Chapter 3

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_ CHAPTER THREE.

"What are we to do now?" asked Paul, after he had secured his hold in the main-chains.

"Hold on, Jack, where you are, while I will go and try to help some of our shipmates," answered Reuben. "There's Mr Devereux, who can't do much to help himself; and the young Mounseer, I should like to save him."

Several men had already got to the upper side of the ship, some in the main, and others in the mizen-chains, while others were in the rigging. As the ship was light, she still floated high out of the water. Many might possibly, therefore, be alive below. Reuben had not been gone long, when he put his head through the port, singing out--

"Here, Paul, lend a hand and help up Mr Devereux."

Devereux had been partially stunned, but had happily clung to a stanchion, where Reuben had found him. Paul hauled him up, while Reuben again dived in search of some one else. He was gone for some time, and Paul began to fear that some accident had happened to him. At length his voice was again heard.

"Hurrah, Paul, here he is; and what is more, he has his fiddle, too, all safe and sound."

Sure enough, there was Alphonse and his beloved fiddle in its case, which he had contrived to get up from below at no little risk of being drowned himself.

"Ah! I would not part from this," he exclaimed, as he made himself secure in the chains. "It is my own dear friend; shall I play you a tune now?"

"No, thank ye, Mounseer, it might chance to get wet, and may be there are more poor fellows to help up here," answered Reuben.

"Ah! truly, I forgot what had happened," said Alphonse in a dreamy tone, showing that his mind was wandering, overcome by the sudden catastrophe. It was no time for laughter, or Paul would have laughed at the oddness of the young Frenchman's remark. Still, awful as was the scene, he felt very little sensation of fear. The night was very dark, the wind howled, the rain fell in torrents, the sea dashed over the wreck, nearly washing off those who clung to it, while vivid flashes of lightning darted from the clouds and went hissing along like fiery serpents over the summits of the waves. The party in the main-chains spoke but little. It seemed too probable that none of them would ever see another day. Indeed, even should the ship not go down, Paul feared that Devereux could scarcely endure the hardships of their situation. He asked Reuben if nothing could be done.

"If we could get at the axes, we might cut away the masts and the ship might right," answered Reuben. "But, you see, we want daylight and the officers to give the order, so that all may act together."

While he was speaking, a voice was heard apparently from the mizen rigging, shouting, "Cut, I say, all of you; cut, I say, and cut together."

It was that of Mr Noakes. Directly after, a flash of lightning revealed him standing in the mizen-top, holding on with one hand, while he waved the other wildly around. His nervous system had been completely weakened by drinking, and it was evident that he had lost his senses. He continued to shout louder and louder, and then to abuse the crew for not obeying his orders. Flash after flash of lightning revealed him still waving his arm; his hat had fallen off, and his long grizzly hair flew wildly about his head. He seemed unaware of the danger of his position and indifferent to the seas which frequently dashed over him. He was thus seen standing, when a sea rose high above the half-submerged hull, and rolling over the after part, struck the mizen-top. A loud shriek was heard, and by the glare of a flash of forked lightning, the unhappy officer, the victim of hard drinking, was seen borne away amid its foaming waters. In vain he stretched out his arms to catch at floating ropes; in vain he struck out boldly towards the ship, and shouted to his men to help him. His strength was as nothing, no aid could be given, and in another instant the waves closed for ever over his head. O'Grady was the only other officer not accounted for. He had been below, and it was to be hoped had got to the upper side and had thus escaped being drowned. While his messmates were inquiring for him, his voice was heard shouting for help. He had clambered up through a hatchway, scarcely knowing what had occurred. Reuben Cole and Paul helped him up to the main-chains. Devereux and Alphonse bore up wonderfully well. The former especially showed what spirit and courage ran do under difficulties and hardships.

"I wish that the day were come," said Paul more than once.

"It's what many have wished before, boy, and if has come in good time," answered Reuben.

