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 JACK HARK AWAY 
 IN GREECE 
 
 BY 
 
 BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG 
 
 Author of the "Jack ffarkaway" Stories 

 
 Jack Harkaway in Greece. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ON THE ISLAND OF TREASURE. 
 
 "Welcome to Magic Island!" 
 
 Jack Harkaway and his party had at last arrived 
 at the treasure island in the Grecian Archipelago, con- 
 ducted thither by Spirillo, the ex-pirate. 
 
 As their ship sailed into the beautiful creek, Hark- 
 away's son, young Jack, sang out : 
 
 "Welcome to Magic Island !" 
 
 Magic Island. It was happily named by young 
 Jack. 
 
 "If that is Magic Island," cried little Emily, his 
 sweetheart, the daughter of Dick Harvey, his father's 
 oldest friend, "this I will christen Fairy Creek." 
 
 "Hurrah ! bravo, Emily !" cried Jack. 
 
 This was not less happy than young Jack's name, 
 and it was as generally adopted. 
 
 A consultation was held upon deck between Jack 
 Harkaway, his old friend, Dick Harvey ; the two 
 Americans, Mr. Jefferson and Magog Brand; Spirillo, 
 the ex-pirate ; the two detectives, Nabley and Pike, and 
 lastly, Isaac Mole, the old tutor.
 
 On the Island of Treasure. 
 
 "Before we land, Spirillo," said Jack Harkaway, 
 "tell me, do you think that we have to apprehend any- 
 thing like a surprise?" 
 
 "Hardly," was Spirillo's reply, "while we are in 
 any force." 
 
 "Do you think there is any danger?" asked Jack. 
 
 "To anyone of us venturing about alone yes, 
 great danger. While we are in parties no. But I 
 must not disguise from you, gentlemen all, that we have 
 an ugly enemy to face in the owner of this island." 
 
 "Whom have we to fear?" said young Jack, coming 
 up at that moment. 
 
 "Monastos, the pirate chief, boy," said Spirillo. 
 "He has the patience of the cat watching for the mouse, 
 and to this quality he adds the ferocity of the tiger." 
 
 Mr. Mole coughed. 
 
 "This is a most objectionable party," he said, "and 
 I propose that we give him a wide berth." 
 
 "You had better, Mr. Mole," said Dick, "or he'll 
 make short work of your scaffolding." 
 
 "What?" cried Mr. Mole. "My scaffolding?" 
 
 "I beg pardon. I mean your woodwork, your un- 
 derstanding." 
 
 Mr. Mole gasped. 
 
 He was riled when anyone made fun of his wooden 
 legs. 
 
 "Mr. Harvey, if you were not my old friend, I 
 should certainly demand satisfaction." 
 
 "By all means," returned Dick, cheerfully. 
 
 Harkaway put an end to any further discussion, 
 by plunging at once into the arrangements for the 
 safe conduct of the expedition against the pirates.
 
 On the Island of Treasure. 
 
 "Mr. Nabley must be left in command with Mr. 
 Pike," said Harkaway. 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 "The watch must be kept with the greatest vigilance 
 night and day." 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Each watch must be composed of at least three 
 persons." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "During the night watches, a patrol must pass along 
 the deck, at intervals of not more than ten minutes." 
 
 "Good!" said Spirillo, nodding approvingly. 
 
 "We show our confidence in you," said Harvey, 
 taking Pike and his comrade, Nabley, each by the 
 hand, "by leaving in your care our lives and all who 
 are dear to us in the world. If we betray a little 
 anxiety in making our parting conditions and rules, 
 it must not surprise you." 
 
 "It does not." 
 
 "No," added Pike, with warmth, "we are, indeed, 
 grateful for your confidence eh, Nabley?" 
 
 "Indeed, we are." 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 "You may count upon our zeal," said Nabley. "We 
 have been used to watching, and waiting, too, for 
 the matter of that ; eh, Dan ?" 
 
 "Ah ! indeed." 
 
 "Now then, my friends," said Harkaway, earnestly, 
 "for our parting word. We are going upon an ex- 
 cursion of some danger; we mustn't attempt to dis- 
 guise that fact to ourselves. 
 
 "It only behooves us to show that better part of
 
 8 On the Island of Treasure. 
 
 valor, discretion, upon all occasions, and if I don't 
 mistake, we shall do big things. There must be one 
 fixed word of understanding between us. Should there 
 be great danger on either side, a blue light shall be 
 burned, and that shall be the signal of recall/' continued 
 Harkaway. 
 
 "Good !" 
 
 These words sank deeply into everybody's mind. 
 
 "In other words, the blue light shall be an appeal 
 to the others for aid." 
 
 "That's an understanding," said Jefferson ; "but, 
 please the pigs, there will be no need for blue lights." 
 
 "Amen to that," said his little friend, Magog. 
 
 "Well, now, Spirillo," said Harvey, "when you are 
 ready." 
 
 "Forward!" 
 
 "One word more," said the ex-pirate. "Let us refer 
 to the maps we fyave got, and do everything in proper, 
 orderly style." 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Let us have the charts up." 
 
 "Good!" 
 
 A man was sent to the saloon for the maps and 
 charts in question, and they were spread out on the top 
 of a big chest on the deck. 
 
 "Before we go into this job deeply,*' said Harkaway, 
 "I propose that we adjourn to tiffin." 
 
 "I second the honorable member's motion," said 
 Mr. Mole, with great gravity. 
 
 "And I, too," said Harvey, "for I am beastly 
 hungry. 1 " 
 
 "And I'm, filthily peckish," added Jefferson.
 
 On the Island of Treasure. 
 
 "This language," exclaimed Isaac Mole, much 
 shocked, "this language is not parliamentary. I rise 
 to order." 
 
 "Hear! hear!" cried Dick Harvey; "so do I. I rise 
 to order chops and a pint of wine, for one." 
 
 "This is levity," said Mr. Mole, indignantly. 
 
 "It is wasting good time," said Jefferson, laughingly. 
 "What do you say, Caesar Augustus?" he said, turn- 
 ing to Sunday, the negro, who stood close by. 
 
 "Dat's my platform, colonel," retorted the darky, 
 laughing all over his ebony face. "Dis chile could 
 jest eat enough to open a shop with." 
 
 "I have no appetite," said Spirillo, who had grown 
 suddenly downcast. "No heart for eating, and I 
 think I shall run on shore to stretch my legs while 
 you eat. Master Jack !" 
 
 "Hello !" cried young Jack, from up aloft. 
 
 "Don't venture far from sight." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 "I shall join you, Spirillo," said young Jack's chum, 
 Harry Girdwood. 
 
 "By all means." 
 
 And the two clambered up onto the rock, and found 
 young Jack, who was playing all kinds of merry 
 antics with Nero, the monkey, in sight of the com- 
 pany generally on board. 
 
 From this eminence they could obtain a pretty fair 
 view of the country in all directions. 
 
 It was a lovely place, and merited fully its fanciful 
 appellation of Magic Island. 
 
 The fruitful vine met the view on every side, and the 
 eye was dazzled with the brilliancy of the flowers.
 
 io On the Island of Treasure. 
 
 Jays, parroquets, parrots and other birds of the gay- 
 est plumage filled the air with their cries. 
 
 "Do you see that place there, Master Jack?" 
 
 "That narrow between those two high banks?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "That road lies our way. We have to go down there 
 and then off to the left." 
 
 "Is it far?" 
 
 "Not very." 
 
 "That would be an awkward place for an ambuscade, 
 Spirillo," said Harry Girdwood. 
 
 Spirillo shook his head, and looked serious. 
 
 "That is what we have most to fear with Monastos, 
 the pirate chief," he said. 
 
 "We must be very careful, then." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why," remarked Harry Girdwood, gravely, "a sin- 
 gle rifle could protect that ravine from a whole troop." 
 
 Spirillo nodded a grave acquiescence. 
 
 "Before the party disembarks," he said, thoughtfully, 
 "I'll climb up the right bank, scramble through the 
 trees and bushes, and see that there are no signs of 
 an ambuscade." 
 
 "Be careful," said Harry Girdwood. 
 
 "Trust me. But we must not risk the whole ex- 
 pedition for want of proper precautions. Remember, 
 the pirates on this island are desperate men." 
 
 "True." 
 
 "Stay here," said Spirillo. "Don't venture farther 
 inland; and we shall see all the excitement that the 
 greediest adventurer can desire."
 
 On the Island of Treasure. n 
 
 "Very good." 
 
 "Be careful." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "But, Spirillo," said Harry Girdwood, "one word." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "If you go farther and don't come back in twenty 
 minutes from this time, we shall seek for you." 
 
 Spirillo smiled. 
 
 "Yes but, no," he added, suddenly growing serious, 
 as an ugly thought crossed him, "if I don't return, 
 you can guess what it means." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Something will have happened to me ; so that it 
 will be madness for you to venture into danger. I must 
 see that all is safe for you, my brave boys." 
 
 The two boys looked very serious at this speech. 
 
 "You don't suppose, Spirillo, that we could rest if 
 we thought anything had happened to you. Pray 
 return at once." 
 
 "I will not, but you must !" said the ex-pirate. "I 
 am not going to have it on my conscience that I ran 
 you into danger you must promise me to obey." 
 
 They paused. 
 
 "Well, remain here," said Spirillo, "or you may 
 endanger the safety of the whole party." 
 
 This settled the discussion at once. 
 
 "Very well, Spirillo," said young Jack, "we con- 
 sent." 
 
 "You promise?" 
 
 "We do." 
 
 "Good," said Spirillo, apparently quite relieved by 
 this.
 
 12 On the Island of Treasure. 
 
 Then, his gloomy looks vanishing, he nodded gayly 
 to the two lads, shook them warmly by the hands, 
 and made for the heights. 
 
 Jack and Harry watched him in silence. 
 
 They saw him climbing up with very great difficulty, 
 and they judged shrewdly that the place would be 
 utterly inaccessible to an ordinary biped, but for the 
 thick vegetation growing up the slope, which gave 
 the climber a hold for hand and foot. 
 
 And when he had reached the summit of the em- 
 bankment, he turned, prior to plunging into the thick 
 wood, and waved his hand in silence at his two young 
 comrades. 
 
 "Good-by, old friend," said young Jack. "I hope 
 you'll soon be back; I don't like you going alone on 
 this job. We ought to share the danger." 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 "He's gone." 
 
 Spirillo waved a final farewell, and disappeared in 
 the thicket. 
 
 Poor Spirillo. 
 
 They waited and watched in silence. 
 
 Their minds were filled with most unpleasant 
 thoughts, and they did not care to impart them to 
 each other. 
 
 They watched the thicket where Spirillo had disap- 
 peared, until their eyes ached. 
 
 "Jack!" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did you hear?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "A noise from there."
 
 On the Island of Treasure. 13 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I thought I did, but it was my fancy, perhaps." 
 
 "Must have been. Hark ! was that it ?" 
 
 "No. What I heard, or what I fancied I heard, 
 sounded like a groan." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A groan." 
 
 "Fancy," said young Jack, determined not to admit 
 anything so unpleasant. 
 
 Just then a voice called him by name, and he started 
 and changed color so rapidly that you could see how 
 fiercely strung his nerves were under the present ex- 
 citement. 
 
 "Jack !" 
 
 "Hello, sir." 
 
 "Tell Spirillo that I want him," Harkaway, senior, 
 said, "ask him to come here." 
 
 "I can't; he's gone." 
 
 "Gone?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Gone up the heights there to reconnoiter." 
 
 Harkaway made his way ashore, and joined the two 
 lads at this. 
 
 "Gone alone?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That's very imprudent," he said; "very/* 
 
 "I wished to join him, but " 
 
 "You?" ejaculated Harkaway, aghast. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You dare to, young young jackanapes. You think
 
 14 On the Island of Treasure. 
 
 to throw us all into a fever of nervousness again, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 "I, sir?" 
 
 "Yes, you." 
 
