s confidence. If he supplemented his salary by showing strangers over the opium works, and taking them to his tea-shop, he did not rob his employer.

His accounts were always satisfactory.

He put his hand in the pocket of the loose dress he wore and handed Josiah Davis a printed paper.

Its contents were as follows:—

“In the name of the sun, moon and stars, the strictly honourable Ah Sing sendeth greeting to all intelligent strangers staying in the English City of Singapore, at which all ships call.

“Ah Sing is the head of the great opium factory at Chinatown. Please take particular notice.

“He is also proprietor of the Pagoda tea-house, where you can have the best Souchong, Bohea, and Pekoe. N.B.—Leaves not coloured; pure tea.

“There are rooms to experiment in smoking the opium pipe, which will produce dreams of bliss. It is a cheap Heaven. NOTE.—This is true.

“Come for a drive to Chinatown; only five miles out. Ask for the strictly honourable Ah Sing.

“For one dollar, or two rupees, he will show each one all, and can refresh with tea of the best, and pipe at Pagoda House for same sum.

“The poppies in fields very fine view just now.

“Ah Sing, the strictly honourable and highly considered.

“Chinatown opium works, as above.

“Of your kindly, sentimental, and gentlemanly favours I beg.

“AH SING.”

Mr. Davis could not help laughing when he had read this comical circular.

It showed that the Chinaman had a good opinion of himself.

Frank also joined in the mirth.

“So, you rascal,” said Mr. Davis, “that is how you make money out of me?”

Ah Sing bowed politely, and indulged in a quiet grin.

“Must livee somehow,” he replied.

“That is all right; it does not hurt me, so long as you do your work. Listen!”

“Speakee. The recipient of your bounty is not deafee.”

“Take one of your precious circulars to the Hotel Victoria in Singapore, and send it up to a gentleman named Harkaway.”

“Yes, remember namee; the honourable Harkawayee.”

“Persuade him to come to the Pagoda tea-house. You can show him over the works if you like, but do not mention my name. Get him to smoke opium or drug him.”

Ah Sing looked at the carpet as if he were admiring the pattern.

“Do you hear me?” cried Mr. Davis.

“One thousand dollars for only thatee thingee?” the Chinaman asked.

“More than that. When this young man is stupefied, you must cut off his ears.”

“Policemans takee me then.”

“Carry him out amongst the poppies. Do it in a field, and he will not be able to prove anything against you. All he will know when he wakes up will be that his ears are gone.”

“Vellee good. Me do it, your high mightiness excellent master. I see about it this afternoonee. Tomorrow I will be an attender to Harkawayee.”

“Don’t make a mull of it,” said Frank.

Ah Sing assured the father and son that they might rely on his discretion, and after being given some refreshment he retired to carry out the preliminaries of this nefarious scheme.

Walking back to Chinatown through the poppy-fields, which were all aglow with bloom, he gave himself up to thought.

The town was composed of houses built of wood, dried in the hot sun; houses which would burn like tinder if they once caught fire.

At the Pagoda tea-house, which was his domicile, he obtained a mule he was in the habit of riding, and started for Singapore.

He put on a bland, childlike and inoffensive air.

It was well calculated to deceive anybody.

No one would have thought that his heart was full of guile.

As the sun was declining in the west in a flood of golden splendour, he arrived at the city.

Leaving the mule in a stable, Ah Sing walked to the hotel where Jack Harkaway and his friends were staying.

The entire service of the hotel was conducted by Chinamen, who rejoiced in long pigtails, the glory of their race.

Accosting one of his countrymen, the indefatigable Ah Sing said—

“Havee stayee the English Mandarin, Harkawayee?”

“Yes,” was the reply. “First floor numberee sixee.”

“What your honourable namee?”

“Hi Chung.”

“Veree vellee. Hi! here is halfee dollar to let me show him a trade letteree.”

“What is the namee of your esteemed familee?” asked Hi Chung.

“I rejoice in the time-honoured name of Ah Sing.”

“You can be a proceeder to numberee sixee, and if there are any forks or spoons missing, the distinguished policeman will look for Ah Sing.”

“We are not a stealee familee,” replied Ah Sing, shaking his pigtail angrily.

“May you never losee your hairee!” said Hi Chung.

This remark was meant to convey a wish, sarcastically expressed, that he might never go to prison.

The first operation a prisoner is subjected to on entering a jail is to have his hair cut.

A Chinaman holds that he is disgraced for life if his much cherished pigtail is cut off.

As he kneels on the hard concrete of the prison floor, and the warder’s scissors, as large as shears, snip off his pigtail, he seems to undergo excruciating mental agony.

Ah Sing smiled, waved his hand paternally to Hi Chung, and went upstairs.

Harvey had a slight attack of ague, and having taken a strong dose of quinine, had gone to bed.

Jack was playing a game of chess with Professor Mole, who was jubilant at having checkmated his opponent.

Emily was in her own apartment, preparing for dinner, which would be served in about an hour.

Monday had thrown himself down in a corner on a rug, and was dozing like a cat.

It was a peculiarity of his that he slept with one eye and one ear open.

His sense of hearing was so acute, that he could hear the slightest sound.

“I think, Master Jack,” exclaimed Mr. Mole, “that you will own yourself beaten this time.”

“It is only the first game, sir; best two out of three, you know,” Jack replied.

“Ah, hum! That is one way of getting out of it; but perhaps there is some game you play better than this.”

“Don’t chaff.”

“If so, I shall be glad to oblige you.”

It was at this moment that Ah Sing arrived outside number six.

The disciple of Confucius knocked at the door.

“Come in!” cried Jack.

The terra-cotta coloured son of a Mongolian did not hesitate to enter.

He smiled unctuously, as only a Chinaman can smile, and bowed.

Advancing to Jack, he held up one of his printed circulars.

“For the high and mightee mandarin, Lord Harkawayee,” he said.

“Thank you,” replied Jack. “I’m getting on in the world. I didn’t know I had been raised to the peerage!”

“Be a condescender and readee my paperee.”

“With pleasure. Sit down.”

“It is not for me to sit in the distinguished presence of so great a mandarin.”

“All right. Stand if you like,” said Jack.

Mr. Mole looked at Jack with a smile.

“That observation of yours reminds me,” he remarked, “that I ought to ask you what you are going to stand. I vanquished you, and to the victor belong the spoils.”

“Have what you like. Ring the bell, sir, and let me read this heathen Chinee’s effusion.”

“Is it good?”

“It strikes me as being very funny. You shall see it and judge for yourself presently.”

When he had finished reading it, he gave it to Mr. Mole.

“Opium-making,” said the professor; “that must be an interesting process. I should much like to see it. I vote we go. It will be a new experience to smoke the pipe of peace.”

“The poppy-fields, I hear, are lovely in the extreme,” Jack remarked. “I do not mind smoking a pipe of opium for the fun of the thing, but I should be very sorry to contract a habit of it, as it is a most soul-deadening custom.”

“Horrible! It makes a slave of a man. I say, Mr. Strictly Honourable Ah Sing, what part of China do you come from?”

“Canton, most venerable,” replied Ah Sing.

“Indeed! I have a tea-garden there. Did you ever hear the name of Mole?”

Ah Sing tapped his forehead and reflected for a brief space.

“I think he knows you, sir,” said Jack.

“Of course he does. They must have heard of my tea-garden. You talk like a child.”

“Canton is a big place.”

“Wait and hear what the fellow has to say; he looks very respectable and highly intelligent.”

“Chinese people are doubtful characters, sir.”

“You are easily prejudiced. Because you fancy he is going to say something good of me, you are annoyed.”

“Not at all. It would be a novelty.”

“Harkaway, you are insulting. My age ought to entitle me to respect, but you are my boy. I helped to educate you; I brought you up; I taught the young idea how to shoot; I formed your mind, and made you the fine character you are; and bless you, I forgive you.”

“That is good of you,” Jack answered.

“I am of a forgiving disposition.”

“That is something new about you.”

“Say what you like, it is a censorious world, and boys are sadly given to chaff.”

“I am not a boy now—I am a young man and a gentleman.”

“What am I?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Oh, don’t ask riddles! You wouldn’t like it if I called you an old humbug,” replied Jack impatiently.

“Harkaway, you will bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave!”

“Bosh!”

“Harkaway, you are like a lively puppy; you will bark away. Be you silent.”

“Well,” said Jack, “I like your style, old man.”

Just then Ah Sing lifted his head.

The recollection had come to him.

“Yes,” he exclaimed, “I do remember one of your namee. There was Ah Fool Mole.”

The professor reddened.

His ire began to rise rapidly.

“What do you mean, you rascally heathen?” he cried.

“Meanee nothingee.”

“You called me a fool!”

“That was the namee. Ah Fool! China namee.”

“It may be a porcelain name, or a Bohemian glass name, as well as a China one, but I don’t like it.”

“Can’t helpee that. They callee him so,” replied Ah Sing.

“What was he?”

“Carree water. Sell in the streetee.”

“Common water-carrier?” gasped the professor.

“Yes; no goodee—no goodee.”

“A low fellow!”

“Veree lowee, till they raised him a bit.”

“Oh! they raised him?”

“Yes, they raisee Ah Fool Mole.”

The professor smiled blandly.

“You see, Jack,” he exclaimed, “we are getting at the facts, in a gradual manner.”

“We are a long time about it,” replied Jack.

“Don’t be impatient.”

“It is a long yarn and a tough one, sir.”

“Don’t you wish to hear about my namesake in Canton, China?”

“Ah Fool Mole?”

“Do you want to hear or not?”

“I don’t particularly care about it, though it may be family history, my dear sir.”

“Don’t be unkind. Will you listen?”

Jack crossed his legs and lighted a cigarette.

“Anything for a quiet life,” he answered. “Go ahead.”

“You will see that Ah Fool—I don’t like the name——”

“It is good enough for you!”

“Will you be quiet?”

“Go ahead, I say.”

“You will see that Ah Fool went to the front like a solid man; he elevated himself,” continued the professor.

“I hope so.”

“Just wait. Now, my Celestial friend, go on with your story. What became of my namesake?”

Ah Sing rolled his almond eyes.

“They raisee him,” he replied.

“In what way?”

“They hangee him!”

Mr. Mole jumped about a foot in the air.

“What!” he cried. “Hanged him?”

“Yes, hangee Ah Fool Mole.”

“You lying scoundrel! What for?”

“He killee a man, to rob him of a dollar,” answered Ah Sing.

With a gasp Mr. Mole sank into a chair.

“I won’t believe it,” he said.

“The man lived in Canton before he came here, and he ought to know, sir,” Jack replied.

“It’s a base libel on a respectable family.”

“Certainly it is a blot on your escutcheon—I’ll admit that; but perhaps you weren’t born to be drowned.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Jack, carelessly.

“You mean to insinuate that I ought to be hanged, or shall be hanged.”

“Like your namesake, Ah Fool Mole, of Canton?”

“Do you intend to convey that’?”

“People don’t always get their deserts, sir,” was Jack’s answer.