"There's just only one thing for it, and that's patience, as Sandy McPherson, an old shipmate of mine, used to say whenever he was in trouble."

The dawn did come at last, but it was very grey and very cold; but the wind and sea had gone down and the ship was still afloat. Whether she could be saved was the first question asked by all. Devereux was now senior officer, but his experience was very limited.

"I wish that I had attended more to this sort of thing," he observed to O'Grady. "I never thought of the possibility of this happening to myself."

"Faith, I can't say that I ever thought much about it either," answered the other midshipman. "But I think that we couldn't do better than to follow old Noakes's last order, to cut away the masts. If the ship keeps on her side much longer, she'll go down, that's pretty certain."

"It's very well to give the order, but where are the axes to cut with?" asked Devereux.

"Well, to be sure, I didn't think about that," answered O'Grady. "But I'll volunteer to go and search for them, and probably others will come and help me."

"I will, sir," exclaimed Paul, who overheard the conversation.

"And so will I," said Reuben Cole; "and what is more, even if the ship does not go down, we shall starve if we don't, for there isn't a scrap of food among any of us."

Alphonse also expressed his readiness to go on the expedition, but O'Grady begged that he would remain and take care of Devereux. No time was to be lost. As soon as there was sufficient light for them to see, securing themselves by ropes, they slipped through a port and disappeared. Devereux, who was unfit for any exertion, remained in the chains. Some minutes passed. He became at last very anxious about his companions. He shouted to them, but no one replied. It appeared to him that the ship was turning over more, and settling deeper than before in the water.

"They have only gone a short time before me," he thought. "It matters but little, yet how unfit I am to die. But I must not yield without a struggle. People in our circumstances have formed rafts and escaped; why should not we? Though without food, or water, or compass, or chart, we shall be badly off." He proposed his plan to Alphonse and the people near him. All promised to obey his directions. They were on the point of climbing along the masts to get at the lighter spars, when Paul poked his head through a port, flourishing above it an axe.

"We've found them, we've found them," he shouted; "but there's no time to be lost, for the water is already making its way through the hatches."

The rest of the party appearing, corroborated this statement. Devereux roused up his energies and distributed his crew, some at the masts, and the rest at the shrouds.

"Cut off all, and cut together!" he shouted. In a minute every shroud and stay and mast was cut through. The effect was instantaneous. The ship rolled up on an even keel so rapidly, that Devereux and those with him could with difficulty climb over the bulwarks to regain the deck. Their condition was but little improved, for so much water had got down below, that it seemed improbable the ship could swim long, and there she lay a dismasted wreck in the middle of the wide Atlantic. The young commander's first wish was to endeavour to clear the ship of water, but the pumps were choked, and long before the water could be bailed out, another gale might spring up and the ship go down, even supposing there was no leak. It was probable, however, that from the quantity of water in her she had already sprung a serious leak. Every boat on board had been washed away or destroyed when the ship went over. Blank dismay was visible on the countenances of even some of the boldest of the crew. The masts and spars were, however, still hanging by the lee rigging alongside.

"We could make a stout raft anyhow," observed Reuben.

The idea was taken up by the rest. There was a chance of life. Devereux gave orders that a raft should be formed.

"But we'll be starving entirely, if we don't get up some provisions," observed O'Grady.

"May I go and collect them?" asked Paul. "Stronger people than I can be working at the raft."

"And I will go too," said Alphonse, when Paul had obtained the permission asked.

They found, however, that most of the casks and jars in the officers' cabins had been upset and their contents washed away, while there was already so much water in the hold, that they could not get up anything from it. A cheese, some bottles of spirits, and a small cask of wet biscuit, were all they could collect. While groping about in the hold, it appeared to them that the water was rising; if so, the ship must have sprung a serious leak. With the scanty supply of provisions they had obtained, they hurried on deck to report what they had remarked. Considerable progress had been made with the raft, but without food and water it could only tend to prolong their misery. Reuben, with three other men, were therefore ordered below, to get up any more provisions which they could find. They very soon returned with the only things they could reach,--a small cask of pork, another of biscuit, and a keg of butter. Water was, however, most required, and it was not to be obtained. It was evident, too, that the ship was settling down more and more, and that no time must be lost in getting the raft finished. All hands now worked with the knowledge that their lives depended on their exertions, rapidly passing the numerous lashings in a way of which sailors alone are capable. Even before it was completed, the small amount of provisions which had been collected were placed on it, for all knew that at any moment it might prove their only ark of safety.