 "Indeed, I never thought anything of the kind, 
 father." 
 
 "Nor of anything," sighed the elder Harkaway.. 
 "Your great fault is just that." 
 
 "What, sir?" 
 
 "Thoughtlessness; but now listen seriously to me 
 you, too, Harry." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I wish you both thoroughly to understand that you 
 are not to venture out of sight, or to court unnecessary 
 danger." 
 
 "Dad is anxious and out of temper," said young 
 Jack to his comrade, Harry. 
 
 "There, there," said Harkaway, the elder, "I only 
 want you to promise me that you will be prudent." 
 
 "We do." 
 
 "Yes, yes, sir," said Harry Girdwood. 
 
 "Good ; and now where the deuce can Spirillo be ?" 
 
 Where, indeed! 
 
 They were destined to ask each other that question 
 pretty often. 
 
 An hour passed away. 
 
 An hour from the time that Spirillo had pushed his 
 way into the thickly wooded summit of the heights. 
 
 Yet no signs of him. 
 
 Jack Harkaway got to be very uneasy, indeed. 
 
 So he went on board, and consulted with the as-
 
 On the Island of Treasure. 15 
 
 sembled party the two lads joining them for this 
 purpose. 
 
 And when young Jack had related all the circum- 
 stances of the case, they all pulled long faces. 
 
 One decision they all came to. 
 
 Something had happened to their guide and comrade. 
 
 "There is one way of accounting for it," said Daniel 
 Pike, the detective ; "a way that no one has appeared 
 to think of yet." 
 
 "What is it I" 
 
 "Supposing it is part of a scheme to bag us all ?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 It made them all jump again. 
 
 "Impossible!" ejaculated one of them. 
 
 "Absurd!" cried another. 
 
 "Utterly unlikely," added another. 
 
 "Monstrous !" 
 
 "Ridiculous !" 
 
 And so forth. 
 
 All were dead against the detective's explanation of 
 the mystery. 
 
 "Wait a bit," said Pike, "before you decide so posi- 
 tively against me; listen to what I have to say in sup- 
 port of my supposition." 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "Let us hear." 
 
 "Supposing it has been a planned thing from the 
 beginning, suppose that all his plans and charts were 
 part and parcel of a big scheme, to throw the ship 
 and all into their clutches? 
 
 "You will admit that it is a scheme worth . any 
 amount of outlay and labor to accomplish.
 
 16 -r On the Island of Treasure. 
 
 "It will represent an immense fortune, for not only 
 is there the value of the ship, and all our effects, but 
 there is also the question of ransom, and my life upon 
 it, they will want a princely sum for each of us, 
 or " 
 
 The detective drew his forefinger ominously across 
 his throat. 
 
 The gesture was too significant for them to misun- 
 derstand. 
 
 However, there was present one man who was not to 
 be led into any wild belief about Spirillo because of 
 the strange circumstance of his disappearance. 
 
 And this was the good old doctor who had escaped 
 with him and the two boys from the pirate junk. 
 
 Now, just then the meeting was joined by an unex- 
 pected visitor Nero. 
 
 Young Jack's monkey had also been on an exploring 
 expedition, and he had just returned without anything 
 to show for it. 
 
 "Hello!" cried Ben Hawser, the worthy seaman, 
 who had given Nero to young Jack, coming up with 
 a scrape and a tug at his forelock. "Blow me, if he 
 ain't got a hat." 
 
 It was true. 
 
 Nero had managed to get a hat from somewhere, 
 and this Ben Hawser took from him. 
 
 "Well, wherever he has been, he has come across 
 some human beings." 
 
 "That's true." 
 
 "Stop !" cried the American doctor, growing 
 strangely excited by now. "Give it me." 
 
 Ben obeyed.
 
 The End of Spirillo. 17 
 
 "Ha! I thought so," exclaimed the doctor. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "This hat is the pirate Spirillo's; it is the hat he 
 wore when he left here." 
 
 And then, looking about to assure himself that none 
 of the ladies were within hearing, he sank his voice 
 to a whisper, and said : 
 
 "Do you see that?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Blood! The hat is stained with blood. It is 
 Spirillo's." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE END OF SPIRILLO. 
 
 Stained with blood. 
 
 An uncomfortable thrill went through the whole 
 assemblage. 
 
 "Nero, Nero," cried young Jack, piteously, "what 
 have you seen? Why can't you talk for once?" 
 
 "Talk," echoed Ben Hawser ; "he can talk fast 
 enough if he likes, only the cunning rascal's afraid he'll 
 have to work hard. Confound his artful carcass." 
 
 "Something has happened to Spirillo," said the doc- 
 tor. "That is clear." 
 
 Young Jack and Harry Girdwood exchanged 
 glances. 
 
 They thought of Spirillo's parting words. 
 
 "What's to be done ?" asked Jefferson.
 
 1 8 The End of Spirillo. 
 
 "Mount the heights with our revolvers in hand." 
 
 "That is very dangerous," said the doctor. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "They have such splendid cover, that they could 
 pick us off one by one before we could get to the top." 
 
 "Or even get the satisfaction of a shot in return," 
 said Magog Brand. 
 
 "This is a case calling for Indian warfare, for a 
 trusty scout, who could creep upon this hidden enemy 
 without being seen." 
 
 "Dat's me." 
 
 They all instinctively turned round, as our old friend, 
 Monday, Prince of Limbi, the faithful black, who had 
 been with Jack Harkaway in his travels afloat and 
 ashore, stepped forward. 
 
 "Monday." 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen. We'll see if we can't make my old 
 savage life of some use once more." 
 
 "What do you propose?" demanded Harvey. 
 
 "I shall find my way a-top of dem hills but not as 
 Spirillo went ; I shall go in de grass." 
 
 "The grass !" 
 
 "The grass!" 
 
 "I shall go in de grass, I say, like a snake like a 
 serpent, and if I find anything in my way, I shall sting 
 like a serpent." 
 
 Saying which, he took out a short ax he carried 
 under his waistcoat, and made a vicious dig with it. 
 
 Thoroughly civilized as he was, the prospect of 
 going on the warpath aroused all his old savage in- 
 stincts. 
 
 Harkaway looked around at the company.
 
 The End of Spirillo. 19 
 
 "What do you say ?" 
 
 "Monday's the man !" said Jefferson. 
 
 "Right." 
 
 And so it was unanimously voted that Monday's 
 offer should be accepted. 
 
 The Prince of Limbi cast off part of his clothing, 
 and concealing several weapons about his body, he 
 started off. 
 
 They watched his progress with great anxiety. 
 
 Now, Monday did not scale the heights as Spirillo 
 had done. 
 
 He went a circuitous route to the point aimed at. 
 
 And then they waited. 
 
 A weary waiting it was. 
 
 Nervous anxiety and apprehension were depicted 
 upon every countenance. 
 
 All stood there, upon the rocky landing stage, watch- 
 ing in silence the crest of shrubs and trees, hoping 
 every second to see Monday reappear. 
 
 "Something has happened to poor Monday," said 
 Harkaway, unable to bear the silence any longer. 
 
 "Patience, patience," said the doctor; "we do not 
 know yet." 
 
 "I, for one, have too much confience in Monday to 
 believe that, until I learn the worst " 
 
 "Wait." 
 
 "If harm should have befallen him, there will be 
 but one course open to us." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 "To mount the heights in force, and clear the wood. 
 We must not be cut off one by one without so much 
 as "
 
 2O The End of Spirillo. 
 
 "Ha!" 
 
 "What now?" 
 
 "I can see a something crawling along there," said 
 Magog Brand, who was looking through a telescope. 
 
 "Up above?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is it Monday?" 
 
 "It is, it is ! See " 
 
 "He makes a sign to us !" 
 
 "Thank Heaven for that!" exclaimed Harkaway, 
 fervently. 
 
 "He's not hurt?" exclaimed Mr. Jefferson, full of 
 eagerness. 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 "Thank goodness for that, say I." 
 
 "As far as I can see, at least." 
 
 "Where is he now?" 
 
 "Coming this way." 
 
 "He is crawling on his stomach," returned Mr. Jef- 
 ferson, "to keep out of sight." 
 
 This proved to be the case, for as soon as Monday 
 got clear of the thick growth of shrubs, he started off 
 at a run, and soon rejoined his party. 
 
 "Well, Monday," they exclaimed, in great excite- 
 ment, "what have you seen?" 
 
 "Bad bad !" he answered, shaking his head. 
 
 "How bad?" 
 
 "Dreadful," answered Monday, shaking his head. 
 
 He showed, clearly enough, by his manner that he 
 had seen something which had considerably upset him. 
 
 "What is it, Monday? Why don't you speak?" 
 
 ."Come, out with it."
 
 The End of Spirillo. 21 
 
 "Have you seen Spirillo?" 
 
 Monday nodded gravely. , 
 
 "You have seen him?" 
 
 "Then he is a prisoner, I suppose," said Dick. 
 
 "No no prisoner. I have seen him, or part of 
 him." 
 
 They started again at this. 
 
 "What do you mean by that! What part of him?" 
 
 Monday's reply was brief, characteristic and very 
 terrible. 
 
 "I have seen Spirillo's head stuck on a pole." 
 
 They shuddered. 
 
 They wanted no further explanation, for it told its 
 own tale. 
 
 Poor Spirillo! 
 
 He had been full of warnings for them about the 
 dangers of the enterprise, and he had been the first to 
 slight his own warnings. 
 
 And fatally had he paid the penalty of his rashness. 
 
 "I leave Spirillo's head on the pole," exclaimed 
 Monday, quietly, "until I can take it away, and put in 
 the place the head of the man that did it." 
 
 "Mind you do not lose yours, Monday," said Dick. 
 
 Monday laughed at this. 
 
 "No fear of dat, Massa Dick. I shall have the fellar 
 what did it before we leave Magic Island."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A BRACE OF VILLAINS. 
 
 But we must stop to cast a passing glance at the 
 enemies of Jack Harkaway. 
 
 Hunston, his old-time foe, and Toro, the ex-brigand, 
 had joined forces with Emmerson, the English crim- 
 inal, for whom the detectives, Pike and Nabley, had 
 been searching. These three might have proved a for- 
 midable alliance against the Harkaway party; but the 
 fates had willed otherwise. 
 
 A quarrel on board the Chinese pirate craft, on 
 which they had embarked, resulted in Hunston slay- 
 ing Emmerson. No explanation would satisfy the 
 captain and crew of the ship, and Hunston and Toro 
 were turned adrift in an open boat, sparingly pro- 
 visioned. 
 
 Oars or sail they had not, but in the bottom of the 
 boat were three or four rough planks, two of which 
 they carved with their knives into rude oars, while 
 of another they formed a kind of mast. 
 
 The sail was made of a canvas bag, in which their 
 store of biscuit had been placed. 
 
 With these rude contrivances, they found they could 
 guide their craft, and make some, though slow, 
 progress. 
 
 Two days passed. 
 
 Upon the third day, towards sundown, black and 
 threatening clouds fringed the horizon.
 
 A Brace of Villains. 23 
 
 The wind came in fitful gusts, moaning dismally as 
 it crossed the weary waste of inky waters. 
 
 "We are in for dirty weather," said Hunston. "You 
 had better rest, Toro." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Because you will have need of all your strength and 
 endurance this night." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "Oh, I have slept this afternoon," replied Hunston, 
 "whereas you haven't closed your eyes since last night, 
 and it is no joke passing the night without sleeping." 
 
 "Do you think there is any chance of that?" asked 
 Toro. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Humph!" 
 
 "Take in the sail, Toro," said his companion. 
 
 "Must I?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Perhaps you are right," said Toro. 
 
 So he set to work to reef the sail which had been 
 hurriedly rigged the day before. 
 
 This done, Hunston prevailed upon his companion 
 to try and snatch a few hours' sleep in order to brace 
 himself up for a possible night of weary and anxious 
 vigil. 
 
 The huge Italian stretched out his arms and yawned, 
 and then he coiled himself up. 
 