“You are quick at repartee, but allow me to tell you that people can be too sharp.”

“What about Ah Fool Mole, of Canton, who——”

“Drop it.”

“Who was—er—elevated?”

“No connection of mine, Harkaway. I wouldn’t own him.”

“Uncle or cousin, sir?”

“I wouldn’t find him,” replied the professor. “He does not exist in my genealogical tree.”

“Some kind of relation. I hope the complaint does not run in the family.”

“No more; drop it. The subject is distasteful to me. I would not have Ah Fool—hate the name!—in my family as a gift.”

Jack laughed.

“Oh, you can grin,” said Mr. Mole. “I’ve seen a donkey laugh when he came across a thistle.”

“Were you gazing in a looking-glass, sir?”

“Will you hold your tongue?”

“Can’t do it, sir. It’s a way I’ve got,” answered Jack.

While they were engaged in this animated, but somewhat acrimonious discussion, Ah Sing had strayed to a side table.

On it was a galvanic battery in a wooden case.

It was charged up to five hundred volts.

Jack had bought it for Emily, who had not been very strong lately.

The doctor said it would tone up her nervous system. There were two brass knobs to hold, one in each hand.

Somebody had to turn a handle, and the electricity was conveyed to the person holding the knobs.

It was impossible to let go while the shock lasted.

If the handle of the machine were turned violently, the one who held the knobs suffered great pain, the whole system being convulsed with electricity.

When the handle ceased turning, the current was stopped.

Mr. Mole noticed that Ah Sing was looking curiously at the instrument

“My friend,” he said, “do you wish to investigate the mysteries of science?”

“What kind of thingee is this?” asked Ah Sing.

“A revigorator. It puts new life into you; it is better than all the massage and electric belts.”

“Me tryee it.”

“If you like.”

Jack nudged the professor’s arm.

“Let him alone,” he whispered.

“Not I,” replied Mole. “I’ll pay him out for Ah Fool. I’ll give him a twister, or I’m not here.”

“You are vindictive.”

“Listen to his death-wail in a minute.”

“Spare him.”

“Not I.”

“The strong ought always to be merciful,” remarked Jack.

“I’d like to flay him alive, the rascal. I’ll Ah Fool him, see if I don’t.”

“He couldn’t help it if your relation was hanged.”

“It’s a falsehood; he was not.”

“Ah Sing, the strictly honourable, says so.”

“He’s a—well, I won’t use bad language; it is unbecoming for one in my position to do so, though I am sorely tried. Wait a while.”

“What for?”

“I’ll make an example of him.”

Saying this, Mr. Mole walked up to Ah Sing.

“Take the brass knobs in your hands,” he exclaimed.

“That veree simplee,” replied Ah Sing.

He did as he was directed.

“Hold tight,” continued the professor.

“You bettee.”

“Are you ready?”

“Allee rightee. Me readee; go aheadee,” answered Ah Sing.

Mr. Mole turned the handle of the battery.

The electric current began to run up Ah Sing’s arms, and pervade his body.

He writhed, twisted, and contorted himself.

“Stoppee, stoppee!” he cried.

“Not yet. You’re in for it, my friend,” replied Mole.

“Oh, ough! I can not bearee it!”

“You’ll have to. I’ll make you skip lively.”

Ah Sing began to dance like a bear on hot bricks.

“Leavee off!” he yelled. “Devil’s gottee hold of me!”

“I’ll give you Ah Fool!”

Mr. Mole continued to turn the handle vigorously.

The perspiration rolled in streams down the contorted face of Ah Sing.

The unfortunate Chinaman shouted, stamped and struggled, but all in vain.

He was utterly powerless to let go the handles, which by electric force had him as in a vice.

His hair bristled, and his long pigtail swung to and fro like the pendulum of a clock.

“Ah Fool Mole, am I?” said the professor, slackening the electric current a little.

“Notee you,” replied Ah Sing.

“Who then?”

“Your relations in Canton. Lettee go. Me be a paralysee soon!”

“Not before you apologise.”

“Me makee a mistakee. Veree sorree.”

“You never knew a relation of mine of that name.”

“Notee Mole. Thinkee now, it was Cole.”

“Ah Fool Cole. That is more like it Cole, you see, Jack, Cole; he has mixed the names up.”

“Release him, sir,” replied Jack. “We all know you are an awful mole at times.”

“Do you join in as well in ridiculing your mentor and instructor—your faithful Achates, who has accompanied you in your Odyssey?”

“Cut the Greek references, sir, and come to the business of the evening.”

“I will, and more than that, I will give you a glass of the finest wine you ever tasted,” said Mr. Mole.

“Bravo! You are a brick.”

The professor released Ah Sing, who trembled for a little while, but did not seem much the worse for the galvanism he had been subjected to.

In fact he was more frightened than hurt.

Electricity, except in the shape of a thunder-storm, was an entirely new thing to him.

“How do you feel now, my Cochin China rooster?” asked Mr. Mole in a jocular tone.

“Me feelee like jumpee over the moonee,” answered Ah Sing, whose nerves were yet quivering.

“Was it nice?”

“Bad. Me glad it all overee.”

“You shall have a little wine. I did not tell you, Jack, that I bought a quarter-cask of imported Cadiz sherry yesterday, and had it put in yonder cupboard, tapped and ready for use. I am not able to bear the hotel-charges for wines. Let the Heathen Chinee wait on us.”

“If the strictly honourable and highly respectable one, will condescend to do so,” replied Jack.

“Ha, ha! Let him refuse, that is all!”

“You have been sampling that sherry, sir, on the strict Q.T., haven’t you?”

“Only a glass or two—a mere trifle. It is very good though; I can recommend it.”

“Don’t irritate the Celestial too much.”

“Bah! In the language of the ring, what price a Mongolian or a Malay in a conflict with me? Pish! I should pulverise him!” said the professor, snapping his fingers contemptuously at Ah Sing.

“We all know you are brave, sir.”

“Have I not proved it in a dozen fights of Homeric dimensions? I am a very Ajax for valour!”

“I’m sure you deserve the Victoria Cross.”

“Pshaw! The only cross I bear is the worry of looking after and taking care of you.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“No, I do not, frankly.”

“Then you know what you can do.”

“What is that?” asked Mr. Mole.

“Do the other thing—lump it,” replied Jack.

The professor sighed deeply.

“Oh, the ingratitude of the rising generation!” he groaned. “Boys were very different when I was young to what they are now. I was taught to respect my elders; you scoff at them.”

“Do I scoff well, sir? I like to do everything well.”

“Alas! too well,” replied Mr. Mole, “and well I know it. You blight my life; yes—you are a blighter.”

“Thank you. That is a new name.”

“I can conscientiously call you nothing but a blighter. You were told in your boyhood days that, to have faithfully learnt the fine arts, and acquired softened manners, would prevent people from being fierce and wild. You drive me to drink.”

“It strikes me you do not want much driving.”

“Peace! Enough of this. Friend Sing, take this key: it turns the tap of the sherry cask.”

“Turnee the tapee?” asked Ah Sing.

“Yes. In the cupboard, on the shelf, you will find a crystal jug and glasses. Draw the wine, as Horace— dear, good, old convivial Horace—sings, in the First Book of Odes. I thrashed you once for not construing that correctly, Harkaway—you must remember it. Now is the time to drink; now we will beat the earth with a quick foot, which is a synonym for dancing.”

“I’m not at school now, thank goodness.”

“Ingrate!”

“Go on, sir, call me names.”

“Let me speak of Anacreon, who loved to see the ruby wine sparkle in the cup, what time his slave held it for him! Ah Sing shall be my Ganymede.”

“Shut up,” said Jack, who did not feel classically inclined.

“You know those lines beginning——”

“Hire a hall if you want to spout, and give a lecture.”

“Has contact with savages blunted your mind and deadened your soul to a sense of the sublime and beautiful?”

“Give us a rest,” cried Jack, impatiently.

Mr. Mole turned up the whites of his eyes.

“O tempora, O mores,” he muttered.

While this conversation—if a one-sided dialogue can be dignified with that name—was going on, Ah Sing had opened the cupboard and drawn the wine.

But the wily Chinaman had done more than that.

He intended to have his revenge on Mr. Mole for the galvanic shock he had received.

When he had drawn the wine, he threw the key into a dark corner and left the tap running.

“Ha!” exclaimed the professor, “this is something like wine. It cost me a large sum; it is an old, high-priced wine. Superlativa, the merchants who meet on the Rialto call it.”

“That’s a good word, sir; I’d have that stuffed,” said Jack.

“None of your nonsense, if you please.”

“When stuffed, put in a glass case.”

“Superlativa is——”

“We don’t want too much ‘Superlativa, sir, but just enough; any more would be a superfluity.”

“Taste it.”

“With all the pleasure in life.”

Mr. Mole filled three glasses, when suddenly his ear heard a noise as of water running rapidly.

He cast his eye towards the cupboard.

The truth became apparent in a moment.

Ah Sing had not turned the tap off, and his special Superlativa, imported from Cadiz, in Spain, was running rapidly to waste.

As a matter of fact, the wine had never seen Spain, but was a vile decoction manufactured at the Cape.

There were a dozen headaches and other aches in every quart of it, as anyone who has drunk Cape wine will testify.

“You scoundrel!” cried Mr. Mole, “turn that tap off. You’ve left it running.”

Ah Sing ran to the cupboard.

“Stoppee the tappee!” he said.

“Yes, quick; all my wine will runaway. Think of the cost of it! The ceiling below will be soaked—the carpets all spoiled. Won’t they bring me in a bill. Here’s another blight! Oh, you idiot! You, you——”

“Can’t findee the key,” Ah Sing answered.

“What have you done with it?”

“It has fallen somewhere. Can not tellee where.”

“Look for it, you son of a sea-cook.”

“Oh, the language, sir!” put in Jack. “Did the gentlemanly Horace speak like that?”

“I’ll make him feel worse than a boiled owl presently.”

“Is that according to Anacreon, sir?”

“The wretched blighter! I’ll do for him; I’ll be the death of the Heathen,” shouted Mr. Mole.

Ah Sing looked at Jack.

“You comee tomorrow,” he said.

“That’s settled,” replied Jack.

“Allee rightee.”

Saying this, Ah Sing dodged a chair and a couple of spittoons that Mole threw at him, and ran out of the room.

Going to the cupboard, the professor looked ruefully at the cask, from which the wine was running as fast as it could.

“Oh, dear!” he exclaimed, “this is indeed a blight. I shall have to turn the cask base over apex.”

“Is that English for upside down?”

“Never mind the interpretation. Here goes. I will save all I possibly can.”

As he spoke, the professor put the cask on end, and the flow at once stopped.

Harkaway tasted the wine.

“I say,” he cried, “where did you get this stuff?”

“What’s the matter with it?”

“I call it sudden death.”

“My dear boy,” replied Mr. Mole, “your taste is not educated.”

“I know good wine from bad.”