Devereux had no occasion to urge his men to increased exertion. A sail and spars for a mast, and yards and rudder were got ready. At length all the preparations were concluded.

"To the raft! to the raft!" was the cry, for the ship had sunk so low that the water was already running through the scuppers. Gradually she went down; the raft was slightly agitated by the vortex formed as the waters closed over her, and then it floated calmly on the wide ocean.

The crew looked at each other for some time without speaking. Devereux was very young to be placed in so trying a position, still he saw that he must maintain discipline among those under his command, and prevent them from sinking into a state of despondency. There was much to be done; the mast to be rigged, the sail to be fitted, and a rudder formed. It was necessary also to secure the articles on the raft, and all being done, he steered a course for the west, hoping to reach one of the West India Islands.

Paul had often when at home pictured such a scene as that in which he was now taking a part, but how far short did the scene he had drawn come of the reality! Scarcely had the ship disappeared than the wind fell and the sea became like glass, while the sun shone with intense heat on the unprotected heads of the seamen.

"Reuben, can I ask for a mug of water, do you think? I am dreadfully thirsty," said Paul.

Reuben looked at him with compassion. "Every drop of water we've got is worth its weight in gold and many times more," he answered. "It will be served out to us in thimblefuls, and each officer and man will share alike. It will be well for us if it even thus lasts till we make the land or get picked up."

Not a mouthful of food had been eaten since the previous evening.

"It's mighty like starving we are," observed O'Grady; "we had better begin to eat a little, or we shall grow so ravenous, that it will be no small allowance will satisfy us."

"You are right, Paddy," said Devereux, rousing himself up. "Ascertain what quantity we have, and calculate how long it will last."

O'Grady commenced the examination as directed. He soon reported that there was enough food to support life for eight, or perhaps, ten days.

"And water?" asked Devereux.

"Not for eight," was the answer.

"Heaven preserve us!" ejaculated Devereux. "It will take us double that time to reach the land!"

The provisions were served out with the greatest care and in equal portions. The people on the raft suffered more from heat than from any other cause. The sea remained perfectly calm, the sun sank down, and darkness reigned over the ocean. It was their first night on the raft. Who could say how many more they might have to spend on it? Devereux did his best to keep up the courage of his men, but in spite of all he could say, the spirits of many sank low. He encouraged them to tell stories, to narrate their adventures, to sing songs, and he himself took every opportunity of talking of the future, and spoke confidently of what he would do when they should reach the shore. Paul felt very unhappy. He was hungry and thirsty, and that alone lowers the spirits. The men were grouped round their officers in the centre of the raft. Paul was sitting near Reuben.

"I don't think that I shall ever live through this," he said, taking his friend's hand. "You are strong, Reuben, and you may weather it out. If you do, you'll go and tell my poor mother and sisters how it all happened and what became of me. Tell them that if I had lived I might, perhaps, have been placed on the quarter-deck and become a captain or an admiral; but that dream is all over now."

"As to that being a dream, a dream it is, Paul," said Reuben; "but as to your living and turning out a good seaman, I've no fear about that, my boy," he added cheerfully. "You see, there's One above cares for us, and if we pray to Him He'll send us help."