 "I shall never be able to sleep," he said. 
 
 But barely were the words uttered when he dropped 
 off into a deep slumber and snored. 
 
 And while he snored, he dreamed of fair countries 
 of lands flowing with milk and honey.
 
 24 A Brace of Villains. 
 
 And he seemed in his dream to recollect having been 
 set adrift in a boat on the dreary ocean, with Hun- 
 ston, and he thought that he was comparing his present 
 lot in life with that dreary time. 
 
 Pity that he should ever be interrupted in such pleas- 
 ant visions. 
 
 "Toro!" 
 
 "Ugh!" 
 
 "Toro Toro! wake up, I say." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Out with your oars quick ! pull, man ; pull !" 
 
 The Italian opened his eyes, and blinked and winked, 
 and stared stupidly about him, before he could recog- 
 nize the situation. 
 
 It was indeed a sad awakening. 
 
 "What now ?" he growled. "What's the use of ask- 
 ing me to go to sleep, if you want to disturb me at 
 once ?" 
 
 "You have been asleep two hours, Toro." 
 
 "Two minutes!" 
 
 "Two hours, I say more than two hours, I swear. 
 The gale has increased, and now we want your 
 strength and your skill both to save us." 
 
 While Hunston was speaking, the Italian looked 
 about him, and began to understand. 
 
 It was high time. 
 
 The gale had increased, until it assumed a really 
 alarming aspect. 
 
 Huge waves broke over the boat in a way that 
 seriously threatened its safety.
 
 A Brace of Villains. 25 
 
 They shipped heavy seas more than once, and it 
 needed all Hunston's prompt attention to bail out the 
 water fast enough to keep them afloat. 
 
 But the fury of the gale increased, and it was evi- 
 dent that at any moment they might ship a heavy wave 
 that would swamp them. 
 
 "Lower your oars," cried Hunston, eagerly. 
 
 Toro obeyed. 
 
 "Now take the word from me," he said. "When I 
 give the word, pull for your life." 
 
 Toro looked up, wide awake, when Hunston gave 
 the signal of danger. 
 
 "We mustn't let another of those waves break over 
 us, or we are lost. Do you understand ?" said Hunston. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Now, then!" 
 
 "Ready!" 
 
 In spite of the darkness of the night, Hunston 
 could see the huge hill of water slowly rolling on in 
 pursuit of them, and threatening to engulf the boat and 
 its living freight. 
 
 It was a very mountain, and let this break over their 
 boat, there would be a speedy and awful end to their 
 plotting and scheming, and their criminal career. 
 
 Hunston watched it draw nearer and nearer, and 
 then, picking well his moment, he gave Toro the 
 signal. 
 
 "Pull !" 
 
 The oars struck the water. 
 
 "Pull, pull, man!" he exclaimed, earnestly. "Pull, 
 for the love of Heaven, or we are dead men!" 
 
 Toro obeyed.
 
 26 A Brace of Villains. 
 
 Three or four desperate strokes jerked the boat 
 along before the threatening wave, so that, finding no 
 opposition to its march, it simply helped the boat with 
 it, and the danger was past. 
 
 The danger for the moment, we would say. 
 
 The perils of a fearful night were yet before them. 
 
 These bold, bad men these scoffers at everything 
 good and righteous could invoke divine help, you may 
 see, in their hour of great trouble. 
 
 There is nothing so calculated to fill the heart with 
 awesome feelings, to show man what a helpless atom 
 he is. 
 
 ******* 
 
 "Now, again !" 
 
 "Right !" 
 
 "Pull pull for your life !" 
 
 A desperate tug at the oars shot the boat through 
 the water before the advancing wave. 
 
 Yet, dexterously as the movement was effected, they 
 were well-nigh swamped. 
 
 The rain came down. 
 
 Drenched to the skin with the blinding rain, and 
 sitting knee deep in water bail it out as fast as they 
 would they shivered like palsy-stricken wretches. 
 
 "There's an ague in this for me," said Toro, his 
 teeth chattering as he spoke. 
 
 "Rheumatic fever for me," groaned Hunston. 
 
 "Here it comes again." 
 
 "Pull, then, both together! take the time sharply 
 now !" 
 
 "Right !" 
 
 And pull together they did with a vengeance.
 
 A Brace of Villains. 27 
 
 The wave rolled its inky crest under the boat's stern, 
 lifting them high aloft. 
 
 Saved again! 
 
 -Saved by their indomitable perseverance and skill of 
 no mean order. 
 
 Indeed, both were possessed of gifts which might 
 have achieved for them great things in life, had they 
 turned those abilities to good account. 
 
 Well, so they passed through that dismal night, and 
 when morning dawned, it found them both well-nigh 
 exhausted with fatigue with white, wan faces, and 
 eyes sunken in their sockets, in spite of their frequent 
 recourse to their flasks of spirits to keep up their cir- 
 culation and their courage. 
 
 And Hunston looked about to ascertain if the gale 
 had done them any damage. 
 
 "No harm done?" 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 "I thought not," said Toro. "We're precious lucky." 
 
 "Yes ; if you can call it luck to be able to protect 
 yourself, instead of sitting down and giving way, as 
 some men would have done, for we took every pos- 
 sible precaution to secure our provisions and the 
 like." 
 
 "We did." 
 
 "And hello!" 
 
 Hunston paused, and looked hastily about him. 
 
 He lifted the tarpaulin from off some object at the 
 bottom of the boat. 
 
 But then he looked in vain. 
 
 "What is it?"
 
 28 A Brace of Villains. 
 
 Toro looked full of impatience as he put the question. 
 
 "What now?" 
 
 "Wait." 
 
 "Wait! why don't you answer?" 
 
 "I'll tell you," answered Hunston, "though you need 
 not be so impatient and so eager to hear bad news." 
 
 "Bad news?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What news?" 
 
 Hunston gave a final glance about him. 
 
 And then he told, in hollow tones, the dire calamity 
 which had befallen them. 
 
 "The keg of water has been washed overboard !" 
 
 Toro said nothing. 
 
 But as he sank back in his seat, the look of un- 
 utterable dismay upon his countenance showed that he 
 realized the full extent of this great calamity. 
 
 "Are you sure?" was all he could falter presently. 
 
 Hunston nodded. 
 
 "Sure. I was looking for it for some minutes before 
 I spoke. My arm has been very painful ; the strain 
 upon it in pulling has been too much for it, I suppose. 
 I thought that I would try what cold water bathing 
 would do for it. I know it is gone." 
 
 "That is a dreadful thing, Hunston." 
 
 "It is, indeed." 
 
 "Your arm getting bad, too," said the Italian, re- 
 flectively. "Shall I look at it?" 
 
 "Yes, do." 
 
 "Probably there is something out of order with the 
 machinery."
 
 The Horrors of Shipwreck. 29 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 Hunston started involuntarily as he spoke. 
 
 His mind went back to his benefactor, Robert Em- 
 merson, the man he had murdered. It was Emmer- 
 son who had made him a wonderful steel arm to take 
 the place of the member he had lost. 
 
 Instinctively he remembered the murdered inventor 
 of the mechanical arm. 
 
 The hapless Robert Emmerson. 
 
 He thought of the legend which Emmerson had en- 
 graved on the arm itself: 
 
 "Foes, beware me ; but woe to the wearer if raised 
 against a friend." 
 
 He felt that he was yet to be punished through that 
 arm with its menacing legend. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE HORRORS OF SHIPWRECK. 
 
 Neither Hunston nor Toro realized the full extent of 
 their calamity at first. 
 
 They were by no means ignorant of the value of 
 fresh water in their position. 
 
 But being barely out of the greatest possible dan- 
 ger, their minds were in a great degree occupied by 
 other matters, and they did not think of the great trou- 
 ble which had overtaken them. 
 
 The trouble would soon make itself felt.
 
 30 The Horrors of Shipwreck. 
 
 A pang was felt by Hunston, and for this reason he 
 had an unpleasant reminder in that afflicted member 
 whereon hung Emmerson's masterpiece of mechanism. 
 
 "I'm thirsty," said Toro, presently. "Where is the 
 water?" 
 
 "Overboard." 
 
 Toro started. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand ; there is plenty overboard, 
 as you say plenty of water." 
 
 "You don't understand," returned Hunston. "What 
 I told you was that the keg of fresh water had gone 
 overboard in the gale." 
 
 "But have we none left on board?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then we are lost," cried the Italian. 
 
 "Lost !" 
 
 "Lost, unless a passing vessel picks us up to-day or 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Small chance of that," said Hunston, gloomily. 
 
 "Well, who's responsible for getting us in this mess 
 that's what I ask?" cried the giant, Toro. 
 
 "Ami?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "It is a lie!" said Hunston. 
 
 "Did I strike the blow ?" cried Toro. 
 
 "What has that to do with the matter? We agreed 
 that the boy should die." 
 
 "Harkaway's brat, you mean." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Well." 
 
 "Well, then, Emmerson opposed us; he would have 
 pushed matters to extremes, and he fell, as others have
 
 The Horrors of Shipwreck. 31 
 
 fallen before. If the same squabble occurred again, 
 I should do the same again, probably. Still, Toro, I 
 will confess that I regret that blow I regret Robert 
 Emmerson's death more than any act of my life " 
 
 He stopped short as his arm gave him a twinge. 
 
 An expression of pain deepened on his face as the 
 pain increased, and, in spite of his efforts to restrain it, 
 a deep groan escaped his lips. 
 
 Toro looked on, while strange reflections passed 
 through his mind. 
 
 What if Robert Emmerson's work should be poi- 
 soned ? 
 
 It was just possible, indeed, he thought; but he kept 
 his thoughts to himself. 
 
 The pain which Hunston now experienced was more 
 than a passing annoyance. 
 
 The paroxysms commenced with a faint and sicken- 
 ing sensation, and grew gradually more and more un- 
 bearable, as the suffering man's face clearly indicated. 
 
 "I wonder," thought the Italian, as he watched his 
 companion, "I wonder if these symptoms are the be- 
 ginning of mortification?" 
 
 How strange! 
 
 The same thought had entered Hunston's mind. 
 
 But he resolutely thrust back the unwelcome fancy. 
 
 It could not be. 
 
 No. 
 
 He had dwelt upon the death of his late comrade, 
 Robert Emmerson, until his mind grew filled with all 
 kinds of ugly thoughts.
 
 32 The Horrors of Shipwreck. 
 
 He would no longer allow himself to be tormented 
 with such idle whims. 
 
 But the same thought would ever return. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Many hours passed. 
 
 They had all they could desire to satisfy their hun- 
 ger, but they could not quench their thirst. 
 
 And soon they began to suffer most acutely. 
 
 Yet they did not like to acknowledge it. 
 
 If the truth be told, they did not like even to ac- 
 knowledge the fact to themselves. 
 
 It was an evil conviction which they tried to ward 
 off as long as possible. 
 
 As for Hunston, his bad arm grew worse rapidly, 
 and having no means at hand for tending it, the fever 
 increased, and soon his whole body was parched 
 with it. 
 
 His throat was dry as parchment, and then, in spite 
 of all he could do, the fearful truth would force itself 
 upon his notice. 
 
 They were about to suffer all the horrors of death at 
 sea in an open boat! 
 
 They vented their feelings in cursing their late 
 comrades. 
 
 They wished them to be assailed by all the ills of 
 mortality at once, and finally to perish in the most mis- 
 erable manner. 
 
 These two wretched men worked themselves up into 
 a perfect frenzy over the thoughts of their enemies, and 
 when they had lashed themselves into a perfect fury, 
 they fell foul of each other.
 
 The Horrors of Shipwreck. 33 
 
 In the midst of the squabble another small keg fell 
 overboard. 
 
 It contained meat, and for a minute it floated adrift. 
 
 "We mustn't lose that," ejaculated Tore. 
 
 ''What's to be done?" 
 
 "I'm after it." 
 
 And as he spoke, the Italian cast off his coat and 
 hat, and dived into the water. 
 