“Ah! you have a lot to learn. I will go out for a walk and see the shipping in the harbour; I love a ship. I go on board, I give my card to the purser, and seeing that I am a learned man and a traveller, he treats me with——”

“Whisky!” Jack interrupted.

“No; with respect.”

Putting his hat on, Mr. Mole strode away indignantly.

Scarcely was he gone than Monday sprang up from the skin on which he had been lying.

“Hullo, ebony, what’s the matter with you?” Jack enquired.

“Mast’ Jack, ’um want to speak to you,” replied Monday.

There was a strange light in his eyes.

CHAPTER XLI

MONDAY GOES ON A LITTLE JOURNEY AND ENCOUNTERS MORE ADVENTURES THAN HE BARGAINED FOR.

JACK always paid the greatest attention to any thing that came from Monday.

He had faith in the sagacity of his black servant and companion.

“Out with it; I’m listening,” he said.

“You and Mist’ Mole going tomorrow to that Chinaman’s house, sah?” asked Monday.

“Yes, just for the fun of the thing, and to while away the time. We are stuck here for another week owing to the breakdown of the mail-steamer for Europe, you know.”

“Ah Sing am one rascal thief.”

“How can you tell?”

“Very easy, sah,” answered Monday. “Nature write it on um bad, bold, yet cunning face.”

“I thought he looked as guileless and simple as a child.”

“Put all dat on. Chinaman got a different face for ebery hour in the day.”

“Are they such a bad lot then?”

“The worst in the world,” said Monday; “everybody tell you so. No Chinamen in Heaven! The Lord won’t hab nuffin’ to do with them. Where Ah Sing live?”

“At a place called Chinatown. He is manager of an opium factory, and runs a tea-house and smoke-room. Calls his drum the Pagoda, I think.”

“Think I go there,” observed Monday.

“What for? Do you smoke opium?”

“The Lord forbid. Bad habit that, Mast’ Jack; play Old Nick with the nervous system. Don’t mind a pipe ob good, sound, honest tobacco, but bar smoke opium-joint.”

“What are you going to Chinatown for, then?”

“Jes’ to take a little journey, Mast’ Jack, and find out who dis Ah Sing chap is.”

“Precisely what I have told you,” replied Harkaway.

“That is his story; not good enough for dis child. Ah Sing got mighty bad face; me not like um. Berry likely him visit all one big plant to hurt you.”

“How can that be?”

“You forgot Frank Davis already?” queried Monday. “If so, you got berry poor memory.”

“I don’t think we shall be troubled by him. I sickened him when I nailed his ear up.”

“Who told you that he had forgiven him injury like that? Jes’ very thing to rankle in um mind. You sit down and think all safe. Bah! you what street boys call um mug. Hab more sense, sah!”

“Don’t bother me. I shall go and see Ah Sing tomorrow,” persisted Jack.

“Me go to-night and find out.”

“I hope to have a lark with Sing and Mole. Did you hear Sing tell the professor that in Canton he knew an Ah Fool Mole? It made me laugh, but didn’t Mole get savage?”

“Me hear and see, too. Mist’ Mole so mad he hop on one leg.”

“He soon loses his temper now, but he was always rather thin-skinned and touchy,” remarked Jack.

“Um got good heart all same, sah,” replied Monday.

“Yes; he is very faithful and affectionate.”

“T’ink all the world ob you, Mast’ Jack. Jes’ same as Monday. Bleeve both die for you, if want um.”

Jack smiled pleasantly at this speech, which showed how highly esteemed he was by those about him.

“I hope I shall never have occasion to call upon either of you to make such a sacrifice,” he rejoined.

“Hab a glass of Mist’ Mole’s wine, then I be off to see what kind of a person this Ah Sing is.”

“Help yourself.”

Monday poured out a glass, drank it, and made a wry face.

“What kind of stuff you call this, Mast’ Jack?” he asked. “It um worse than a sour grape. Pah! not up to much. Kind of hog’s wash, I should t’ink.”

“Some one has imposed on Mole. He thinks it is fine wine.”

“Want to insure um life before anyone drink much of this. It what the sailors call very bad booze. No more.”

“Declined with thanks, as the editor said to the schoolgirl’s poem,” observed Jack.

“Missey Emily go with you tomorrow to opium place?” asked Monday.

“No, I sha’n’t take her. That kind of thing wouldn’t interest a lady.”

“Mast’ Harvey too much sick with ague to go. Jes’ you and Mist’ Mole, that is all. I see. Well, I proceed first, and if there any scheme on to hurt you, I find um out and give you warning.”

“Good old Monday,” exclaimed Jack.

Monday grinned, showing his white teeth, and was off like a shot.

While pretending to be asleep on the skins, he had listened and narrowly watched Ah Sing’s sallow countenance.

In the hall of the hotel he saw Hi Chung, the waiter who had spoken to Ah Sing on his entrance.

Monday had a supreme contempt for all Chinese, thinking the men of Limbi and even the Pisangs far superior.

The Chinese returned the compliment by hating the inhabitants of the Malay Peninsula.

At the same time they dreaded them as a brave, fierce, and warlike race, which the Chinese certainly are not.

“Hi, hi! Mist’ Hi Chung,” cried Monday. “You tell me the way to a place called Chinatown?”

“Veree vellee. It is the road out of the city on the rightee. A sign-post will direct more nearee,” replied Hi Chung. “Do you go to the strictly honourable, highly intelligent, and magnificently uprightee Ah Sing?”

“That is my business, not yours. You half-washed niggers are too cheeky,” cried Monday; “and as for um friend, Ah Sing, I wouldn’t trust him with the care of one single dollar.”

“Halfee-washee, eh? What kind of nigger you callee yourself?” demanded Hi Chung.

“I’m one of the dandy kind from um island of Limbi, where we eat every morning a Chinaman for um breakfast. I’ll eat you.”

“Cannibal, eatee manee!”

“That is the sort of a nigger I am, you bet,” said Monday, opening his mouth wide.

The Chinaman was alarmed.

He fell on his knees in a state of abject terror.

“No eatee me,” he cried. “Me veree sorry to be cheekee to so distinguished a person. Your high mightiness will forgive the humblest of your slaves.”

“Mind you are always as civil as this, or I’ll have your pigtail. Remember who I am in future!”

Saying this, Monday gave Hi Chung a kick which sent him sprawling several feet up the hall.

“Pah!” he muttered, as he quitted the hotel, “Chinese no good, except to lie and steal money to gamble with. One must kick um to make um civil.”

Hi Chung got up and bowed.

“Thankee veree muchee, O Lord of the White Elephant!” he exclaimed mildly.

Taking no heed of him, Monday walked in the direction indicated, and soon found the road leading to Chinatown.

“Mast’ Jack too easy,” he muttered, “too trusting in his own strength. Me find out all; Monday business man up to date. Soon see what Ah Sing is about, and not be long-winded over it either.”

Acquaintance with civilisation had taught Monday many things which he had never dreamed of in his island of Limbi.

Among these was the practise of carrying an umbrella in one hand to keep off the sun, and a fan in the other to brush off those everlasting pests, the flies and mosquitoes.

By the time he arrived at Chinatown, he was tired and thirsty.

He had imbibed a liking for tea, and was looking forward to a cup of the refreshing beverage.

Almost one of the first buildings that attracted his attention was the Pagoda house.

A signboard, with English writing on, informed everybody that it was kept by the highly respectable and strictly honourable Ah Sing, formerly of Canton, China.

Chinese lanterns hung over the verandahs under which people were sitting at small tables drinking tea.

There were also rooms inside where parties could make themselves comfortable.

Ah Sing was standing at the door with a big fan in his hand, and a cheroot in his mouth, one of the best that Manilla could produce.

“Good-evening,” said Monday. “I have come from Singapore to drink some tea and smoke some pipe. Everyone talk so much of um Pagoda house.”

“Everything of the very fine best,” replied Ah Sing. “Souchong, Bohea, Pekoe, that is delicate green leafee, lovalee flavour. Sittee downee.”

“Will you join me in a cup? I will pay.”

“Withee pleasure,” answered Ah Sing.

“I am of the highly respectable, and I can see you are the samee.”

“What you charge for um cup?”

“Quarter of a dollar to a well-connected, true-bred gentleman like you, descended from the firstee familees.”

Monday sat down under the verandah at a small table by himself, and presently Ah Sing joined him, bearing the teapot and two cups on a tray.

“I waitee on you,” he said, “instead of my servantees. Wantee to talkee?”

“As you please.”

“Where you comee from?”

“Nowhere in particular,” answered Monday; “a place called Limbi.”

Ah Sing shook his head.

“Not knowee,” he replied. “So many islands round here. What your business?”

“Big merchant,” said Monday; “I trade in sponges and shells.”

“Spongees and shellees. Good!”

“What do you do besides keeping this tea-house?” inquired Monday, with an innocent far-away look in his eyes.

Clever as Ah Sing undoubtedly was, he did not think that Monday was fishing for information.

“Manage large opium factory for high-class mandarin,” was the ready reply.

“What is his name?”

“Davis.”

At hearing this answer, Monday nearly let his teacup fall from his hand, but he controlled himself.

“You feelee badee?” asked Ah Sing.

“Oh, no. Um got a touch of the country ague. Make um hand shake, that is all,” replied Monday.

Other customers came in, and Ah Sing, the strictly honourable, went away to attend to them in person.

Monday was convinced, when he heard that the Chinaman was the manager of Mr. Davis’s opium factory, that there was a plot on foot.

He waited, however, for further developments.

Nothing, however, occurred to arrest his attention.

He called for a cigar, and smoked it placidly, being very fond of smoking, which was a habit he had acquired from the sailors on board ship.

He was not aware that all the cigars sold by Ah Sing were, to suit the taste of his customers, soaked in a solution of opium.

This produced a drowsy, dreamy condition of mind in those habituated to it; while to those not used to the drug, in any shape, it induced sleep.

On Monday it had this effect.

He wanted to keep wide awake, but he fell fast asleep in his chair, his head resting against the wall.

Scarcely had he been asleep five minutes, than Frank Davis walked up to the Pagoda house.

His eyes instantly fell upon the well-known features of Monday.

He was alarmed at his presence there, for it boded no good for the success of his plans.

The cause of his visit to the Pagoda house, was his anxiety to know if Ah Sing could get Jack to venture as far as Chinatown.

Making sure that Monday was really asleep, and not shamming, he hastily sought Ah Sing.

The strictly honourable one was in a private room where the tea was made.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, “you comee too soonee.”

“How did you get on?” asked Frank.

“First chop,” replied Ah Sing. “Tomorrow Harkawayee is to visit me, and also a friend callee old Ah Fool Mole.”

“I know him, but I fear there is something wrong.”

“No, me doee the business allee rightee, samee as Englishman,” Ah Sing protested.

“Are you aware that you have a spy here?”

“Hongs and Gongs!” cried Ah Sing, who was not much given to the use of expletives.

“You may well say that, and add Chingaring-a-Chop-sticks, or any other forcible expression in your outlandish lingo,” replied Frank Davis.