The night passed on, the stars shone brightly down from the pure sky, the waters flashed with phosphorescence, the inhabitants of the deep came up to the surface to breathe, while not a breath of air ruffled the face of the ocean. Except two appointed to keep watch, all on the raft soon sank into a deep sleep. They were awoke by the hot sun beating down on their heads; then they again wished for night. As the rays of the sun came down with fiercer force their thirst increased, but no one asked for more than his small share of water. Those only who have endured thirst know the intensity of the suffering it causes. Devereux had no more able supporter than Alphonse, who had saved his well-beloved violin. The moment the young Frenchman saw that the spirits of the people were sinking, he pulled it from its case, and putting it to his chin, began scraping away with right good will; now a merry, now a pathetic air. The excitable state of the nerves of the seamen was shown by the effect he produced. On hearing the merry tunes they burst into shouts of laughter; with the pathetic, even the roughest melted into tears. Alphonse played on till his arm ached, and scarcely was he rested before they begged him to go on again. Before the day closed, however, several of the party appeared to be sinking into a state of apathy, scarcely knowing where they were, or what they were saying. Some clamoured loudly for food, but Devereux mildly but firmly refused to allow any one to have more than his allotted share. Paul looked at him with a respect he had never before felt. He seemed so cool and collected, so different from the careless, thoughtless midshipman he had appeared on board the frigate. He had evidently risen to the difficulties of his position. He well knew, indeed, that the lives of all the party would depend in a great measure on his firmness and decision; at the same time, he knew that all he could do might avail them nothing. He also felt compassion for Paul, who was the youngest person on the raft. He had brought him away from the frigate, and it was very probable that he would be one of the first to sink under the hardships to which they were exposed. Paul was not aware that Devereux, when serving out the food, gave him a portion of his own scanty share, in the hopes that his strength might be thus better supported and his life prolonged. Another night passed by, and when the sun rose, it shone as before on a glassy sea. There was no sign of a breeze, and without a breeze no ship could approach the raft, nor could the raft make progress towards the land. Still Devereux persevered as before in endeavouring to keep up the spirits of his men. Alphonse and his fiddle were in constant requisition, and in spite of his own suffering, as long as he could keep his bow moving, he played on with right good will. When Alphonse grew weary, Devereux called for a tale; now for a song; now he told one of his own adventures, or some adventure he had heard.

"Come, O'Grady, you used to be one of the best singers in the berth till the Frenchman's shot knocked you over; try what you can do now!" he exclaimed, so that all might hear. "Never mind the tune, only let it be something comic, for a change," he added in a whisper; "you and I must not let the rest know what we feel."

"I'll do my best, though, faith, it's heavy work to sing with an empty stomach," answered O'Grady. "However, here goes:--

"'Twas on November, the second day,
The Admiral he bore away,
Intending for his native shore;
The wind at south-south-west did roar,
There likewise was a terrible sky,
Which made the sea to run mountains high.

"The tide of ebb not being done,
But quickly to the west did run,
Which put us all in dreadful fear,
Because there was not room to wear;
The wind and weather increased sore.
Which drove ten sail of us ashore.

"Ashore went the _Northumberland_,
The _Harwich_ and the _Cumberland_,
The _Cloister_ and the _Lion_, too;
But the _Elizabeth_, she had most to rue,
She ran stem on and her _Lion_ broke,
And sunk the _Cambridge_ at one stroke.

"But the worst is what I have to tell,
The greatest ships had the greatest fall;
The brave '_Crounation_' and all her men,
Was lost and drownded every one,
Except a little midshipman and eighteen more
Who in the long-boat comed ashore.

"And thus they lost their precious lives,
But the greatest loss was unto their wives,
Who, with their children, left ashore,
Their husbands' watery death deplore;
And weep their fate with many of tears,
But grief endureth not for years.

"Now you who've a mind to go to sea,
Pray take a useful hint from me;
Oh! stay at home and be content
With what kind Providence has sent;
For these were punish'd unto their deeds,
For grumbling when they had no needs.

"Now may Heaven bless our worthy King,
Likewise his ministers we sing,
And may they ever steer a course,
To make things better 'stead of worse;
And England's flag triumphant fly,
The dread of every enemy."