 His action was so sudden that Hunston was taken 
 by surprise. 
 
 His first impulse was to pull away from the spot, and 
 leave his friend, Toro, to perish. 
 
 "It is his life or mine," said Hunston to himself. 
 "He might get the best of a squabble, if it came to 
 that." 
 
 So he pulled sharply for four or five strokes. 
 
 Then his arm pained him so excessively that he was 
 forced to stop, and as he shipped his oars, he per- 
 ceived Toro rise to the surface with the keg. 
 
 Toro managed to push it on before him as he swam 
 after the boat. 
 
 Hunston looked at his comrade earnestly, and as 
 he looked, murderous thoughts took possession of him. 
 
 But this was all. 
 
 It went no further than thoughts. 
 
 As he looked, reflections came of the "for and 
 against" in this matter. 
 
 If Toro perished now, it would leave him master 
 of the boat and its contents, it was true ; but it would 
 also leave him alone. 
 
 Alone. 
 
 The very sound of the word was dreadful to him.
 
 34 The Horrors of Shipwreck. 
 
 And so the temptation to leave his comrade to per- 
 ish miserably was abandoned from purely selfish 
 motives. 
 
 He could not do without him at present. 
 
 Instead of knocking him on the head with the oar, he 
 stretched it for him to rest upon. 
 
 "Push the keg nearer to me," he said. 
 
 "Phew, pooh !" spluttered the Italian. "It has taken 
 all my wind away." 
 
 Hunston lifted the keg into the boat. 
 "I could put an end to him now if I wished," he 
 thought to himself. 
 
 Could the swimmer have known how his chances 
 trembled on the balance just then, he would scarcely 
 have felt so comfortable. 
 
 He wavered. 
 
 Toro held out his hands for help, and Hunston as- 
 sisted him to scramble into the boat. 
 
 "That was a precious hard swim, caro mio," said 
 the Italian, shaking the water from his hair, "quite a 
 breather but it was worth the venture." 
 
 "It was." 
 
 "But for more reasons than one," remarked Toro. 
 
 "What other reasons could there be?" asked 
 Hunston. 
 
 "It has refreshed my body completely, and cured 
 my thirst." 
 
 "Indeed." 
 
 "Ay, that it has." 
 
 "I wish it would cure mine," said his companion. 
 
 "I'll warrant you it would," said Toro.
 
 The Horrors of Shipwreck. 35 
 
 "Then I'll 
 
 He stopped short. 
 
 An ugly thought crossed him. 
 
 What if Toro should be seized with fancies similar 
 to those that he had had? 
 
 No. 
 
 This would not do. 
 
 He had better not throw temptation in his way. 
 
 And as these fancies flitted through his mind, he 
 could not help reflecting how glad he would have been 
 to bathe his fevered body. 
 
 Such was the nature of the bond of crime which 
 united these two guilty wretches, that there was noth- 
 ing approaching confidence between them. 
 
 They could never trust each other even after all 
 those long years of close companionship. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Morning came. 
 
 The broiling sun scorched them up, and what with 
 fatigue and thirst, they were in a truly pitiable plight. 
 
 With haggard faces and staring eyes they sat facing 
 each other, supporting, with what patience they could, 
 the torments of thirst. 
 
 The silence at length became unbearable. 
 
 "Toro," said Hunston, in hollow tones, "I suppose 
 you have read of shipwrecks?" 
 
 "I have," returned his companion, in much the same 
 strain. 
 
 "And you have read of all the horrors that have been 
 experienced by miserable wretches in our condition." 
 
 "Yes."
 
 36 The Horrors of Shipwreck. 
 
 "Why, men have been known to seek each other's 
 lives for food." 
 
 "Food !" 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" 
 
 "Mean? Why, that hunger, despair, madness, have 
 made men cannibals." 
 
 "Horrible!" 
 
 "Well, well," said Hunston, with a sickly look, "we 
 have not come to that yet, for our stock of food holds 
 bravely out, and we are not likely to lose our reason. 
 The burning, killing thirst that is upon us " 
 
 "What of it?" exclaimed Toro. 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Of course. How could the death of one or other 
 of us advantage the survivor?" 
 
 "Not at all," was the reply. "We could not well 
 drink each other's blood !" 
 
 It was an unlucky speech. 
 
 Barely had the words been spoken ere he would have 
 given much to recall them. 
 
 But it could not be. 
 
 They were spoken, and do what he would, they 
 could not be recalled. 
 
 But they rang in Toro's ears for many a long hour 
 after, and when he felt the horrible pangs upon him, 
 the terrible reflection came that if his companion lay 
 dead at his feet, it meant a day's more life for him. 
 
 And Hunston? 
 
 What thought he? 
 
 His guilty mind was ever full of such fearful fancies, 
 strive as he would to drive them back.
 
 The Horrors of Shipwreck. 37 
 
 And now their food remained untouched beside 
 them. 
 
 An all-devouring thirst absorbed their thoughts, and 
 they thought only of ministering to it. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Night came, and they both sank back in the boat 
 asleep. 
 
 But their slumbers were fitful, and broken in- 
 termittently. 
 
 Towards daybreak, Hunston awoke from his restless 
 sleep, dreaming the most horrible things about the last 
 and most dreadful episode of crime in his guilty life 
 the murder of Robert Emmerson and as he opened 
 his eyes, he saw a dark figure bending over him. 
 
 He saw that a knife was held over him, and seeing 
 this, he was wide awake immediately. 
 
 "Toro !" he cried. 
 
 "Ha !" cried the Italian. "You're awake." 
 
 "Yes. Standoff." 
 
 "Hunston," hissed his companion in his ear, "the 
 time has come that you or I must die; the chance is 
 mine. Die !" 
 
 And so saying, he struck downwards a fearful blow. 
 
 But Hunston jerked himself aside, and the Italian's 
 knife penetrated deeply into the seat whereon Hunston 
 had been resting. 
 
 Then, before Toro could get it free, the English- 
 man grasped his weapon, and was upon the defensive. 
 
 By dint of a desperate effort, he raised himself up 
 to the Italian's level. 
 
 "You're wrong!" he cried, in the same mad man- 
 ner; "it is my turn, and you, Toro, shall die."
 
 38 Ben Hawser's Advance Guard. 
 
 And Hunston dug fiercely at Toro. 
 
 The blow took effect, but not fatally, in the latter's 
 shoulder. 
 
 This blow served to bring Toro to a full sense of 
 his danger. 
 
 Quickly recovering himself, the giant sprang back 
 and faced his adversary. 
 
 "Hunston," said he, slowly, "you'll never live to re- 
 peat that blow." 
 
 And he bound his knife in his hand with his hand- 
 kerchief as he spoke, his fierce eyes being fixed all the 
 while upon his comrade and adversary. 
 
 "It is your life or mine," said Hunston. 
 
 "Your life or mine," returned Toro. 
 
 And the two men, alone in that small boat, on mur- 
 der bent, fell, knife in hand, upon each other. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 BEN HAWSER'S ADVANCE GUARD. 
 
 To return to Fairy Creek and the Harkaways again. 
 
 The news that Monday brought back from his ex- 
 cursion cast a gloom over the whole party. 
 
 This may be readily understood. 
 
 Spirillo had been a very loose character in bygone 
 days beyond all doubt they had it, in point of fact, 
 upon his own admission but his conduct since he had 
 been with his new-found friends was irreproachable. 
 
 Poor Spirillo 1
 
 Ben Hawser's Advance Guard. 39 
 
 He had just lived to bring them to his reputed El 
 Dorado this isle of Monte Cristo and then he had 
 met his doom. 
 
 He had made himself highly popular with the whole 
 party, and now his loss was most keenly felt. 
 
 "Jefferson," said Harkaway, to the big American, 
 "we have a duty to perform over this." 
 
 "We have," returned Jefferson, significantly. 
 
 "I mean we must not let this go unpunished." 
 
 "Not if we are men," replied Jefferson. 
 
 "This Monastos must suffer for it." 
 
 "He shall." 
 
 "And as there is no time like the present," said 
 Harkaway, "I propose that an expedition should start 
 now." 
 
 "At once. Give the orders, then." 
 
 "No ; you give the orders, Jefferson ; I'll call the 
 ladies to say good-by for the present." 
 
 "As you please, Harkaway," replied Jefferson ; "al- 
 though I should have preferred your taking the com- 
 mand at once. But stay." 
 
 "What now?" 
 
 "Not a word to the ladies." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "Spirillo." 
 
 Harkaway shuddered. 
 
 "Of course not," he replied. "We should leave them 
 in a desperate state of mind to no purpose." 
 
 "I question if we should leave them at all," said 
 Jefferson; "they wouldn't listen to our going if they 
 only knew what had occurred." 
 
 "Where is Harvey?"
 
 /.o Ben Hawser's Advance Guard. 
 
 "Close by; he was here just now Harvey!" 
 
 "Hello!" replied Dick, from the deck of the vessel. 
 
 He had gone back on board to get away from the 
 long faces and heavy hearts about since the sad fate 
 of poor Spirillo had been ascertained. 
 
 "Here, Dick !" shouted Jack Harkaway. 
 
 "Want me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I'm there." 
 
 "We are about starting to discover the retreat of 
 Monastos, the pirate." 
 
 "When do we start?" 
 
 "In a few minutes." 
 
 "Good; I'm ready." 
 
 "Call the men together, then." 
 
 And so, within an hour from that time, the party 
 started. 
 
 It was carried out in this manner. 
 
 Monday and the American negro, Caesar Hannibal, 
 otherwise Sunday, both armed to the teeth, crept for- 
 ward, observing the same tactics as the former had 
 already carried out so successfully. 
 
 "Now," said Harkaway, seriously, to his two trusty 
 darkies, "you must get off turn to the left or the 
 right, so that each of you will scour one side of the 
 heights above the ravine." 
 
 "Yes, sar." 
 
 "There must be no imprudence no rashness." 
 
 "No, sar." 
 
 "Trust me, Master Harkaway," said Monday. 
 
 "Oh, yes, sar you can trust Monday," said the 
 other darky, slyly ; "he'll neber get into danger."
 
 Ben Hawser's Advance Guard. 41 
 
 The bystanders grinned at this sly dig. 
 
 This insinuation nettled Monday to the quick. 
 
 So he retorted, with great asperity : 
 
 "As for Sunday, sar, you couldn't have a better man 
 for dis sarvice." 
 
 "Glad to hear it." 
 
 "That's generous," laughed Dick Harvey. 
 
 "Decidedly," said Magog- Brand. 
 
 "Oh, yes, sar," continued the Prince of Limbi, "Sun- 
 day awful cautious man 'fraid of his own ugly 
 shadder." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the bystanders, while poor 
 Sunday was furious. 
 
 "Now, then," said Harkaway, "no quarreling be- 
 tween yourselves. I know you have both courage, and 
 I know that you need it now, for, my good friends, 
 you have the honor of the most dangerous place in 
 the expedition ; and after poor Spirillo's fate, it shows 
 no ordinary courage in you to accept the post of 
 scouts." 
 
 "Hear ! hear !" from Harvey. 
 
 "Very true, indeed," said Jefferson. 
 
 "Bravo!" exclaimed Mr. Brand; "bravo, both of 
 you !" 
 
 The two darkies bowed their thanks, and while Mon- 
 day grinned and showed his teeth with pleasure, Sun- 
 day swelled out his chest, and strutted like a bantam 
 cock. 
 
 "What we want is prudence," said Harkaway. "The 
 safety of the whole expedition is in your hands, it may 
 be, and there must be no blundering the job."
 
 42 Ben Hawser's Advance Guard. 
 
 "You may rely on me, Mr. Harkaway, sar," said 
 Monday. 
 
 "I know it." 
 
 "And me, too," exclaimed Sunday, quickly. 
 
 "I believe you. Now, then, off with you. Your 
 arms are all right?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Don't trust too much to your pistols; they make a 
 noise." 
 