“Where is he, this spyee?”

“Asleep under the verandah. He is a black fellow, or coloured person as they term it; a Lascar kind of chap.”

“Why, me talkee to him and he treatee to tea. Veree nice-spoken man,” said Ah Sing.

“You’re a fool. He’d cut your throat and mine too.”

“Who is he?”

“Harkaway’s nigger, that’s who he is, and I tell you that he is down here for no good. He has been sent, or come on his own hook, to spy out the land.”

“Hum,” muttered Ah Sing. “What we doee now? This is rather awkward for plotee.”

“He must not be allowed to go away until you have settled Harkaway, that is flat.”

“Put him in some holee.”

“Haven’t you got a cellar you can shove him into?”

“Yes. Veree good dry cellar, full of emptee tea-chestees,” answered Ah Sing.

“The very thing, nothing could be better. All you have to do, is to bind his hands and feet while he is asleep. It is dark now, and the customers have all gone away.”

“Yes,” said Ah Sing. “Tea drinkee people gone, only pipe smokers in opium roomee.”

“Do it at once then, or he may wake up, and he is a devil to fight, I can tell you,” exclaimed Frank Davis.

“Me no fightee man, but stick knifee, first-chop.”

“Get a bit of rope and cut along.”

“You helpee me to carry in cellar presentlee?” asked Ah Sing. “Too heavee nigger for me to liftee.”

Frank nodded assent.

Ah Sing found two pieces of rope, and glided up to Monday like a snake.

The black still slept.

A thin rain was falling, making the air cool and fragrant.

The heavy clouds drifting over the land, indicated that there had been a storm out at sea.

Very gently, Ah Sing encircled Monday’s wrists with the rope, which he tied in a triple knot.

“Pullee tightee,” he muttered. “Don’t wantee him to be an escaper.”

Kneeling down, he put the other bit of rope around his ankles.

He had just time to fasten the knot when Monday awoke.

As he opened his eyes, he also opened his mouth, and indulged in a yawn, after which he tried to stretch his limbs.

Great was his surprise, not unmixed with consternation, when he found he could not move hand or foot.

He discovered, however, that he could move both feet at once.

This he did, catching the retreating Ah Sing a heavy and uncomfortable blow under the chin.

It sent him heels over head down the half-dozen wooden steps which led up to the verandah.

He fell on his back in the muddy road, and began to moan and groan.

Frank Davis came out on hearing the noise.

A dozen large Chinese lanterns were hanging to the verandah, and had been lighted some time.

This light enabled him to see that Monday could not move, which was a great relief to him.

It was not his desire to have a conflict with the black.

Everyone who had ever fought with Monday had a wholesome dread of him, and gave the black a wide berth.

“Ha! ha!” he laughed in triumph, “you are fairly cornered, you lump of black ivory.”

Monday’s unusually joyous countenance fell.

“Frank Davis, by golly!” he cried, “caught in um trap for certain, all through going to sleep. Fool! that’s me—fool! and nothing else. Tie um hands and feet, and make helpless. I’m no more use than a baby.”

“How do you like doing the private detective business, my highly intelligent coloured friend?”

“Don’t want to hold any talk with you.”

“Because you don’t know what to say,” replied Frank Davis. “You are discounted, I may say double discounted. It was lucky I came here and saw you, for Ah Sing did not know you. Now I shall be able to have some fun with you, and be revenged on Harkaway too.”

Monday’s eyes flashed.

“What you going to do to him?” he demanded.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” sneered Davis. “Fish and find out, that’s good enough for you.”

There was a loud wail from Ah Sing.

“What’s the matter with you, you terra-cotta image?” asked Frank Davis; “you aren’t dying.”

“Yes, me am a dyer,” answered Ah Sing. “That nigger kickee me under the chinee and makee my teethe all rattlers.”

“Brace up and rub your jaw.”

“Talkee in painee.”

“Don’t talk then; you can use your arms, I suppose? Come and put this chap in the cellar you spoke of.”

“Allee rightee, me makee an effortee,” replied Ah Sing.

“Look sharp, you are such a time. I want to get home to my supper,” said Frank.

“Nigger givee me all the supperee I wan tee.”

He got up after making this doleful remark, and unlocked a door under the verandah.

This led into the cellar, which was spacious and dry. Scores of tea chests were scattered around, and in one corner was a large tin receptacle full of opium.

Ah Sing had stolen this, in small packages, from the works which he superintended for Josiah Davis.

Davis and the Chinaman now took hold of Monday and carried him into the cellar.

They deposited him on the floor, giving him a tea-chest for a pillow.

“Suppose he shouts and makes a noise, so as to attract attention?” remarked Frank. “That won’t do, you know. We must guard against that.”

“Me knockee him on the headee,” Ah Sing replied.

“You may be asleep, or engaged about your business in the day-time. Better gag him.”

“Don’t knowee how to doee thatee, boss.”

“I’ll show you.”

Frank went outside, took down a lantern, and groped about till he found two pieces of wood, which he cut to a certain length and bound together with a piece of string.

Then, on coming back, he said—

“Now, my man, open your mouth. I’ve got a pill for you.”

“Let um go, you have no right to keep me here!” exclaimed Monday. “Um go to a magistrate when you let um loose.”

Davis bestowed a malignant look upon him.

“Perhaps you will never get out. Think yourself lucky that I don’t put a bullet in you,” he replied. “Open that potato trap of yours, double quick! Come, hurry up!”

Monday was obliged to submit.

The gag was put in his mouth. He was now unable to move or speak, and had the pleasant prospect before him of remaining in that condition for probably twenty hours.

Ah Sing and Davis retired; the door was locked and Monday was alone.

The cellar was close and stuffy. Sand flies and mosquitos began to worry him; but luckily for his peace of mind and body, the drowsy feeling produced by the opium-soaked cigar he had smoked, again overcame him.

He went off into a sound sleep.

CHAPTER XLII

A DANGEROUS POSITION—JACK HARKAWAY AND MOLE ARE IN THE POWER OF THE CHINAMAN.

IT was about ten o’clock on the morning following the day that Monday fell into the trap.

At the entrance to the village of Chinatown Jack and Mole dismounted, from mules they had ridden from Singapore.

Telling the guide to let the mules graze, as they should not want them again for several hours, they walked on.

They were on the lookout for the strictly reliable Ah Sing’s pagoda house.

In a short time it greeted their sight.

Ah Sing had been early to the opium factory, seen that everything was going on properly, and returned early.

He was on the lookout for his expected visitors.

A smile of cunning, mingled with avarice, lighted up his countenance.

Part of the night he had been awake arranging his plans.

He had determined to decoy Jack and the professor into the country where he could stupefy them with opium. Then he would, as ordered by Josiah and Frank Davis, cut off both of Harkaway’s ears.

Going back to the pagoda house, he intended to liberate Monday, whose death he did not wish to have on his mind.

It would not be safe for him to remain in Chinatown.

He meant to escape into the interior of the island, where he had friends, and hide himself.

In ten days or less, the steamer would sail with Jack and his friends for England.

All danger of reprisals would be over.

“Good-day, my friend,” exclaimed Jack. “Is our breakfast ready?”

“It is awaiting your honourable and esteemed appetite,” replied Ah Sing.

“What have you got?”

“Tea of the best, pigeons, chickens, steak of cowbeef, chopee from the woolee sheepee, bread, cakes, and the usual condimentees,” was the rejoinder.

“That will do. I am glad you have left puppy dogs, rats, bird’s-nest soup, and other Chinese delicacies out of your bill of fare.”

“I prepare a breakfastee fit for the distinguished Englishmanee. Please follow.”

With a bow, and a childlike, innocent smile. Ah Sing led the way to the top of the house.

This was flat, surrounded by a railing three feet high, up which climbed creepers of various hues.

There was the beautiful blue of the Westaria, mingled with the bright red of the canariensis.

About eight feet above the roof, was suspended an awning to keep off the rays of the sun.

Chairs and tables were scattered about, and two or three straw mattresses were put down for those who wanted to lounge.

A splendid view of the adjacent poppy-fields was to be obtained.

They were one mass of glorious colour.

Ah Sing disappeared to bring up the repast he had prepared for them.

“This is lovely,” remarked Jack.

“Yes,” replied Mole, “the sight will long linger in the memory.”

To the left was a wood of palm-trees, through an opening in which could be seen a small lake embosomed in the foliage.

In the centre of the lake was an island of small proportions, also covered with trees.

Principal among these was the Magnolia, now full of flowers.

“What is that over there?” asked Jack, when the Chinaman returned, and placed the tray on the table.

“The Lake of Pleasure, and the Island of Delight,” replied Ah Sing.

“Are there fish in it?”

“Veree many fishee.”

“What kind?”

“Gold and silver. The highly distinguished visitors to me often go fishee.”

“By Jove! that’s a good idea. We will make a day of it,” said Jack. “Have you tackle?”

“Rodee, linee, plentee, and little wormees for baitees,” Ah Sing answered.

“Good. I don t care much about the opium factory; that will be dry work.”

“True. Who cares how the accursed stuff is made?” observed Mole.

“I prefer fishing,” continued Jack. “We will order dinner and come back here. Are you listening, Sing?”

The representative of the Flowery Land nodded.

“Smokee pipe on the Island of Delight?” he said.

“That will do. Bring the pipes with you.”

“And I say,” exclaimed Mole.

“What is the desire of the most learned?”

“Bring something to drink with you. What have you got?”

“Some champagne drinkee, brandy drinkee,” answered Ah Sing.

Mr. Mole’s eyes glistened.

“A very capital mixture,” exclaimed he, smacking his lips. “We will have some of both, my good fellow.”

They sat down to breakfast, which they enjoyed exceedingly, their appetites being sharpened by their ride.

“It’s funny,” said Jack, “that we saw nothing of Monday before we started.”

“He often goes off like that. I believe he drinks!” Mole rejoined.

“No, he does not. You can’t accuse him of that.”

“You could not tell it by his nose; it is the wrong colour to show it. Ha, ha!”

The professor laughed at his own joke.

“Yours is like a flaming beacon, sir,” remarked Jack.

“All the sun, I assure you. My skin is tender. I can’t stand these high latitudes.”

“Is that it?”

“The vicinity of the equator does not agree with my complexion,” replied Mole.

When Ah Sing again appeared, they had finished eating.

He had a basket containing wine in one hand, and rods, lines, and a box of bait in the other.

“Allee rightee now, excellencees?” he asked.

“Right as rain,” responded Jack. “By the way, did you see a Malay here last evening?”

“No, sir,” answered Ah Sing, carelessly. “Blackee manee no comee here. All regular customers, Chinee.”

Then he watched a butterfly that was hovering over the creepers.

Mr. Mole looked in the basket.

He was satisfied at seeing two bottles of wine and two of brandy, together with pipes, and a ball of opium.

Descending the stairs, they went out into the quaintly-built street, Ah Sing leading the way through the poppy-fields.