O'Grady's song, though often heard before, was received with no less applause in consequence. Other songs followed, but the effort was greater than many of the seamen could make. Several attempted to tell stories or their own adventures, but the former had no ending, and they very soon lost the thread of their adventures. Then they wandered strangely; some stopped altogether; others laughed and cried alternately. Even Devereux could with difficulty keep command of his own senses. Food and a few drops of precious water were distributed among the sufferers; without it, few could have survived another night. That night came, however, and that night passed, though some on the raft had passed away from life when another sun arose.

Paul more than once asked himself, "Why did I come to sea?"

Reuben overheard him. "To my mind, Paul, when a person has done what he believes is for the best and because he thinks it is right, he has no cause to grumble or to be unhappy," he observed in his quiet way. "Don't you fear, all will turn out right at last."

Paul felt weaker than he had ever done before, and his eye was dim and his voice sounded hollow, and yet his thoughts flowed as freely as ever. He was fully aware that death might be approaching, yet he had no fear of death. He thought of home and of his mother and sisters, and he prayed for them, and that they might not grieve very much at his loss. He was but a poor young ship-boy, but he knew that his mother would mourn for him as much as would the mother of Devereux, or any other high-born midshipman on board.

The sun rose higher and higher in the sky: its rays struck down as hotly as on the day before. "Water! water! water!" was the cry from all on the raft; still discipline prevailed, though only a young midshipman was the chief, and not a man attempted to take more than his share. At about noon Paul was feeling that he could not endure many more hours of such thirst, when he saw Reuben's eyes directed to the north-east.

"Yes! yes! it is! it is!" exclaimed Reuben at length.

"What! a ship?" asked Paul, almost breathless with eagerness.

"No, but a breeze," cried his friend. "It may carry us to land; it may send us rain! it may bring up a ship to our rescue."

All eyes were now turned in the direction from which the breeze was supposed to be coming. At the edge of the hitherto unvarying expanse of molten silver, a dark blue line was seen; broader and broader it grew. With such strength as they possessed the seamen hoisted their sail. It bulged out and again flattened against the mast; now again it filled, and the raft began to glide slowly over the ocean. A faint cheer burst from the throats of the hitherto despairing crew; yet how many long leagues must be passed over before that raft could reach the land! How many of those now living on it would set foot on that land? Too probably not one--not one. Day after day the raft glided on, but each day death claimed a victim. Still, Devereux and O'Grady and Alphonse kept up their spirits in a way which appealed wonderful to Paul, till he found that he was himself equally resolved to bear up to the last. There was still some food; still a few drops of water. Rain might come; the wind was increasing; clouds were gathering in the sky; the sea was getting up, and the raft, though still progressing, was tossed about in a way which made those on it feel the risk they ran of being thrown or washed off it. They secured themselves with lashings. Again the water was served out. A mouthful was given to Paul.

"Poor boy! let him have it," he heard Devereux say; "it is the last drop."

Now more than ever was rain prayed for. Without rain, should no succour come, in a few days the sufferings of all the party would be over. Faster and faster the raft drove on. It was well constructed, or it would not have held together. Still they dared not lessen their sail. Land might be reached at last if they would persevere. Now they rose to the summit of a foaming sea, now they sank into the deep trough. It seemed every instant that the next must see the destruction of the raft, yet, like hope in a young bosom, it still floated buoyantly over the raging billows. Now dark clouds were gathering. Eagerly they were watched by the seamen with upturned eyes. A few drops fell. They were welcomed with a cry of joy. More came, and then the rain fell in torrents. Their parched throats were moistened, but unless they could spread their sail to collect the precious fluid, they could save but little for the future. Still, life is sweet, and they might obtain enough to preserve their lives for another day. As they dared not lower their sail, they stretched out their jackets and shirts, and wrung them as they were saturated with fresh water into the only cask they had saved. Before it was a quarter full the rain ceased. They watched with jealous eyes the clouds driving away below the horizon, while the sun shone forth as brightly as before on their unguarded heads. Still the raft tumbled furiously about, and with the utmost difficulty the seamen retained their hold of it. Night returned; it was a night of horror. Their provisions were exhausted. When the morning at length broke, two who had been among the strongest were missing. They must have let go their hold while sleeping and been washed away.