 "And miss fire occasionally," said Ben Hawser, 
 stepping forward. "There's nothing like dropping 
 them a good one on the nose a peppery one, straight 
 from the shoulder." 
 
 "I've a surer friend here," said Monday. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Here surer and quieter." 
 
 So saying, he drew his knife, a murderous-looking 
 weapon, with a blade twelve inches long, and a hol- 
 lowed handle that the hand fitted well into. 
 
 He was the wild Indian once more. 
 
 He looked, indeed, as though he had a foe under 
 that knife. 
 
 "I pity the skunk who gets in the way of Monday's 
 toothpick," said Mr. Jefferson, in an undertone, to 
 Magog Brand. 
 
 "So do I." 
 
 They were gone. 
 
 Signals were arranged between the scouts and the 
 main body, and every precaution taken, and then Jef-
 
 Ben Hawser's Advance Guard. 43 
 
 ferson, Harkaway and Dick Harvey set about getting 
 the whole body in order, to march through the ravine. 
 
 And now all was ready. 
 
 They only waited for the signals from above. 
 
 Presently they heard two distinct bird calls from 
 the heights above, at not more than a minute's interval 
 between them. 
 
 "Now." 
 
 "Stop, your honor," exclaimed Ben Hawser, running 
 forward. 
 
 "What now?" 
 
 "Who is to serve as scout for the main body ?" 
 
 "I don't understand you," was Jack's reply. 
 
 "Why, I can propose a scout an advance guard 
 that'll beat all the darkies in the world in discretion." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "Here." 
 
 He whistled shrilly two or three times, and then a 
 little, shaggy Scotch terrier came bounding up. 
 
 "Good Mike," said Ben, "brave Mike ; look how fond 
 he is of his old daddy." 
 
 The little dog seemed as though he could devour his 
 master with gratitude at being taken notice of. 
 
 "Now, Mike," said Ben Hawser, holding the dog in 
 his left arm, and admonishing him with his right fore- 
 finger. "Now you'll have to run on ahead and smell 
 out anybody skulking about; do you hear?" 
 
 The dog replied with a whine of intelligence. 
 
 "Now call him, your honor," said Ben. 
 
 "Come, Mike," said Jack. 
 
 Mike looked wistfully at his master. 
 
 "Go on, that's your cap'n now."
 
 44 Monday on the Warpath. 
 
 Off they started, Mike leading. 
 
 And so they pushed through the ravine. 
 
 ******* 
 
 In the meantime, Nero, the monkey, had scrambled 
 up one of the heights after Monday. 
 
 The latter had, however, got such a start of Nero 
 that he had some difficulty in finding him, and so he 
 climbed into a tree ; then he saw crouching beneath him 
 a dark-visaged man, who was peering through the 
 thickly grown shrubs upon the party passing beneath. 
 
 Nero saw, too, that this man was nervously grasp- 
 ing a rifle, which he was about to bring to his shoulder, 
 his intended target being the heart of Jack Harkaway, 
 the elder. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MONDAY ON THE WARPATH. 
 
 Mike strutted before the party with an air of dignity, 
 as if conscious of the importance of his position. 
 
 He was not a majestic terrier, strictly speaking. 
 
 Yet now he evidently felt that he had the safety of 
 the party upon his shoulders, and presently, when 
 about half the distance of the passage through the 
 ravine had been traversed, Mike stopped short, and 
 pricked up his ears ; and then he sniffed about un- 
 easily, while a low, ominous growl escaped him. 
 
 It was startling. 
 
 Not a word was spoken, but each member of the 
 small party instinctively grasped his weapons. On 
 guard.
 
 Monday on the Warpath. 45 
 
 Scarcely an inch of the ground was unwatched by 
 those wary adventurers. 
 
 Not a word was spoken. 
 
 Suddenly there was a noise in the shrubs overhang- 
 ing the right cliff, then a crash of breaking twigs and 
 branches, and something whizzed through the air and 
 fell at the feet of Magog Brand. 
 
 It was a rifle. 
 
 The little man popped his foot upon it, and placing 
 his own piece to his shoulder, he pointed it straight up 
 at the spot whence the rifle had apparently fallen. 
 
 He was not alone in this movement. 
 
 A dozen rifles were pointed at the same spot in a 
 trice. 
 
 "Forward!" exclaimed Jack Harkaway, promptly; 
 "this may be an ambush ; we mustn't be shot here like 
 pigeons out of the traps. Bring on the rifle with you ; 
 forward !" 
 
 "One moment," said Magog Brand. "Mike has 
 proved himself king of scouts ; let him go ahead." 
 
 "Right." 
 
 "Good dog," said Jefferson; "clear the way, Mike, 
 and you shall have the choicest bit of our first meal." 
 
 "I second that," cried Dick Harvey, laughing. 
 "Bravo, Mike! good dog." 
 
 With ears erect and mobile tail, Mike marched on, 
 and so the procession passed safely through the ravine 
 and through the threatening danger. 
 
 We have stated that Nero followed Monday up the 
 heights.
 
 4 6 Monday on the Warpath. 
 
 Now Monday's quick ear caught the sound of Nero 
 clambering through the branches of the trees to his. 
 perch for Nero was almost as big as a man and 
 not dreaming it was his monkey friend, Monday took 
 out his long knife and looked about him. 
 
 After listening intently, while he discovered the 
 direction whence the sounds came, he made that way. 
 
 Creeping through the thicket with the greatest cau- 
 tion, he was suddenly brought to a standstill by re- 
 ceiving a smart crack on the head. 
 
 A cocoanut fell at his feet. 
 
 "Hello!" thought Monday, "that's somebody pelt- 
 ing me with nuts, and he's almost cracked mine." 
 
 But he was silent. 
 
 He simply rubbed the damaged part of his head. 
 
 And then he looked sharply about him for another. 
 
 It was not long in coming. 
 
 But forewarned, forearmed. 
 
 Monday dodged it with considerable agility. 
 
 In getting out of harm's way his eye dropped upon 
 Nero up aloft. 
 
 There he was, squatting on a branch, and gathering 
 such missiles as were within reach. 
 
 One he had in his hand ready for another shy. 
 
 But Monday was surprised to find that he was not 
 the target this time. 
 
 There was something almost immediately under- 
 neath that apparently excited his attention more than 
 all else. 
 
 Monday crept forward on all fours, and there he 
 perceived the body of a man stretched upon the 
 ground.
 
 Monday on the Warpath. 47 
 
 He also perceived that this man was leaning over 
 the edge of a precipice. 
 
 Holding his knife in his teeth by the blade, Mon- 
 day crawled on. 
 
 The man in front, unsuspecting danger to himself, 
 had just raised his rifle to his shoulder, pointing to 
 Harkaway down the precipice. 
 
 Monday still crawled on, and then he heard the 
 measured tramp of the party passing through the 
 ravine. 
 
 A thousand dreadful fears flashed in an instant 
 through his mind. 
 
 Not ten minutes before he had given the signal that 
 all was safe for the march through the ravine. 
 
 All this was but the reflection of a moment. 
 
 Before he had even time to advance another foot, 
 Nero dropped from his perch on to the next lower 
 branch. 
 
 Then he dropped another step, and plumped upon 
 the back of the man overhanging the precipice. 
 
 The man gave a yell and dropped the rifle over the 
 cliff. 
 
 Then, frightened at the noise, sprang up and scram- 
 bled slipped fell over. Monday looked on sur- 
 prised. 
 
 But soon recovering himself, he crawled up to the 
 edge and looked over, expecting to see the body of 
 the unlucky wretch writhing beneath. 
 
 But what was his surprise to discover that he had 
 not fallen more than three feet? 
 
 Just beneath them was a wide ledge of land, upon
 
 48 Monday on the Warpath. 
 
 which he had fallen, and contrived to stop himself 
 from rolling further. 
 
 Now, just as Monday looked over, the man had re- 
 covered his balance and was scrambling into the 
 thicket. 
 
 Monday watched his progress. 
 
 Then glancing over to the party below, he crawled 
 back, and went in pursuit of the pirate who had had 
 such a lucky escape. 
 
 "He hasn't seen me," said Monday to himself, "so 
 I have all the advantage." 
 
 He crept on. 
 
 Softly he made his way after the other, full of hope 
 of discovering something which would prove of use 
 to his party. 
 
 The Prince of Limbi chuckled, when he thought 
 how his success would give him a signal triumph over 
 his African rival, Sunday. 
 
 Now barely had this fancy crossed him when he 
 made a very unpleasant discovery. 
 
 He had lost the scent. 
 
 But he did not give it up yet. 
 
 Crawling on, he made his way with more speed than 
 ever. 
 
 With more speed, in point of fact, than prudence. 
 
 But only for a while. 
 
 Then he pulled up and grew wiser. 
 
 He got clear of the thicket growth, and then he bent 
 his head to the ground, peering about him like a 
 bloodhound. 
 
 He had struck the trail. 
 
 He looked to his weapons and went on on on.
 
 Monday on the Warpath. 49 
 
 Soon he was within sight of an opening, from 
 whence started *three foot tracks through the dense 
 growth of trees and shrubs, and at the point to which 
 these tracks converged stood a ghastly object a hu- 
 man head upon a pole stuck in the ground. 
 
 Monday paused. 
 
 The recollection of that awful sight made him feel 
 uncomfortable, and he did not relish the thought of 
 facing it again. 
 
 But in these things there is a fearful fascination, 
 while they horrify, and he could not refrain from peer- 
 ing through the shrubs for a glance at the dreadful 
 object. 
 
 And then judge of his surprise when he discovered 
 that the opening was already occupied by another. 
 
 Yes! 
 
 There was the very man he sought. 
 
 The object of his pursuit. 
 
 And this man was in the act of venting his spleen 
 upon that poor, helpless fragment of a man that had 
 so very recently been full of life and vigor, the head 
 of Spirillo. 
 
 Monday could not understand his words. 
 
 The pirate was expressing his contempt for Spirillo, 
 and threatening him with all kinds of indignities. 
 
 The ruffian concluded a regular tirade of invectives, 
 by spitting upon the ghastly object on the pole. 
 
 "You shall pay for that," said Monday to himself. 
 
 And he set to work. 
 
 He crept round through the thick shrubs, and steal- 
 ing a march thus upon the unscrupulous ruffian, who
 
 50 Monday on the Warpath. 
 
 had not known how to respect a valiant enemy, he 
 suddenly faced him. 
 
 "I have you now," said Monday ; "and you shall die 
 for this." 
 
 "Caramba!" ejaculated the man thus discovered. 
 
 He stood facing Monday for a second or so, fixed to 
 the spot with surprise. 
 
 While he was thus spellbound Monday took his knife 
 in his left hand, and with the other he whipped out 
 the short ax that he had stuck handy in his belt. 
 
 The pirate fell back. 
 
 Then silently drew his knife. 
 
 Monday crept on, slowly, cautiously and stealthily. 
 
 Crept as a cat on a mouse. 
 
 The other retreated slowly backwards facing the 
 foe. 
 
 Monday was sure of his victim, so he thought, and 
 his face was illuminated with a vicious and triumphant 
 smile. 
 
 Suddenly the pirate gave a strange cry, turned 
 round, and plunged into the thicket. 
 
 He disappeared. 
 
 Yes, he was gone. 
 
 Monday gave a cry of utter rage and disgust. 
 
 Then he dashed after him. 
 
 Bursting his way through the thick undergrowth, he 
 pushed on, literally carving himself a passage with 
 his ax. 
 
 The man turned quickly, with knife in hand, but 
 Monday, with his old Indian war shout, was upon him. 
 
 The next moment the man lay dead at his feet. 
 
 Monday stopped to look at his fallen foe, and was
 
 Monday on the Warpath. 51 
 
 surprised to find he had killed, not the man he was in 
 pursuit of, but one like him only in dress. 
 
 "Oh ! oh !" thought Monday, "there are more pirates 
 about than one." 
 
 Suddenly he stopped short. 
 