Thousands of butterflies, all ablaze with colour like the flower, were flying about.

The eye grew tired of so much colour at last.

It was a relief to reach the green woodland, shrub, bamboo, and cacti, growing between the trees.

There were half-a-dozen small boats moored to a raft.

Ah Sing gave one to each of them, taking another himself.

“Fishee from boatee, or from Island?” he inquired.

“Which do you think best, Mister Strictly Reliable,” Jack asked.

“Allee samee, excellencee.”

“I should like the island, for I am afraid of being swamped in this little craft,” said Mole.

“You can swim, and a dip would not hurt you.”

“There’s the danger of water-snakes.”

“Yes,” put in Ah Sing. “Veree nastee snakes in water.”

At this moment, a long thin snake, with black and white hoops, came up with a spiral motion.

“Lookee! lookee!” cried Ah Sing.

“What is it?”

“Water-snakee; him come up to have little peep at us.”

Mr. Mole was greatly alarmed.

He turned sharply round.

The boat inclined to one side, Mole lost his balance, and stretching out his arms fell with a dismal scream into the lake.

That which he had hoped to avoid had in reality happened to him.

It was deep near the raft, and he sank like a stone.

Frightened by the noise and splash of the catastrophe, the snake shot down to the bottom.

So did Professor Mole.

The snake was as much frightened as he was, and did not make any attempt to molest him.

A smile stole over Ah Sing’s face as he fished up the professor’s straw hat.

“Divee like a duck,” he remarked. “Veree funnee. Heap comical, you betee.”

In a short time Mole regained the surface, gasping for breath, and blowing like a whale or a grampus.

The force of imagination made him think that a snake was twined round his leg.

His face was convulsed with terror, and his eyes were nearly starting out of his head.

“Look out, sir,” laughed Jack. “Beware of the steam roller!”

“Hang rollers; help me out. A serpent is biting me— in fact, a dozen are at me.”

“So many as that?”

“Yes, yes. I descended into a nest of them. Help me out.”

He was clinging to the edge of the raft.

But he had no power to raise himself.

From his appearance, Jack thought that he was going to have an attack of epileptic vertigo.

He went to his assistance at once.

With difficulty the professor, badly scared, and dripping with water, was hauled on to the raft.

His first care was to look for water-snakes about his legs.

He was deeply gratified to find that there were none there.

“Narrow escape,” he exclaimed. “I have shaken them off, I suppose. Ugh! ugly things, nasty, horrid!”

He looked at Ah Sing.

“My Chinese friend,” he added, “I have drunk enough lake water to float a canoe. Give me some brandy.”

“Drawee corkee,” replied Ah Sing.

Suiting the action to the word, he poured out some of the spirit into a glass.

The professor snatched it from his hand, and drank greedily.

“Ah!” he said, drawing a deep breath of satisfaction. “How shall I sing the praises of this noble spirit? All honour to the man who invented it.”

“You will soon dry sir, and if you don’t take a chill you will be none the worse for your ducking,” Jack remarked.

They got into the boats again, Mole steaming like a geyser under the hot sun.

It was a short scull to the island, and, having found a suitable spot, they landed, made their boats fast to the limb of a tree and began fishing.

With the dislike of an Oriental to do anything of an active nature that is not absolutely necessary, Ah Sing sat down, hoisted an umbrella made of strips of bamboo and paper, and looked on.

The fish bit freely, and the sport was good, though the fish were of a small size, the largest scaling half-a-pound only.

Making frequent applications to the bottle, Mr. Mole, in the course of a couple of hours grew sleepy.

“Let us give over for a time and try a pipe, Harkaway?” he exclaimed.

“I’m agreeable,” replied Jack. “These fish are too tame to afford me any excitement.”

“What a fellow you are for that kind of thing, so full of dash and go!”

“I like something to stir the blood, and make the heart beat, sir.”

“I don’t; that’s the difference between us, you know, although you must admit I am bravery itself.”

“When there is no danger,” replied Jack.

“Come, come, don’t say that; I can’t stand your nasty snacks,” protested the professor; “it is base ingratitude.”

“I take it back, sir—you are brave. Didn’t you dive after a water-snake just now?”

“That will do; I accept your apology. Light up the pipes, my pigtailed friend. I am anxious to travel to the realms of bliss in an opium dream, do you hear!”

“Allee rightee, boss; me fixee you first-chop pipee,” Ah Sing replied.

Jack allayed his thirst with some of the sparkling vintage of champagne, which proved to be of rather an inferior quality.

Ah Sing was no judge of wine, his potations being confined to tea and a white Chinese spirit made from rice.

The brandy bottle was Mole’s friend again, and by this time he was getting what the sailors call groggy or halfseas over.

He and Jack selected shady spots under the trees to lie down.

Filling the pipes with opium, Ah Sing lighted them, and handed one to each.

Soon Jack became conscious of a pleasant feeling creeping over him.

He was lifted away, as it were, to a fairer land, where the trees were of gold, bearing precious stones of varied hues.

Beautiful women, clad in rich garments, handed him dainty dishes and drinks, such as he had never seen before.

He was entirely unconscious of his surroundings.

The sweetest music floated in the air, enchanted his soul, and made every fibre of his being thrill with pleasurable emotion.

Ah Sing glided up to him like a snake.

The loud snoring of Mole indicated that he, too, slept soundly.

Both were under the influence of the insidious narcotic.

With a piece of silken cord, Ah Sing bound Jack’s wrists together.

He was rendered helpless if he should wake up.

The Chinaman then produced a knife, which was as sharp as a new razor.

His eyes scintillated, and he shoved his gleaming teeth.

“Now cuttee ears off for Mr. Davis, then runnee away and hidee for a time,” muttered Ah Sing.

Jack was insensible to his danger.

He had fallen into the trap laid for him.

CHAPTER XLIII

MONDAY BECOMES DESPERATE.

IT can readily be imagined how furious Monday was when he found himself a close prisoner in Ah Sing’s cellar.

He was totally unable to move hand or foot, or to utter a cry.

How frantically he blamed himself for being so unsuspecting.

He felt convinced that the cigar given him to smoke had been drugged; for he had the peculiar faculty of being able to keep awake easily for forty-eight hours at a stretch.

Often had he done so in Limbi, and since he left.

That Chinamen were tricky, he knew, but he always fancied he was more cunning than they were.

For once he had been outwitted.

His capture, he was sure, was part of a deep plot on the part of Frank Davis, of which Jack was to be the victim.

And he (Monday) was unable to warn him.

For his own fate he cared little. It was of his master he thought, and for whom he trembled.

In the morning, Jack was coming to Chinatown, and unfortunately the crafty Ah Sing had discovered that he was his servant.

As the night wore on he suffered from thirst, but those pangs were forgotten in his acute mental distress.

His thoughts were bent entirely in devising some means of escape.

In vain he racked his tortured and fevered brain.

The cords defied his most frantic efforts to burst them.

He rolled over and over in his intense agony, and was bathed in a profuse prespiration.

Suddenly his hand touched something sharp, which pricked the skin of his knuckles.

All was dark as pitch in the cellar, though, through a crack in the top of the door, he could see a star twinkling.

He rubbed the back of his hand against the substance that had pricked him.

Some anxious consideration induced him, from its jagged shape, to believe it was an old saw.

Nor was he mistaken.

At some time or other, the saw had been thrown into the cellar, and had stuck in the earth with the teeth upward.

Gradually it had sunk, or been forced in farther and farther, until it was firmly embedded.

Here was a slight chance for the faithful fellow.

He could possibly keep on rubbing the cord round his wrists against the teeth of the saw until he so frayed it, that he would be able to force it asunder.

It was a long and difficult task.

To rub hard would be dangerous, for he might displace the saw, and if it fell on its side, it would be rendered useless.

With the utmost gentleness he set to work.

For hours he kept on, and could feel that he was making but slow progress.

Nevertheless he was progressing, and his heart beat high with hope.

He could not help scratching his skin now and again, which made the blood come.

The pain of the smart he disregarded, because the blood fell on the cord and softened it.

Morning came, yet the sunlight but fitfully came in here and there at the door.

His keen eyes, however, saw that the cord was parting strand by strand.

Noises began to be heard in the street.

Carts went by, and people going to work indulged in conversation and laughter.

Monday grew desperate.

He wanted to be out and about before Jack arrived, so that he might waylay him.

It was useless, however, to be precipitate.

The weary hours dragged their slow length along.

All at once he gave a more energetic jerk than usual.

The saw was dislodged and fell on its side.

Tears fell down Monday’s cheeks, and he could have sobbed aloud at his bad luck, if it had not been for the gag.

For some time he lay as if stunned.

It seemed as if all his patient toil was to go for nothing.

A feeling of despair came over him, and he gave himself up for lost, as well as his master.

He was roused from his lethargy by hearing the sound of Jack’s voice in the street outside.

Jack was talking to Mr. Mole after breakfast, as they went with Ah Sing to fish in the lake.

This fairly maddened Monday.

He tried to throw up his arms with a prodigious effort.

To his unspeakable joy he succeeded in doing so.

The cord, already worn down to a thin point, gave way and fell from his lacerated wrists.

So far Monday was free.

He acknowledged that this was a great advance, but there was more to be done.

With a sigh of relief he removed the gag from his mouth, and was able to breathe freely again.

His jaws were so stiff that it was with pain and difficulty he shut his mouth.

“Nice thing,” he muttered. “Sha’n’t be able to do much in um eating line for some time. Suck um egg, I reckon.”

He next untied the rope that fastened his legs.

When this was done, he rose to his feet and stretched himself.

Now he was confronted with the difficulty of getting out of the cellar, which was locked on the outside.

It was stoutly made of teak wood, such as ships are built of, and the hinges were firm and solid.

To cry out would undoubtedly have brought assistance in time.

Yet it might, he thought, bring Ah Sing, with some of his friends and neighbours, to wreak his vengeance upon him.

What would be easier than for Ah Sing to declare that he was a burglarious thief?

The indignant crowd would fall upon and half kill him.

He knew very well how cruel the Chinese were to all criminals, whether of their own race or another.

They thought nothing of taking the law into their own hands, and administering condign punishment to an offender.

Taking up the old saw, he advanced to the door and tried to prise it open.

For a long time he could make no impression on the lock.

At length he got the saw well under it, gave a jerk, and it fell on the floor.

A gentle gust of wind blew the door open.

Monday, holding himself proudly erect, walked out.

Stepping up to the entrance of the Pagoda house, he saw a Chinaman sweeping the dust off the steps.

Monday had his knife concealed in his clothes; that had not been taken from him.

He intended, if he got the chance, to be revenged on Ah Sing for the scurvy trick he had played him.

It would be dangerous, however, to attack him in the midst of his people.

They would do anything for Ah Sing.

He was quite a small autocrat in his way, for he had the power at the opium-works of engaging or dismissing any workman.

Monday had to watch his opportunity.

“What your name?” asked Monday.

“Loo Choo,” was the reply of the highly industrious order of goodee workers.