"It may be our lot soon," observed Paul, whose strength was failing.

"The same hand which has hitherto preserved us few still alive on this raft is strong to preserve us to the end," said James Croxton, an old seaman, who, even on ordinary occasions said but little, and had only spoken since the ship went down to utter a few words of encouragement to his companions. He was known on board the frigate as Jim the Methodist, but was respected by the greater number of his shipmates. "Never fear, mates, help will come if we pray for it, though we don't see the Hand which sends it. Let us pray."

Jim's words and example had a great effect. It was followed by all, and the united prayers of the seamen, acknowledging their own utter helplessness, ascended together on high. One and all seemed to gain a strength they had not before felt. The raft continued to be tossed about as before, and the hot wind blew, and the sun shone on their unsheltered heads. The sun rose higher and higher and then descended, watched anxiously by the seamen till it dipped below the horizon. Could any of them expect to see another sun arise? They seldom spoke to each other during the night. The voice of Jim Croxton was now most frequently heard, exhorting his companions to repentance, and to put their faith in the loving and merciful One. When the morning broke they were all alive, and the voice of Reuben, who had dragged himself upright by the mast, was heard crying, "A sail! a sail! standing towards us!"

The information was received in various ways by the people on the raft; some laughed, others wept, a few prayed, and others groaned, declaring that they should not be seen, and that the ship would pass them by. Old Croxton, however, who had simply poured forth his heart in a few words of thanksgiving, kept his eyes steadily on the approaching ship.

"She is nearing us! she is nearing us!" he uttered slowly every now and then.

Paul gasped his breath, and felt as if he should faint away altogether, as he saw that the ship was a British man-of-war, and that the raft was evidently perceived by those on board. She drew nearer and nearer, and, heaving to, lowered two boats, which rapidly approached the raft. In that tumbling sea there was no small difficulty in getting close enough to the raft to take off the people. Paul, as the youngest, was the first to be transferred by his companions to the nearest boat. Even at that moment he was struck by the expression of the countenances of most of the crew. No one smiled; no one seemed pleased at the work of mercy they were performing.

"You think, youngster, that you'll be changing for the better, getting off your raft aboard that frigate there?" growled out one of the men, as Paul was passed along forward. "You've got out of the frying-pan into the fire, let me tell you. It's a perfect hell afloat, and to my mind the captain's the--"

"Silence there, forward!" shouted the officer in command of the boat. "Back in again."

One by one the people were taken off the raft. Devereux insisted on remaining to the last, and he was taken off in the second boat. No sooner had he been placed in her than several of her crew leaped on to the raft.

"Better run the chance of a watery grave than live aboard there," shouted one of the men, attempting to hoist the sail which had been lowered. "Hurrah, lads! for the coast of America and freedom!"

"Back into the boat: back, you mutinous scoundrels!" shouted the officer in command. "What foolery are you about? If you were to go, and small loss you would be, you would all of you be dead before a week was over. Back, I say."

In vain the men tried to hoist the sail. The mast gave way, throwing one of them into the sea. He made an attempt to save himself, but sank in sight of his shipmates. The boat was soon again dropped alongside the raft, and the men with sulky indifference returned on board. Very little was said by anybody as the boats pulled back to the frigate. The officers, indeed, saw that those they had taken off the raft were in no condition to answer questions. Devereux and his companions were lifted up on deck, and from thence at once transferred to the sick bay below under the doctor's care. Paul, after a sound sleep, recovered his senses, and very soon perceived, that although there was strict discipline maintained on board, each person went about his duty in a dull, mechanical way. Reuben was, however, on foot before Paul. He came to the side of the hammock in which the latter still lay unable to move.