 Something had struck him in the back. 
 
 A treacherous blow it was, too, and it seemed to 
 poor Monday as though his spine had been seared with 
 a red-hot iron. 
 
 Not a cry, not a murmur, not a sound escaped him. 
 
 Quick as a tiger upon his prey the Prince of Limbi 
 was round with his face to the enemy. 
 
 It was the man he was after. 
 
 He had stolen a march upon poor Monday, doubled 
 and stabbed him in the back. 
 
 Then, having delivered the blow, he would have dis- 
 appeared again, but before he could get quite out of 
 harm's way, Monday hurled the ax at him with all his 
 might. 
 
 A wild cry from the pirate told that it had taken 
 effect. 
 
 Monday made a rush forward ; but the other, in 
 spite of his hurt, managed to dodge him. 
 
 In an instant he was gone again. 
 
 Monday followed a little way, and having recovered 
 his ax, which was blood-stained, he began to think 
 of turning back. A sickly feeling stole over him. 
 
 The wound in his back was beginning to tell, he 
 knew 
 
 "I must get to my party," thought the brave black, 
 "or I shall be found and decorate another pole beside 
 poor Spirillo."
 
 52 Monday on the Warpath. 
 
 He turned faint, but he drove this feeling back with 
 fierce resolution and pushed on. 
 
 Suddenly an arm was thrust out of the thicket; a 
 hand, with a gleaming knife in it, was upraised, and 
 down it came. 
 
 Just shaved. 
 
 Monday had seen it, and, slightly jerking himself 
 aside, avoided the blow. 
 
 He turned then, with his old Limbian war cry, and 
 fell on the hidden enemy, chopping with such despera- 
 tion with his ax that there was a regular shower of 
 splinters from the shrubs. 
 
 A hollow groan told, too, that he had struck some- 
 thing more than the bushes. 
 
 A moment more and the enemy lay revealed, dead 
 at his feet. 
 
 One doughty blow severed the unhappy wretch's 
 head from his body. 
 
 "Now, sar, you are number two," said Monday, with 
 a grim smile ; "so me take down Spirillo and put dis 
 poll on de oder pole. Yah ! yah !" 
 
 This worthy savage had dropped back half a life- 
 time in civilization by simply returning to the instincts 
 of his youth. 
 
 He was on the warpath. 
 
 All was justifiable. 
 
 Dragging himself pain-fully along, and bearing the 
 ghastly trophy with him, he reached the well-known 
 opening to which converged the different paths through 
 the thicket. 
 
 "Come down, Spirillo," said he tenderly; "come
 
 Adventures in Magic Island. 53 
 
 down, ole friend, and let me poke up in your place dis 
 oder dam t'ief." 
 
 And then he grew fainter and fainter. 
 
 A film spread over his eyes. 
 
 "I'm a 'coon gone 'coon," he faltered. 
 
 He sank upon the ground. 
 
 "My head will be dere after all," he murmured. 
 
 The thought gave him a moment's renewed strength. 
 
 So he jerked up, and whistled three times upon a 
 small silver call he carried. 
 
 "Where dat nigger Sunday why him not here now 
 to help me?" 
 
 Then after a moment's pause : 
 
 "Massa Harkaway," he faltered; "Jack! Massa 
 Dick ! Come help I die." 
 
 And he sank back. 
 
 Then, as he lost consciousness, two fierce eyes 
 gleamed at him through the foliage, and a long, lank 
 form crept stealthily out into the open. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ADVENTURES IN MAGIC ISLAND. 
 
 They heard poor Monday's signal below, but before 
 they could render him any assistance, the chances were 
 that his own prophecy would be realized that his 
 head would make the third ghastly trophy in that grim 
 scene. 
 
 "Hark!" said Mr. Jefferson; "do you hear?"
 
 54 Adventures in Magic Island. 
 
 "Yes ; it is Monday." 
 
 "He is hurt." 
 
 "Or has long odds to meet," suggested Harvey. 
 
 "I should like to be in his place, then," said Mr. 
 Mole, grandly. 
 
 "No doubt." 
 
 "No, gentlemen," said the American doctor, "the cry 
 ^we heard sounded like some one in distress, and if we 
 -are to render any assistance to our faithful friend, we 
 must be quick." 
 
 Harkaway blew an answer to Monday's signal. 
 
 "Hark!" 
 
 They listened for a reply. 
 
 But listened in vain. 
 
 After a minute or two's ominous silence, they began 
 to look at each other with long faces. 
 
 They said nothing, but they all felt that some fresh 
 calamity was threatening. 
 
 They did not dare to speak their thoughts. 
 
 They feared that poor Monday had shared Spirillo's 
 iate. 
 
 "Halt!" said Jack; "I will sound the signal once, 
 more." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "This looks bad for poor Monday," said Harkaway ; 
 *'we must be quick, gentlemen." 
 
 He then led the way up the heights, from the op- 
 posite side to that which Monday had started from. 
 
 They went up in skirmishing order, Mike being gen- 
 erally selected to lead the van. 
 
 Mike trudged on. 
 
 He knew he had serious work to do.
 
 Adventures in Magic Island. 
 
 The grave faces of his friends and patrons impressed 
 him deeply; for a most impressionable dog was Mike. 
 
 In skirmishing order they mounted the heights, until 
 Mr. Mole was forced to pull up for assistance. 
 
 "Harvey," he groaned. 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Mole ?" asked Dick. 
 
 "With my infirmity I can't make headway." 
 
 "Footway, you mean, sir," suggested Harvey, look- 
 ing at Mole's legs. 
 
 Mr. Mole frowned at Dick, who, however, remained 
 perfectly serious. 
 
 "I slip as I go on, Harvey," he said. 
 
 "One step forward and two back?" suggested 
 Harvey. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "As if it was on a glacier ?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "I know what you want, then, Mr. Mole." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "Yes; you want roughing." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Roughing, sir, about the feet, depend upon it," said 
 Dick. 
 
 "Mr. Harvey, I must beg you to be more respect- 
 ful in your manner." 
 
 "No disrespect, sir," said Harvey, "none whatever.. 
 Allow me." 
 
 And he stooped to lift up one of Mr. Mole's timber 
 toes. 
 
 Dick was actually treating Mr. Mole as a farrier 
 would a horse.
 
 56 Adventures in Magic Island. 
 
 Mole would have resented the liberty thus taken 
 with him, but Dick had him by the leg. 
 
 So, to save himself from falling, he had to clutch his 
 tormentor round the shoulders for support. 
 
 Dick examined the bottom of the wooden limb with 
 a critical air. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "a nail in each of those will convert 
 Mr. Mole into a pair of perambulating alpenstocks." 
 
 "Think so, Harvey?" 
 
 "Yes. Happy thought. Keep steady, sir." 
 
 For the sake of the advantage to be gained the tutor 
 submitted to the operation, and soon Mr. Mole was 
 firmer at each step than any member of the party, and 
 all through that simple operation. 
 
 A nail was driven into the tip of each wooden leg, 
 and the spikes dug in the ground, preventing him 
 slipping. 
 
 And Isaac Mole smiled with gratification as he went, 
 even condescending to approve, in a patronizing man- 
 ner, of Dick's small pleasantries at his expense. 
 
 What was that? 
 
 The dog Mike growled. 
 
 There was a general halt. 
 
 Every hand grasped a weapon with a nervous grip, 
 if in instant expectation of being called upon to 
 use it. 
 
 Mike went on a few paces further, and then sniffed 
 the ground and began to paw the earth. 
 
 They stooped to look at what excited the intelligent 
 canine's attention.
 
 Adventures in Magic Island. 57 
 
 The ground was moist in a round, hollow place, and 
 when they approached to examine it closely they dis- 
 covered that the moisture was blood. 
 
 "See here!'' exclaimed Harkaway; "there has been 
 foul play." 
 
 "Yes, no doubt," said Harvey; "look, the blood ex- 
 tends along here." 
 
 "Blood !" echoed everyone, in one voice as it were. 
 
 "Is it Monday's?" 
 
 A shudder went through the whole assemblage. 
 
 Poor Monday. 
 
 Could they have only known of his piteous plight, 
 and how close he was to them at that moment, what 
 would they have done? 
 
 And yet poor Monday was close upon the spot. 
 
 They might have seen the luckless and faithful 
 Prince of Limbi stretched upon the ground, scarcely 
 any life to speak of in him. 
 
 They would have seen a dark-visaged Greek, hover- 
 ing near, knife in hand, ready to take what life yet 
 remained in that poor, motionless body. 
 
 Twice had that murderous-looking Greek crept out 
 to wreak his vengeance upon the hapless Monday. 
 
 Twice had he been startled by a strange noise, that 
 he could by no means understand, but he now, with a 
 firm step, ventured out, knife in hand. 
 
 It looked very bad for poor Monday now. 
 
 It seemed that no power could save him. 
 
 And the ruffian gloated at the prospect of revenge 
 that was now at his command. 
 
 He knelt over the senseless Limbian, and felt his
 
 58 Adventures in Magic Island. 
 
 heart, and then tried various parts of his body for a 
 pulse. 
 
 But he tried in vain. 
 
 There must have been very little if any life in 
 poor, unlucky Monday by this time. 
 
 Then finding Monday as lifeless as he could wish he 
 bared his throat and felt the edge of his knife. 
 
 He set to work now. 
 
 With his brutal left hand he thrust back the destined 
 victim's chin ; with his right he brought the long, ugly 
 knife close to the throat. 
 
 "Your head," he said, looking with fierce eyes at 
 Monday, "shall deck another pole." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" 
 
 A wild cry escaped him. 
 
 Some invisible foe had dragged him by the hair with 
 such fierceness that it seemed as though his scalp was 
 coming away. 
 
 He dropped his knife, and clapped his hand to the 
 injured part. 
 
 "Ha ! ha !" 
 
 He yelled again and again, and the harder he yelled 
 the harder did this unseen enemy drag. 
 
 He wrestled mightily with the foe, nevertheless, and 
 suddenly wriggling himself round, he caught a glimpse 
 of his assailant. 
 
 Now that glimpse filled his very soul with fear. 
 
 The Greek's only thought was that the Evil One had 
 come to claim his own at last. 
 
 So desperate did his struggles now become that he 
 actually tore himself away, leaving a good handful of 
 his gory locks in the hands of the enemy, and as he
 
 Adventures in Magic Island. 59 
 
 got free he turned to the thicket just at the very in- 
 stant that a man Magog Brand appeared in the 
 opening. 
 
 Magog cocked his rifle and blazed away after him. 
 
 The ruffian did not get altogether clear off. 
 
 The shot took effect in his left ham, but so far on 
 the side, that it made a narrow fissure in his flesh, and 
 passed on without resting in his body. 
 
 "Ha ! ha !" 
 
 And he howled more than ever as he made his es- 
 cape. 
 
 "Look, here is poor Monday !" cried Brand. 
 
 They were right glad when they came up to poor 
 Monday. 
 
 "What do you say, doctor?" asked Harkaway, 
 eagerly. "Is he dangerously hurt?" 
 
 The doctor paused. 
 
 He looked grave for a minute, then said : 
 
 "He will live." 
 
 "Thank Heaven!" ejaculated Harkaway, fervently. 
 
 "Amen !" said Dick. 
 
 They had been through so many perils and troubles 
 together in many lands that they felt the greatest af- 
 fection for their dear old friend and companion, whose 
 friendship the^ had made under circumstances of no 
 ordinary danger. 
 
 "He has had a very ugly blow," said the American 
 doctor, with a serious air, "and his recovery will cer- 
 tainly take a long while." 
 
 "We must get him back to the ship," said Hark- 
 away. 
 
 "Shall we all go?"
 
 60 Adventures in Magic Island. 
 
 "No need for that," said Jack Harkaway ; "let four 
 of the party be told off for the service, and two more 
 serve as escort ; this will be all that is necessary." 
 
 They set to work hurriedly to construct a litter, and 
 then they bore the poor fellow tenderly away. 
 