“Do um know a gentleman called Ah Sing?”

“The strictly honourable and highly respectable is my master.”

“Where is um respectable?” continued Monday.

“Him gone fishee in the lake,” answered Loo Choo.

“Anybody go with him?”

“Two white gentlemans from Singapore. They go fishee also, with the strictly honourable Ah Sing.”

Monday’s heart gave a big throb.

He was on the track at last.

His primary duty was to find his master, and save him from the machinations of the enemy.

But, in aiding Harkaway, he might be able to settle accounts with Ah Sing also.

“I have very important business with the strictly right honourable, his excellency Ah Sing,” continued Monday.

“Is it of the most pressing?” asked Loo Choo.

“Won’t admit of a moment’s delay.”

“Then you’d better walkee through poppy-fields to the lake. Lookee! it is over there.”

He held up his hand, pointing to the lake, which could be seen among the trees like a sheet of crystal.

“It is callee the Lake of Pleasure,” continued Loo Choo. “In the middlee is the Island of Delight Plaps findee Ah Sing there.”

Monday nodded his head.

He did not stop to hear any more.

At his best pace, he struck through the poppy-fields, hoping that he might yet be in time to save his master from the unknown danger which threatened him.

When he reached the lake, he saw Ah Sing on the island, but discovered no trace of Harkaway or Mole.

This was because they were lying down, and were hidden by the grass and flowers which grew around them.

Ah Sing’s back was turned towards the shore.

Jumping into a boat, Monday seized a scull, and standing in the stern paddled it Indian fashion.

He was careful to make no noise.

When within a few yards of the island, he saw Ah Sing draw a knife and bend over Jack, who was now visible.

Straining every nerve, Monday forced the boat to the land.

He sprang like a tiger on Ah Sing.

It was the crisis of Jack’s fate.

Monday was just in time to seize Ah Sing by the pigtail, and jerk him on to his back.

The knife fell from his hand. It was unstained by blood.

Jack was saved from mutilation.

A moment later, and he would have lost his ears.

Monday held on to the Chinaman’s pigtail with the power of a vise.

He dragged him this way and pulled him that; he lifted him up and let him drop.

“Ho, ho!” he laughed; “um too clever, after all, for um Chinee. Ho, ho! Now we settle um. Mast’ Jack, you wake up and see the fun. Mist’ Mole, get up, sar.”

There was no movement on the part of either of them.

Monday saw the opium pipes.

“Ah,” he added, “give um opium joint. Artful dodge. Well, no matter. Not poison. Wake up soon.”

He danced up and down in the exuberance of his glee.

“Lettee go; me do no harmee,” said Ah Sing.

“Confess. What were you going to do with that knife—kill?”

“No killee.”

“What then?”

“Mister Davis order me to cut off both ears of the mandarin, Harkaway.”

“Gorramighty!” exclaimed Monday, “that am um large order. Ho, ho! Me show you.”

Picking up Ah Sing’s knife, he made a sudden slash at his pigtail.

It was severed at a blow.

He held it up in triumph.

Ah Sing sank on his knees with a look of abject misery and despair on his face.

According to Chinese ideas, he was disgraced forever.

It was the honoured growth of many, many years, and at his age he could never hope to recover its loss.

CHAPTER XLIV

BESIEGED ON THE ISLAND

AT first, the abject misery of Ah Sing was pitiable to witness.

He would much rather have lost his ears than his beloved pigtail.

To lose this was to lose caste among his compatriots.

The Chinamans pigtail is his pride and delight.

Without it he is nothing.

He feels, when it is gone, as a woman would if her hair was cropped short to her head.

Grovelling on the ground, he uttered dismal moans and groans.

Then his mood changed.

He gnashed his teeth with rage and foamed at the mouth.

Monday laughed at his distress, and feeling in his clothes to satisfy himself that he had no concealed weapons, turned his attention to his young master.

He shook Jack and also Mr. Mole, but he could not succeed in rousing them.

Both were deeply steeped in the opium trance.

“Very funny thing they sleep so hard,” he said to himself. “If Mist’ Mole drink, that not the case with Massa Jack. He always keep um head level. No mistake ’bout that.”

He cast his eyes on the grass, and saw the basket with the bottles in it.

“Good!” he exclaimed—“jus’ what this child wants; him dry as an oven. Have um fine drink now.”

He opened a bottle of champagne and greedily drank half the contents out of the bottle.

“Save um life,” he went on; “lovely! Jus’ like velvet going down ’um throat.”

Suddenly the idea occurred to him that the wine might be poisoned.

Yes, that would account for the prostrate condition of Jack and the professor.

He would be similarly attacked before long.

His dusky countenance lengthened, and he began to feel imaginary pains in the region of his stomach.

All this time he had forgotten the presence of Ah Sing.

A splashing noise attracted his attention.

Looking around he saw that the crafty Chinese had got into one of the boats, and tied the others to it, and was sculling towards the land as fast as he could.

Escape from the island was effectually cut off, except by swimming.

Monday did not know how to act in this emergency, for he and his friends were virtually prisoners.

He had not intended to let Ah Sing escape, because he was afraid he would create mischief.

The fellow, however, had been too sharp for him, and had, as the saying is, stolen a march.

“Never mind, said Monday. “We all three know how to swim, and when Mast’ Jack and Mist’ Mole open their eyes, we very soon get on the land, and so to um home.”

He looked at the shore as he spoke, and saw Ah Sing putting dry grass under the boats, which he had piled together.

To this he set a light.

In ten minutes there was a rare conflagration, the flames and smoke ascending to a great height.

They could be seen for some distance through the opening among the palm trees.

“What the debble him up to now?”mused Monday. “Poor kind of spite to burn um boat.”

He waved his hand to Ah Sing.

“Hi!” he shouted, “you Chinee nigger, hi!”

His voice was easily audible.

“I givee you hi! hi! presently,” was the reply in a vengeful tone.

“None of your cheek, or I’ll swim over and tan your hide another colour!”

“Tryee!” sneered Ah Sing. “When you come near enough, me breakee headee with oar. Crackee skullee—so!”

Ah Sing took up an oar, and made as if he was hitting an imaginary body in the water.

He meant that he would not allow anybody to land.

Nor was this an idle threat.

The Chinaman was thoroughly master of the situation.

From his position on the bank, the Chinaman could have readily kept the three of them off for any length of time.

Or, if they persisted in an attempt to land, he could stun and drown them.

Monday shook his head.

“Him artful nig’,” he muttered, “Don’t like um game at all. There’s more behind, I’m thinking.”

In this conjecture Monday was quite right.

There was a good deal more to come than he had any idea of.

Ah Sing was determined to have his revenge for the loss of his pigtail, and, at the same time, he hoped to be able to carry out Frank Davis’s instructions regarding Harkaway.

Many members of his family resided in Chinatown, and he knew that they would rally round him.

In fact, all the Chinese in the place were at his beck and call.

To cut off a Chinaman’s pigtail is quite enough to raise a riot anywhere.

If a disturbance took place, and Jack, Monday, and Mole got injured, it would be difficult to fix the blame on anyone in particular.

Ah Sing was burning the boats as a signal.

His fellow-countrymen would see the smoke and flames.

They would hurry from home and factory to his side, and help him to besiege the island.

It would soon be surrounded by two or three score of howling, fanatical Chinese.

Most, if not all of them, would have guns and knives.

To fire from the shore would be practicable; to swim over with a knife, quite easy.

It threatened to be a terrible night for Jack and his friends.

Monday was alarmed, he scarcely knew why.

“What you going to do next?” he asked.

Ah Sing produced a pistol from a pocket inside his blouse.

Cocking it he presented it at Monday and fired.

The bullet fell into the water, a few yards from the Malay.

“Um getting hot,” Monday muttered. “Pistol not come near enough. Gun do um trick though. Getting what Mast’ Jack call ‘rather sultry.’ Perhaps be gory later on. How to get out of this fix, I’m sure I don’t know.”

He shook his fist at Ah Sing.

“You coward beast of a Chinee. Your father is being burnt now, and your grandfather, and all um ancestors. Their bones are cursed!” Monday continued.

“A wisee man keepee a silent tongue,” replied Ah Sing.

“Where’s your pigtail, ha! ha!”

“Laughee now, cryee soon.”

“That’s your opinion, perhaps—it isn’t mine. Let me see how far my little pop-gun will carry um ball.”

Monday produced his pistol, and fired at Ah Sing.

It was a superior weapon, manufactured by an English firm, which Jack had bought, and of which he had made him a present.

Ah Sing smiled in his jaundiced, sickly manner, and stretched out his right hand in token of derision.

Because his pistol had not carried across the lake, he fancied the Malay’s would not.

In this belief he found himself highly mistaken.

The bullet found him, and, strangely enough, it struck the hand he was holding up.

In a second the third finger was entirely smashed, and hanging on by a piece of skin down the palm.

The pain was acute, and his dismay great.

With a howl like a wounded wolf, Ah Sing retreated behind the burning boats.

He was, so far, getting the worst of it.

“How um like that?” asked Monday. “Pretty good shot, I think. Chinee skunk take a back seat now.”

Suddenly he was startled at hearing the beating of several gongs.

The Chinese always beat gongs when they are excited, pleased or surprised.

It was evident that Ah Sing, by his big beacon fire, had roused the attention of his friends.

The alarm was spreading right and left, and they were leaving their work and occupations to come and render him such assistance as lay in their power.

It was about four o’clock in the afternoon; the sun was declining, and a thin haze was rising over the lake.

Monday went up to Jack, and taking a thorn from a mimosa bush, ran it into his flesh.

“Wake up, Mast’ Jack! For heaven’s sake, stir yourself!” he said.

Jack yawned and stretched himself, opened his eyes, and saw his faithful servant.

“You here!” he remarked. “By Jove, how did you find me out? Oh, how bad I feel! Nice dreams, but such an awakening! My head feels about half as big again as it ought to feel. I am so low-spirited, too. I shouldn’t mind drowning myself in the lake.”

It was the usual depression consequent on smoking opium.

Mr. Mole sprang up.

“No more should I, Jack; it really drives me to drink. Where is the eau-de-vie? Give me some of the three-star brandy. Oh, dear, what anacreontic follies I have seen in my sleep! Glad you have come, Monday. I like to have a nigger about me, it saves such a lot of trouble,” said he.

Monday, who had roused him in the same way he had Jack, regarded him indignantly.

“Be um own nigger,” he replied.

“Don’t get vexed, my good fellow.”

“Get ’em brandy best way um can. Want my services in another way soon.”

“How’s that?” asked Mr. Mole. “We will go home now and all will be serene.”

“Ha! don’t know all. Got to reach home first.”

“What’s to stop us?”

“The Chinese people heap big plot against you,” said Monday. “I only come here jus’ in time to save Mast’ Jack’s life.”

Jack looked at the black with astonishment.

“Is that true?” he asked.

“Jus’ as true as I’m standing up alive here. Me tell um all. Listen, sare.”