"I am thankful, Reuben, that we are safe off that dreadful raft," said Paul.

"No reason to call it dreadful, boy. It was our ark of safety, as Jim Croxton says, rightly, and we should be grateful that we were allowed to be saved by it. There's many here, as you saw, would rather be on that raft than aboard this fine frigate," answered Reuben.

"Why? what is the matter with the ship?" asked Paul.

"Why, just this," answered his friend; "the captain is a tyrant; many of the officers imitate him, and altogether the men's lives are miserable. The ship is a complete hell afloat."

Several days passed by; the frigate was steering for the West Indies, which were sighted soon after Paul had managed to creep on deck. He saw the men casting wistful glances at the land.

"If once I set my foot ashore, it will take a dozen red coats to carry me aboard again!" exclaimed a seaman near him.

"Ay, Bill, it's a dog's life we lead; but there's a way to free ourselves if we were men enough to use it," said another.

"It's not the first time that has been thought of," observed a third. "But hush, mates, that boy may hear; he looks like a sharp one."

The men were silent till Paul walked farther aft, where he saw them still earnestly engaged in talking together. He considered what he ought to do. Should he tell Devereux what he had heard? Perhaps, after all, it meant nothing. He could trust Reuben; that is to say, Reuben would not betray him; but he might take part with the men. He would consult Croxton. He found old Jim after some time, but had no opportunity of speaking to him alone. There was an ominous scowl on the countenances of all the men, which confirmed his suspicions that something was wrong. Below they gathered together more in knots than usual, speaking in subdued voices. Whenever an officer approached, they were silent, and generally dispersed with an appearance of indifference. Thus two or three more days passed, and Paul felt as well able as ever to do his duty. It was the forenoon watch; the men were summoned to divisions. It was perfectly calm; no land was in sight; the sun struck down fiercely on their heads.

"There's work in hand for us to-day," exclaimed a topman, as he sprang on deck.

In a little time the order to furl sails was given. The men flew aloft.

"Reef topsails," cried the first-lieutenant.

The men appeared to do the work slowly. Oaths and curses were hurled at them by the officers on duty. Paul took the opportunity of going down to see Devereux, who, with O'Grady and Alphonse, was still too weak to go on deck. He told him that he was afraid something was wrong. Devereux answered--

"I fear that the men are dissatisfied, but they dare do nothing. I pity them, though, poor fellows."

The words were overheard by some of the idlers, as they are called below. While Paul was speaking to Devereux, Croxton came in. He also heard what had been said.

"Man is born to suffer," he remarked. "He must submit, and leave the righting in the hands of Providence. He cannot right himself."

His remarks were scarcely understood by those who heard him, even by Devereux, who, however, remembered them. After a time, Paul returned on deck. The captain was still exercising the men at furling sails. With watch in hand he stood on the quarter-deck, his rage increasing as he found that they could not or would not accomplish the work in the time he desired. At length he shouted in a voice which made the blood run cold in Paul's veins--

"The last men in off the yards shall get four dozen for their pains. Remember that, ye scoundrels! Away aloft!"

Again the men ascended the rigging. The sails were furled. Two active young topmen on the mizen-yard made an attempt to spring over the backs of the rest. They missed their hold. With a fearful crash they fell together on the deck.

"Throw the lubbers overboard!" exclaimed the captain, kicking contemptuously their mangled remains.

These words were the signal of his own destruction. The men, regardless of his threats, sprang below.

"Vengeance! vengeance!" was the cry.

The first-lieutenant who ventured among them was cut down, and while yet breathing, hove overboard. Others who appeared met with the same fate. The mutineers then rushed to the captain's cabin. He stood fiercely at bay, but in vain. Bleeding from countless wounds, he was forced through the stern port. His last words were, "Vengeance! vengeance! vengeance!" Fearfully it was paid. _

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