 But while this was proceeding, Mr. Jefferson was 
 looking about in anxious inquiry. 
 
 "What is it, Jefferson?" cried Harkaway. 
 
 "Where's Mole?" 
 
 "Mr. Mole!" Jack shouted. 
 
 Isaac Mole was somehow or other absent. 
 
 "Where was he last seen?" 
 
 "Who saw him last?" 
 
 There were plenty to put this question, but few were 
 in a position to answer it. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, speak, some of you !" exclaimed 
 Harkaway; "I fear this Greek ruffian has murdered 
 him!" 
 
 At length one of the sailors volunteered a little in- 
 formation. 
 
 "Where did you see him, Ben?" asked Harkaway. 
 
 "Why, your honor," answered the honest tar, "he 
 fell out to refresh." 
 
 "Refresh?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What, to drink?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Well," ejaculated Jefferson, "that's a big joke, I 
 reckon." 
 
 "Don't think he'll find it one," said Magog Brand. 
 
 "Poor old Mole," said Dick Harvey ; "one or two of 
 us ought to hark back and look about for him."
 
 Adventures in Magic Island. 61 
 
 "Ay! ay!" 
 
 "Who'll go with me?" 
 
 "I will, your honor," said Ben Hawser, "if so be as it 
 ain't ag'in the rules, for I shouldn't like to see the 
 schoolmaster come to grief damme !" 
 
 "Off with you, then," said Harkaway. "But pray use 
 every caution," 
 
 "Trust me." 
 
 "Be sure to give the signal in case of danger." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "And now you return as quickly as you can to the 
 ship, with all care for your patient." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 And so they started off. 
 
 The disappointed ruffian, who had to beat a retreat, 
 crawled through the thicket and got out of danger. 
 
 Moaning and groaning, he went on all fours. 
 
 He had got an ugly gash on the head, that he owed 
 to Monday in their skirmish ; he had lost a tuft of hair, 
 and in addition to this, he had received a bullet wound 
 in the haunch, which left him very unhappy indeed. 
 
 Chairs were scarce in Magic Island, but if they had 
 had them in plenty, this unhappy wretch could not have 
 ventured to have enjoyed one. 
 
 And as he crawled alone he came suddenly upon a 
 remarkable object. 
 
 It was nothing less than a man squatting upon the 
 ground and sucking ardent liquor from a bottle. 
 
 This man's face was flushed. 
 
 His nose was tipped with a very ruddy glow
 
 62 Mr. Mole's Brush With the Enemy. 
 
 His eyes sparkled brilliantly, and he rocked to and 
 fro as he sat. 
 
 Now, when the wounded ruffian approached, the ca- 
 rouser looked up, and fixing his eyes upon him, said : 
 
 "Come and sit down, the pair of you, and don't get 
 dancing round and round like that, you'll gid getty 
 that is, get giddy. Come, come, old fellow, and liquor 
 up." 
 
 And then he burst out into a bacchanalian chant, 
 which surprised the newcomer : 
 
 " 'Gayly now my moments roll, 
 While I quaff the flowing bowl, 
 Care shall never touch Ike Mole, 
 If he deeply, deeply drinks his grog.' 
 
 "He ! he ! he ! my cheerful pal. Gently ; don't waltz 
 round like that, but come and have a pull. Sit down, 
 both of you ; this is a free-an'-easy, an' not a dance 
 he! he!" 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MR. MOLE'S BRUSH WITH THE ENEMY. 
 
 The Greek ruffian looked more alarmed at Mr. Mole 
 than if the latter had shown fight. 
 
 The probability is, that he took the worthy man for 
 a magician, and thought that his bacchanalian ditty 
 was an incantation. 
 
 "Come, and sit down, ole f'lar," said Mr. Mole, wav- 
 ing his hand; "chake a tair thatish, takes shair 
 'scuse my speeth spe speech I've been shuffering
 
 Mr. Mole's Brush With the Enemy. 63 
 
 so with toothache that it'sh quite affected my talking 
 it's made my head bad, too precious bad must have 
 it off pah ha! Come an' sit down an' make your- 
 selves happy!" 
 
 Then he looked about him with tipsy gravity. 
 
 "Where 'sh the other?" 
 
 No answer coming, he went on : 
 
 "Mo'stronary can't make where'sh th'other. Come 
 an' sit down what'll you take?" 
 
 He made an effort to rise. 
 
 Thereupon the Greek drew his knife. 
 
 Now, far gone as he was, Isaac Mole knew what that 
 meant. 
 
 So he felt for his revolver and cocked it. 
 
 But he might as well have cocked a champagne 
 bottle. 
 
 His revolver was filled with whisky, which had 
 leaked from a bottle in his pocket, and the weapon was 
 of no use. 
 
 The ruffian, seeing the revolver, grew awfully fright- 
 ened. 
 
 He dropped his knife on the ground, and bowed in 
 the most extravagant token of submission. 
 
 "Quite sho," said Isaac Mole ; "come sit down, you 
 ugly ruffian, or I shall shoot you." 
 
 Apparently the Greek did not understand the words, 
 but the gestures accompanying the speech were full of 
 meaning. 
 
 So down he dropped immediately, facing Mr. Mole. 
 
 "Now take a pull at this, you vagabond," said the 
 latter, handing him the cup off his flask full of liquor.
 
 64 Mr. Mole's Brush With the Enemy. 
 
 The other gave him a Greek "thank you," and took 
 a good draught at the cup. 
 
 Then he coughed and spluttered, and nearly choked, 
 for it was overproof whisky that Mr. Mole had been 
 drinking. 
 
 The Greek had not tasted whisky before. 
 
 And when he recovered his breath he got on his feet 
 and seized his knife again. 
 
 His eyes were half starting out from their sockets, 
 and his face was blood-red. 
 
 Some violent ejaculations in his own tongue burst 
 from him, and he made a rush at the astonished Mr. 
 Mole. 
 
 The latter would have been in a sorry predicament 
 but for a singular accident. 
 
 He lifted his right leg to ward off the assault, and 
 as the Greek made a mad rush he spiked himself on the 
 nail that tipped the timber toe Dick Harvey's 
 roughing. 
 
 "Aha!" cried the Greek. 
 
 And down he dropped his knife, as the pain of his 
 hurt from the nail doubled him up. 
 
 Mr. Mole valiantly lunged out again, and this time 
 he caught the Greek upon the neck. 
 
 "What are you howling at ?" said Mole ; but he was 
 partly sobered by what he had seen, for it was rather 
 a startling job, and so, with commendable presence of 
 mind, he followed his success sharply up. 
 
 He first secured the Greek's knife and his own re- 
 volver, and then he rushed at the enemy. 
 
 The latter, having received half an inch of rusty 
 nail in his neck, had been knocked over, but scrambling
 
 Mr. Mole's Brush With the Enemy. 65 
 
 to his feet, he made off just as Mr. Mole remorselessly 
 prodded him behind with his right leg and right nail. 
 
 "Aha ! Oho ! Hoha !" yelled the Greek. 
 
 And he rushed away, shrieking with fear, for Mr. 
 Mole had "landed him" upon a sore spot the fissure in 
 his ham that had been made by Magog Brand's bullet. 
 At the very moment that he disappeared, Dick Har- 
 vey, guided by the noise, rushed up to Mole. 
 
 "Hello!" cried Dick, anxiously, "are you safe?" 
 
 "And sound," said Mole. 
 
 "Thank Heaven for that," said Harvey. "You gave 
 us a precious fright, but we thought we heard a noise." 
 
 Mr. Mole smiled. 
 
 "My dear Harvey," said Mr. Mole, "I like to take 
 the field single-handed." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I have met the foe !" 
 
 "Never !" 
 
 "I have and conquered," said Mr. Mole. "It is 
 true," he added moodily, "they were not in force there 
 were, in fact, only five of them." 
 
 "Five ?" 
 
 "Yes ; only five." 
 
 "You met them single-handed?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "And fought?" 
 
 "Very much fought, of course." 
 
 "And you beat them all off?" 
 
 "Still more, of course." 
 
 "Well," said Harvey, "well, you are a brave man, 
 sir." 
 
 "Did you ever know me to turn my back to the foe ?"
 
 66 Mr. Mole's Brush With the Enemy. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I thought not." 
 
 "Nor your face, either," muttered Dick. 
 
 Yet he was puzzled, for he certainly had heard cries 
 as he came up. 
 
 Some more of the party came up. 
 
 "I have fought and conquered," said Isaac Mole, 
 with a flourish; "behold the spoils of victory." 
 
 And he showed the knife that the frightened brigand 
 had left behind him in his flight. 
 
 "Well done, Mr. Mole," said Brand. 
 
 "The brave Mole was alone, single-handed," said 
 Harvey. 
 
 "Where are your victims?" inquired Brand. 
 
 "I can't say ; the whole seven of them fled, scattered 
 like chaff before the wind, and by this mighty arm 
 alone." 
 
 "Seven !" said Harvey. 
 
 "Seven," said Mr. Mole, with serious emphasis. 
 
 "You said five." 
 
 "Five," explained Mr. Mole, with considerable readi- 
 ness, "five I fought; the other two can scarcely have 
 been said to fight." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Five of the poor, scared wretches cut up so miser- 
 ably bad, that the other two were quite demoralized, so 
 I let one off with a prod in the ribs from my leg." 
 
 "Very kind." 
 
 "But the other got one from my fist that made him 
 swallow six of his teeth." 
 
 "Did you also make them eat their heads?" asked 
 Brand.
 
 The Tiger's Lair. 67 
 
 "Oh ! oh ! oh !" groaned the party in chorus. 
 
 "The Greek might have swallowed his teeth," said 
 Dick ; "but Mr. Mole will never expect us to swallow 
 his tale." 
 
 "Mr. Harvey !" said Mole, in great indignation. 
 
 "In point of fact," said Dick, laughing, "Mr. Mole's 
 peculiar romance suggests a riddle." 
 
 "A riddle ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Let's have it," said Magog Brand. 
 
 "It is this," said Harvey. "Why is a tooth like a 
 lie?" 
 
 "Give it up." 
 
 "Because it's a Mole-ar." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE TIGER'S LAIR. 
 
 The Greek pirate, whom Mr. Mole had vanquished, 
 fled to the thickest part of the wood. 
 
 And when he had ascertained that he was free from 
 pursuit, he made his way to a spot where, cleverly con- 
 cealed in the shrubs from even a close scrutiny, was a 
 large, flat slab of stone, with an iron ring sunk in it. 
 
 This he raised. 
 
 Beneath was a flight of roughly-cut steps that went 
 down into the earth at least twenty feet. 
 
 The Greek stepped down and replaced the stone after 
 him.
 
 68 The Tiger's Lair. 
 
 This done, he descended the steps, and passed along 
 a narrow vaulted passage, dark and gloomy, and fur- 
 nished with a miserable flickering lamp of bad oil at 
 intervals of twenty yards. 
 
 At the end of this passage he came to a barred gate- 
 way of great solidity, where he knocked four times 
 loudly. 
 
 The gate was opened by a thick-set man, of weird 
 and savage aspect. 
 
 A man whose age it was not easy to guess at from 
 his appearance. 
 
 This man addressed the newcomer in Italian. 
 
 The newcomer replied in the same language. 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 "It is I, Stavros; is Monastos within?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Good. Keep a strict watch here, and mind what 
 you are about. There are enemies abroad," said 
 Stavros, seriously. 
 
 "Enemies!" repeated the other, looking blank. 
 
 "Ay! enemies, and clever enemies, too; crafty, cun- 
 ning enemies, that get up to tricks ; enemies to avoid 
 enemies to fear." 
 
 "Fear?" 
 
 And then he aroused himself a bit and stared. 
 
 "Ay! fear." 
 
 He nodded with a deal of significance, and repeated 
 Stavros' last words, as the latter pushed on his way 
 along the low, vaulted passage. 
 
 This second passage was about thirty yards long, 
 and was guarded by a second door more massive than 
 the first.
 