Monday related all that had happened since he left Singapore to make inquiries about Ah Sing, and find out what was likely to happen in Chinatown.

Jack’s face assumed an earnest look. He had come out for a day’s fishing, and he found that he was in for what seemed like a night’s fighting.

His placid contentment passed away.

He became anxious and worried, and his eagle eyes sparkled with excitement; but at the same time he preserved his self-control.

At every crisis, Jack was invariably calm and confident.

Never did he lose his head.

“This is a plot of Davis’s,” he said, “and I have been fool enough to tumble into the pit.”

“We are in a nice boat,” observed the professor. “It is just like my luck when I come out with you.”

“Who would have thought it, sir?”

“You should have stayed at home—don’t be so venturesome. We owe our lives to this poor, faithful, uneducated savage, who has outwitted the Chinaman.”

“Me better man than him,” replied Monday, grinning.

The sound of the gongs came nearer, and yet more near.

“Do you hear that, sir?” cried Jack. “We are in the power of the Chinese wretches. There are no white men near here. They will besiege us on this island.”

“Bah! the boats are burnt.”

“But they have firearms which will carry as far as we are. They can swim like fishes, and possess knives.”

“It jolly bad bit of business,” Monday remarked.

“Our lives do not seem worth an hour’s purchase,” rejoined Harkaway.

“Let us plunge into the water, swim across, and make a dash for it. I’m game if you are,” Mole suggested.

“That would be to throw ourselves into their hands. Practically, we are even now all surrounded. The Chinese are coming from every side.”

“What shall we do, then?”

“Hold the fort—that is to say, the island. We have the advantage of trees here. See! five are growing together; their trunks will make a shield for us. You and I have pistols.”

“Shall we fire at them?”

“Only if they attempt to swim over and land,” Jack answered. “Keep all your cartridges.”

“Me got um bag full,” said Monday.

“Excellent! We shall need them all before morning, it strikes me. My great hope is in Harvey. He is bad with the ague, but I told him this morning before we started where we were going, and ordered dinner for seven o’clock. If we don’t turn up, he and Emily will guess there is something wrong.”

“Good old Harvey—bless him!” exclaimed Mr. Mole.

“Your idea of the tree fort is a splendid one. I will retire at once and seek shelter; yes, seek its kindly protection, as I am rather nervous after that confounded opium, and I will, for safety, take the basket and what liquor is left with me.”

Carrying the basket with him, the professor went into the natural fort which Jack’s quick sight had discovered.

It was admirably adapted for its purpose.

Five trees, with large trunks, grew close together in a semicircle.

No bullet could penetrate through this admirable defence.

To reconnoitre the movements of the enemy it was only necessary to cautiously peep round either corner.

The one danger was, that they might be taken in the rear.

In that case they would have to fight for their lives, and they were all three equally resolved to battle to the death.

Presently, numbers of pigtailed Chinamen began to assemble in the vicinity of the bonfire.

This was gradually dying out.

Ah Sing could be seen speaking to them in an excited manner, pointing to his head, and evidently explaining the way in which he had lost his much-cherished hair.

Great indignation was expressed by his friends.

Half-a-dozen of the Chinese brandished knives in the air and then plunging into the water, began to swim across the lake.

Twenty more ran round its sides, stopping one by one at intervals, making a cordon.

These were posted as sentinels to prevent the prisoners on the island from escaping.

Others went back to Chinatown to procure guns.

“They are coming, Mast’ Jack,” said Monday; “we are in for it now, no mistake.”

“Chinamen are not a very hard crowd to tackle,” replied Jack, “they are soon cowed.”

“What you do, sare?”

“Pepper them with my revolver. They know they are acting illegally; the judge at Singapore would soon let them find out that.”

“No good think of that; all um folks are Chinee. No white man to prove anything.”

“That is true; we have got to defend ourselves.”

“Davis at the bottom of this,” Monday continued; “wonder he am not here.”

“I don’t suppose he knows of the turn affairs have taken; if he did, he would not dare to show his face,” Jack replied.

The six swimmers had narrowed the distance between them and the island.

“What do you want over here?” asked Jack, loudly.

Ah Sing, who was standing on the bank, took upon himself to respond.

“They comee to fishee,” he said.

“They be hanged!” replied Jack. “Do you think I am such a fool as to believe such a yarn?”

“It is the trufee, I swearee.”

“Call your men back, or I will fire! Do you hear me? I don’t want to injure anybody, but I must protect myself.”

“What you shootee poor Chinamanee for? Island not yours. I am one of the strictly honourables.”

“Yes, you are, over the left. I would not trust one of your puppy-dog, rat-eating race, farther than I could see him.”

“Listen to the most highly respectable,” exclaimed Ah Sing.

“I’ll not hear a word,” shouted Jack. “Call off your sharks; call your bloodhounds back. I know what is meant.”

“No harmee; want to make friends, shakee hands.”

“Cut throats rather, you yellow-faced humbug.”

“No callee,” said Ah Sing, doggedly. “Those men my brudders; they go fishee.”

“Your brothers, eh? If you have any regard for them, you will tell them to return.”

Ah Sing shook his head.

He knew that he was running no great risk, because the resident magistrate in his district was no other than Josiah Davis.

Frank’s father would hush up the affair, and protect him if a tragedy took place.

He felt himself at liberty to kill Jack, Mole, and Monday, the pretext for the crime being the cutting off of his pigtail.

Jack hesitated no longer.

He fired at the foremost swimmer.

The unfortunate man received the ball in the shoulder.

He uttered a wild shriek of pain.

The other five rallied round him, and preventing him from sinking, turned round.

The attack was over for the present.

They were frightened, and seemed bent only on saving his life, for they turned tail and swam back, supporting their wounded friend as best they could.

“Hurrah!” cried Jack, “first blood to our side.”

“That was good shot, sare,” replied Monday.

“Look out at the rear, I will watch this side. Not a mother’s son of them shall land here, you bet.”

Monday faced about.

There was an open space between the clump of trees and the next lot, which any one attacking them would have to cross.

Mr. Mole looked round the corner, with a bottle of brandy in one hand, and a pistol in the other.

“If you want assistance, Harkaway, call me,” he said. “You know you can always rely on yours truly, Isaac Mole.”

“The enemy have suffered a repulse, sir,” answered Jack.

“Shall we be able to hold the fort against these barbarians?”

“I hope so, or it will be all up with us.”

“It is lucky I am with you,” exclaimed Mole. “Somehow my presence always seems to awe savages. I suppose it is owing to my long intercourse with schoolboys, who are little else.”

“What do you call yourself?” asked Jack.

“A man amongst men. Certainly a head and shoulders taller, morally, than others,” Mole replied, complacently.

All at once, a peculiar sound was heard.

It was the crack of a rifle, and the “ping” of a bullet.

This leaden messenger of death whizzed between the professor and Jack, embedding itself deeply in one of the trees.

A Chinaman had brought down a rifle, and fired from the edge of the lake.

It was a narrow escape.

“Close shave that, sir,” said Jack, coolly.

Mr. Mole had vanished.

A sepulchral voice coming from behind the trees, replied—

“Shelter is the thing. No use in locking the stable door when the horse is stolen. Come here. The miscreants will get the range directly, and there will be a dead Harkaway lying about somewhere.”

“I thought you were morally superior to the rest of us,” Jack replied, laughing.

“So l am. It is nothing to laugh at. I have learnt prudence.”

Jack discharged his pistol in defiance.

He did not think it would carry so far, but one of the Chinese fell to the earth.

“By Jove, there’s another dog down!” he exclaimed. “Hear the cur yelp.”

“So would you, if you had an ounce of lead in you.”

“Not I. It isn’t my disposition to make a song about trifles.”

“Don’t brag. Come here,” said Mole.

Jack did so.

His last shot had alarmed the Chinamen, and the “johnnies,” as they were called, retreated.

The swimmers reached the land; their wounded companion was dragged out of the water and carried away.

Two litters of bamboo were hastily made, and the two injured ones removed to their homes.

Those who remained crowded together, talking and gesticulating, as if holding a council of war.

Monday was nowhere to be seen.

The enemy made no further forward movement. Indeed, some of them left the scene, and proceeded to their homes.

Jack lighted a cigar and contented himself with watching Ah Sing and his friends.

“Are they tired of the job?” asked Mole.

“No, sir,” replied Jack; “the artful beggars are waiting for night to come.”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m sure of it. When darkness falls, they will make things lively, take my word for it.”

Some shots were heard on the other side of the island.

“A pound to a postage-stamp that is Monday,” said Jack.

“I thought he had gone to hide,” observed Mole.

“To scout, you mean. You might hide in holes and corners, but my black would not.”

“That’s right, stick up for your coloured friend,” Mole said, sarcastically.

“Why not? He is my friend as much as you are, and has proved himself so on more than one occasion,” Jack retorted.

Presently Monday came running up.

He was rather excited, and out of breath.

“I caught two of um Chinee,” he exclaimed. “They swim over other side, to sneak up this way.”

“What did you do with them?” asked Jack.

“Jus’ say, what price you? how much the pair of you? and drop them with my pistol, dead as mutton, sare. Got to keep um eyes open, time like this.”

“Sit down and have a drop of brandy.”

“That jus’ touch the spot,” Monday answered. “I’m pretty near beat after las’ night, sare.”

A drink seemed to revive him wonderfully, and no wonder, as he was thoroughly exhausted through what he had undergone.

“Now lie down and go to sleep,” said Jack, kindly. “I’ll keep watch while you have a much needed forty winks, and will wake you if there is any more over there.”

“I’m one of the toughs, Mast’ Jack, but I’ll have to give in,” replied Monday.

“You are not made of iron.”

Monday threw himself down, but before he had time to go to sleep, Jack noticed a commotion among the Chinese. They began to run helter-skelter in all directions.

The strictly reliable and highly respectable Ah Sing was about the first to go.

Soon the place was cleared of them.

“Get up, Monday,” cried Jack.

The black was on his feet in a moment.

“Anyone coming, sare?” he asked.

“I don’t know, the heathen are bolting like mad.”

“That am good news. Glad to see back of um rubbish like that.”

They waited expectantly for a few minutes.

Then they beheld a half-dozen of Singapore policemen, with a gentleman at their head, come to the lake.

“By heaven!” exclaimed Jack, “it is Harvey with some constables. Bravo, Dick! I thought he would not rest.”

He left the shelter of the trees, and showed himself, followed by Mole and Monday.

“Harkaway!” shouted Harvey.

“Here I am, all right up to date,” was the reply.

“Hurrah! Have you been in danger?”

“Rather!”

“I thought so. During the day I grew uneasy about you, and going to the head of the police, got a squad, and came on here. At Chinatown, we heard that Ah Sing was after some white men at the lake, who had been insulting and assaulting him.”

“It is false; he was the aggressor! You are just in time, and I can never thank you enough for your timely succour,” replied Jack. “I will explain all presently.”

“Frank Davis, I suppose.”

“No doubt of it. Another trap! I won’t give him a chance again, though.”

“That fellow ought to be born again,” said Harvey.

“But I say, old chappie, how are you going to get over?”

“Swim it,” Jack answered.

He set the example by plunging into the water. Monday followed, and Mr. Mole nervously brought up the rear.

Speedily Jack was shaking hands with Harvey.

The Chinamen, afraid of the Singapore police, whose assistance Dick had invoked on behalf of his friend, dispersed.

They did not attempt any further acts of violence.

Their return to the city was accomplished in peace.

During the remainder of their stay at Singapore, which was very brief, they neither saw nor heard anything more of Frank Davis.

When word was brought them that the steamer was ready to sail for Europe, they were all delighted, especially Emily and Mr. Mole.

While he was residing in Singapore, Jack had made a wonderful collection of guns, bows, spears, and all sort of things he thought would be interesting to the good folks at home.

Six boxes, or rather packing-cases, were filled with curiosities of savage and tropical life.

He had enough to start a museum.

And with all this he had a supply of live stock, including monkeys, parrots, and even a snake or two.

When he wrote home, he spoke in the most affectionate and loving terms of Emily.

He wanted to make sure of a welcome for the poor orphan whom he loved so fondly.

She had no one but him to look to now.

He was her only, her sole friend.

CHAPTER XLV

HOME AGAIN

LUGGAGE was not a consideration to our travellers.

All they possessed they had bought at Singapore.

Monday had attired himself in canvas shirt, trousers, and jacket, with a straw hat.

Harvey said he looked a very intelligent and decent nigger indeed.

They went on board the steamer, and made a rapid passage to London, without encountering any accident.

This was a wonder, Jack remarked, considering he was on board.

Harvey went to his father’s house in the suburbs.

Mr. Mole took up his abode at an hotel.

Jack and Emily, with Monday, went by train to Mr. Bedington’s house.

They were not unexpected, because the boys had telegraphed from Singapore, informing them of their safety, and their probable speedy arrival.

It was a lovely evening in autumn, as the fly drove up to the house.

Emily’s heart beat quicker than Jack’s.

“If your friends should not be kind to me,” she said, “I shall die.”

Jack pressed her hand.

“Do not fear on that account,” he said softly.

In a few minutes he was shaking his father by the hand, and being kissed by his mother.

“My boy, my darling!” exclaimed Mrs. Bedington, “we never expected to see you again. What perils you must have gone through!”

“A few, mother,” replied Jack. “I shall astonish you when I tell you some stories.”

“So you have had enough of the sea, John?” observed his father.

“Enough and to spare,” answered Jack.

Emily remained timidly in the background.

“But,” replied Mrs. Bedington, “where is little Emily of whom you spoke in your letter which came overland from Aden?”

“Emmy, where are you?” cried Jack.

Emily stepped forward.

“My dear child,” continued Mrs. Bedington, “in future you are to be my daughter. We are not strangers, you know, for we have met before.”

Emily sobbed on her shoulder.

“Bless me! what’s this?” exclaimed Mr. Bedington.

He saw something black, with white, gleaming teeth, in the passage.

“That’s my tame nigger,” said Jack.

“Your what?” said his mother.

“Only Monday. It’s the cheese, where I’ve been, to start a private nigger.”

“Step forward, Monday, and let’s have a look at you,” said Mr. Bedington.

Monday came forward, bowing profoundly.

“He saved my life, mother, more than once,” remarked Jack.

“That is enough, dear, to secure him a home beneath this roof.”

“Monday, mum, do um work for Mast’ Jack, but he no wait ’pon other peoples,” said the black, drawing himself up.

“He’s a king in his own country, and gave up a throne to stick to me,” said Jack.

“What a wonderful instance of fidelity!” replied Mrs. Bedington.

“It’s true, mother. I’m not cramming you.”

“I didn’t say you were, John. Have you anything else?”

“Yes; lots of things.”

“Any monkeys, parrots, vegetable productions—all the fauna and flora of the distant lands you have visited?”

“I think you will find I have a very neat collection indeed, mother,” replied Jack.

Monday was sent to the servants’ hall, and was as much an object of amusement to the inmates as they were to him.

Mrs. Bedington and Emily retired upstairs to talk at their ease, while Mr. Bedington and Jack took a turn arm in arm in the garden.

It may be readily imagined that some wonderful stories were related that night.

Jack and Emily were the lion and lioness of the evening.

In a few days, friends came from all parts to see them.

Mr. Crawcour and his masters were among the visitors.

Everyone listened breathlessly to tales of Limbians and Pisangs, of desert islands and volcanoes, of pirates and dungeons.

All concurred in detestation of Hunston.

It was hoped that he had perished in the pirate city. Jack had his doubts.

When questioned upon the subject he would say—

“The beggar has nine lives. I daresay he’ll turn up again some day.”

For a fortnight the time passed very pleasantly.

He rode his father’s best horse, and drove Emily out in his mother’s pony carriage.

Monday accompanied them on all occasions, as groom or personal attendant.

After a while Mr. Bedington called Jack into his study.

“Have you had enough of sea,” he asked, “or do you still want to follow it as a profession?”

“No,” replied Jack; “I don’t.”

“Now, the question is, what would you like to be?”

“A soldier,” replied Jack. “Buy me a commission in the army.”

“I have no objection to that, but don’t you think you would be all the better for a year or two at a university?” replied Mr. Bedington.

“Just what I should like.”

“We wish to study your happiness,” answered Mr. Bedington. “Now which university would you like to go to ?”

“Oxford; it is more swell than Cambridge,” replied jack.

Mr. Bedington smiled.

“Very well, to Oxford you shall go.”

“Thank you very much,” replied Jack. “May I ask you another favour?”

“Certainly.”

“You are well off?”

“Yes.”

“My friend Harvey’s parents are poor. He was my friend during my troubles with the savages, and he has often told me it would make a man of him if he could go to Oxford.”

“Well?” replied Mr. Bedington.

“Will you pay for him too? I would so like to have him up at Oxford with me.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Bedington.

Jack was overjoyed at this concession.

It was settled that he and Harvey should go to Oxford.

Emily went away to Paris to finish her education.

Jack and Harvey had a private tutor at Mr. Bedington’s, who in a short time prepared them for their examination.

This they passed with flying colours.

At the commencement of term they were to take up their residence at college.

We shall now introduce to our readers the career of Jack Harkaway at Oxford.

We trust they will follow him with as much interest, and may we hope, pleasure, as they have hitherto been kind enough to do.

Life at Oxford presents temptations and trials, adventures and triumphs, of all of which it will be found that our old friend Jack Harkaway had his full share, and bore himself bravely through everything.

Table of Contents

JACK HARKAWAY'S SCHOOLDAYS.

- CHAPTER I
- CHAPTER II
- CHAPTER III
- CHAPTER IV
- CHAPTER V
- CHAPTER VI
- CHAPTER VII
- CHAPTER VIII
- CHAPTER IX
- CHAPTER X
- CHAPTER XI
- CHAPTER XII
- CHAPTER XIII
- CHAPTER XIV
- CHAPTER XV
- CHAPTER XVI
- CHAPTER XVII
- CHAPTER XVIII
- CHAPTER XIX
- CHAPTER XX
- CHAPTER XXI
- CHAPTER XXII
- CHAPTER XXIII
- CHAPTER XXIV
- CHAPTER XXV
- CHAPTER XXVI
- CHAPTER XXVII
- CHAPTER XXVIII
- CHAPTER XXIX
- CHAPTER XXX
- CHAPTER XXXI
- CHAPTER XXXII
- CHAPTER XXXIII
- CHAPTER XXXIV
- CHAPTER XXXV
- CHAPTER XXXVI
- CHAPTER XXXVII
- CHAPTER XXXVIII
- CHAPTER XXXIX
- CHAPTER XL
- CHAPTER XLI
- CHAPTER XLII
- CHAPTER XLIII
- CHAPTER XLIV
- CHAPTER I
- CHAPTER II
- CHAPTER III
- CHAPTER IV
- CHAPTER V
- CHAPTER VI
- CHAPTER VII
- CHAPTER VIII
- CHAPTER IX
- CHAPTER X
- CHAPTER XI
- CHAPTER XII
- CHAPTER XIII

JACK HARKAWAY AFTER SCHOOLDAYS.

- CHAPTER I
- CHAPTER II
- CHAPTER III
- CHAPTER IV
- CHAPTER V
- CHAPTER VI
- CHAPTER VII
- CHAPTER VIII
- CHAPTER IX
- CHAPTER X
- CHAPTER XI
- CHAPTER XII
- CHAPTER XIII
- CHAPTER XIV
- CHAPTER XV
- CHAPTER XVI
- CHAPTER XVII
- CHAPTER XVIII
- CHAPTER XIX
- CHAPTER XX
- CHAPTER XXI
- CHAPTER XXII
- CHAPTER XXIII
- CHAPTER XXIV
- CHAPTER XXV
- CHAPTER XXVI
- CHAPTER XXVI
- CHAPTER XXVIII
- CHAPTER XXIX
- CHAPTER XXX
- CHAPTER XXXI
- CHAPTER XXXII
- CHAPTER XXXIII
- CHAPTER XXXIV
- CHAPTER XXXVI
- CHAPTER XXXVII
- CHAPTER XXXVIII
- CHAPTER XXXIX
- CHAPTER XL
- CHAPTER XLI
- CHAPTER XLII
- CHAPTER LXIII
- CHAPTER XLIV
- CHAPTER XLV
- CHAPTER XLVI
- CHAPTER XLVII
- CHAPTER XLVIII
- CHAPTER XLIX
- CHAPTER L
- CHAPTER LI
- CHAPTER LII
- CHAPTER LIII
- CHAPTER LIV
- CHAPTER LV
- CHAPTER LVI

JACK HARKAWAY’S ADVENTURES AFLOAT AND ASHORE

- CHAPTER I
- CHAPTER II
- CHAPTER III
- CHAPTER IV
- CHAPTER V
- CHAPTER VI
- CHAPTER VII
- CHAPTER VIII
- CHAPTER IX
- CHAPTER X
- CHAPTER XI
- CHAPTER XII
- CHAPTER XIII
- CHAPTER XIV
- CHAPTER XV
- CHAPTER XXI
- CHAPTER XVII
- CHAPTER XVIII
- CHAPTER XIX
- CHAPTER XX
- CHAPTER XXI
- CHAPTER XXII
- CHAPTER XXIII
- CHAPTER XXIV
- CHAPTER XXV
- CHAPTER XXVI
- CHAPTER XXVII
- CHAPTER XXVIII
- CHAPTER XXIX
- CHAPTER XXX
- CHAPTER XXXI
- CHAPTER XXXII
- CHAPTER XXXIII
- CHAPTER XXXIV
- CHAPTER XXXV
- CHAPTER XXXVI
- CHAPTER XXXVII
- CHAPTER XXXVIII
- CHAPTER XXXIX
- CHAPTER XLIII
- CHAPTER XLIV
- CHAPTER XLV