 The Tiger's Lair. 69 
 
 Passing through this he came to a low, vaulted 
 cavern. 
 
 This opened out into a larger vault or cave. 
 
 In this cave there was a thick-set man, with an iron- 
 gray beard and weather-beaten face, that told of ex- 
 posure to wind and rain and sun for many a long year. 
 
 This man was slightly above the middle height, and 
 appeared to be the principal person in the company 
 present. 
 
 He was busily employed in superintending the load- 
 ing of pistols, and polishing of steel arms of various 
 makes and descriptions, while the bulk of the work 
 was being performed by two men. 
 
 Near them was a beautiful girl. 
 
 The two men were evidently of a very low type; 
 but there was an unmistakably superior look about the 
 girl. 
 
 The other man, he of the iron-gray- beard, was be- 
 tween forty and fifty years of age. 
 
 His closely-knit frame spoke of great bodily strength. 
 
 To the left of the door by which Stavros had en- 
 tered was a vaulted aperture, beyond which could be 
 seen the daylight faintly glistening through a dense 
 foliage. 
 
 At this entrance stood two armed sentries. 
 
 Silent, motionless. 
 
 The table was prepared in the center of the cavern, 
 and was already creaking and groaning under a pro- 
 fusion of riches, that were in strange contrast with the 
 wild and rugged appearance of the dwelling itself. 
 
 Rich wines and fruits were there in abundance, and 
 in endless variety, and the service was of gold plate.
 
 jo The Tiger's Lair. 
 
 There was the finest table linen, and, in fine, every 
 luxury of civilization and wealth. 
 
 So extraordinary did it look in such a place that it 
 would sorely have puzzled any of the Harkaway party, 
 could they have pierced that jealously guarded en- 
 trance. 
 
 What would they have thought it was like? 
 
 It recalled, more than aught else, a scene in a panto- 
 mime opening, where the change from gay to grave, 
 from banqueting halls of dazzling light to the haunts 
 of demon miners, is performed in a slipshod manner by 
 the slow scene shifters, and the festive board is left 
 forgotten, long after the brilliant walls and flashing 
 mirrors have given place to the dismal cavern "flat." 
 
 Stavros stared at the preparations for the feast, and 
 his eyes glistened. 
 
 "Capt. Monastos !" he said, or rather gasped, for he 
 was nearly done up with his late exertions. 
 
 "Stavros, you here !" 
 
 The captain turned in surprise as the latter entered. 
 
 Stavros dropped upon a cushion that lay nearly at his 
 feet. 
 
 But he rolled over with a cry of pain. 
 
 He had fallen upon the wound that he owed to 
 Magog Brand's unerring rifle. 
 
 Monastos and the rest of the people gathered around 
 him. 
 
 "What is it, Stavros ?" asked the Greek captain ; "are 
 you hurt?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "Badly?" 
 
 "I fear so."
 
 The Tiger's Lair. 71 
 
 "Is it this cut you have in the neck and head?" 
 
 "That is not the worst, captain," replied Stavros. "I 
 am faint with loss of blood and fatigue." 
 
 "Faint !" said Monastos. "Give him some wine." 
 
 This was obeyed. 
 
 A large goblet of silver was filled to the brim with 
 rich wine. 
 
 The parched Stavros drank it to the dregs. Monas- 
 tos stooped and hastily examined the hurt upon his 
 head. 
 
 "This is a bad knock," said he, "but it is by no means 
 dangerous." 
 
 "That is not all," said Stavros. "I'm shot !" 
 
 "Shot?" 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 "Not in the chest or body ?" said Monastos, anxiously. 
 
 "No," replied Stavros, hesitating. 
 
 And, looking up at the girl who was looking down 
 upon him, full of solicitude for him: 
 
 "I am shot in the rear." 
 
 "This shall be seen to at once. Paquita!" 
 
 "Yes, father," said the girl. 
 
 "Go and prepare a bed for Stavros in the adjoining 
 chamber, as soft a one as possible, my child." 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 "Now tell me, Stavros," said the pirate and brigand 
 chief, eagerly, as his daughter disappeared, "are they 
 in force?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How many?" 
 
 "Thirty, at least." 
 
 Monastos burst out laughing at this.
 
 72 The Banquet Hall. 
 
 "Thirty?" he ejaculated. "Why, Stavros, we shall 
 eat thirty in about an hour." 
 
 "Not thirty of this breed," replied Stavros, "for, 
 take my word for it, they are thirty devils." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BANQUET HALL. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the brigand chief. "Why, 
 you are getting quite jocular, Stavros." 
 
 "Wait till you have heard all," replied the latter. 
 
 "If thirty devils should come to attack us, my word 
 upon it, our brave, if small force, will soon put them to 
 flight." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "Or provide them with graves," added the brigand 
 chief, fiercely. 
 
 Then he continued: 
 
 "The information is, I admit, to a certain extent, 
 serious, although not anything as serious as you would 
 lead us to believe." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 And Stavros looked as savage as a bear. 
 
 He had been doing all the work and receiving all 
 the hard knocks up to the present. 
 
 "Before you treat this matter lightly, captain," said 
 Stavros, "you should be sure that you may not have 
 cause to weep." 
 
 The captain frowned.
 
 The Banquet Hall. 73 
 
 "You are growing rather daring, Stavros," he said. 
 
 Capt. Monastos looked a bit serious now. 
 
 "Come, come," he said ; "tell me all." 
 
 "Well, in the first place, they have got a monkey 
 dressed like a man that fights for them." 
 
 "A monkey?" ejaculated Monastos. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But surely a monkey can't be a dangerous enemy. 
 He is not one of the devils ?" 
 
 "I don't know that. He looks more like the Evil One 
 than any man could." 
 
 This made the brigand captain laugh. 
 
 "Well, you may be right there, Stavros," he said; 
 "but why not knock this monkey on the head?" 
 
 Stavros laughed now. 
 
 A wild, sardonic grin it was, too. 
 
 "Easily said." 
 
 "Not so easily done ?" 
 
 "Not quite. Why, you can't get near him ; I couldn't 
 so much as touch his tail." 
 
 "Then surely you could knock him over with a 
 bullet?" 
 
 "He's bullet proof," said Stavros, with great gravity ; 
 "you will have an opportunity of judging for yourself 
 before long, no doubt." 
 
 "We shall see." 
 
 "Besides this, they have a very dangerous help in the 
 shape of a little dog; don't laugh yet, until you have 
 heard why he is such a dangerous help. The dog is 
 trained to nose out everything that his master wants 
 him to find. We had them covered in the ravine with 
 our rifles ; we could have picked them off one after the
 
 74 The Banquet Hall. 
 
 other; not one would have got through the pass alive, 
 or at least unhurt." 
 
 "Well, well?" exclaimed Monastos, eagerly. 
 
 "The dog smelt us hang him ! and warned them, 
 and not one was scratched. Besides this, they have two 
 negro scouts, who are as daring as forty devils." 
 
 The captain's face grew more serious. 
 
 "Scouts?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then we must look after them ; they shall have our 
 first care." 
 
 There was a murderous significance in his manner as 
 he said this. 
 
 "That is not all," said Stavros. 
 
 "What more can there be?" 
 
 "They have a dwarf that looks like an unnatural imp, 
 and who shot me without aiming at me." 
 
 "Have they anything else to mention besides their 
 regular men ?" asked the pirate captain. 
 
 "Yes ; they have a man who has no legs." 
 
 "No legs?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, then, he can't do much damage." 
 
 Stavros clapped his hands to his two wounded parts, 
 yet smarting with the stabs that the inebriated Mole 
 had inflicted upon him with his "roughing." 
 
 "You wouldn't say that if you had been in my place." 
 
 "How? Why, surely a legless man can't have done 
 you any harm?" 
 
 "Legless," said Stavros, "in a manner of speaking. 
 His legs are gone, it is true, but they are replaced by 
 stilts of wood, and fitted into the ends are sharp blades.
 
 The Banquet Hall. 75 
 
 Now this man can hop as if his body were upon 
 strings, hop wonderful distances, and use only one of 
 his legs like a lance, and a devilish ugly weapon 
 it makes." 
 
 He groaned as he rubbed the wounded parts that 
 were souvenirs of Isaac Mole's prowess. 
 
 Capt. Monastos opened his eyes wide in wonder. 
 
 "Well, Stavros," he said, rather more seriously, "I 
 confess that it does make a queer list, after all a 
 monkey, a dog, two negro scouts, a dwarf that shoots 
 round the corner, and a springy man mounted upon 
 lances." 
 
 "I thought you would say so." 
 
 "Indeed, I do." 
 
 "But wait until you have come in contact with them 
 yourself." 
 
 "Yes, wait," said the captain, significantly ; "I have 
 already thought of the two negros, and how to dispose 
 of them to advantage." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "We have two faithful friends who do not object to 
 the taste of negro flesh." 
 
 "The taste ?" 
 
 "Yes ; Castor and Cyrus, you may remember." 
 
 "The bloodhounds?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "One of the negroes is already beyond harm, unless 
 I am very much mistaken." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "I have seen to him." 
 
 "Have you met and fought with him?" 
 
 "I have. Listen, captain."
 
 j6 The Banquet Hall. 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "Costantino met the first of their party, a traitor, who 
 ventured here, lurked behind him upon the wooded 
 heights, then pounced upon him, and chopped him down 
 to his death." 
 
 "Good !" cried Monastos. "That's brave." 
 
 "Wait, captain. He was a brave fellow, Costantino, 
 was he not?" 
 
 "He was." 
 
 "Well, Costantino killed the spy, and stuck his head 
 upon a pole just on the spot where he fell." 
 
 "Bravo ! bravo !" cried several of the brigands, gath- 
 ering round as the wounded man's narrative increased 
 in interest. 
 
 "Well. A warning to any who should dare to fol- 
 low," said the chief. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Costantino shall find that I know how to reward 
 my brave followers," said Capt. Monastos, with the 
 air of a great monarch. 
 
 "He has already met with his reward." 
 
 "How? Speak," Monastos ejaculated, angrily. 
 "Why mumble so in riddles? What reward can Cos- 
 tantino have met with already?" 
 
 "He met one of the negro scouts," answered Stavros ; 
 "met him upon the very spot where the head stood 
 up as a warning." 
 
 "Say on." 
 
 "They fought !" 
 
 "Costantino killed his man?" said the chief. 
 
 "No. Costantino did not conquer." 
 
 "Confusion!" exclaimed Monastos; "then he "
 
 The Banquet Hall. 77 
 
 "Is dead ; killed by the black scout." 
 
 A groan came from the pirates. 
 
 "His head now replaces that of the first man the 
 spy, who had the temerity to venture into the tiger's 
 den; and what's more, I believe two of our band are 
 killed." 
 
 "Then, Stavros," said the brigand captain, with a 
 stern air of determination, "the man had better be at the 
 bottom of the sea than face my vengeance ; for I 
 swear " 
 
 "I have already begun that task," said Stavros ; "the 
 murderer of Costantino has that which he will not for- 
 get, and, but that I was interrupted, I would have set- 
 tled his account with life to-day." 
 
 "Good, Stavros," said the captain, gloomily. "My 
 men shall be bitterly avenged. Go on. Tell me how 
 you fared while encountering this African savage." 
 
 "I had his throat and head at my mercy, when that 
 demon ape fell upon me." 
 
 "The ape ?" 
 
 "Ay. He is as big as a man." 
 
 "And the black scout got off?" 
 
 "He did ; but not before I had avenged poor Costan- 
 tino. He was yet living when I left him, but to his 
 grave he will carry my marks." 
 
 "Bravo !" 
 
 "That is something," said the brigand captain, ex- 
 ultingly ; "but you should have killed him outright, even 
 had it cost you your life." 
 
 Stavros frowned. 
 
 "Of what nation were they?" asked the pirate chief. 
 
 "English," said Stavros.
 
 78 The Banquet Hall. 
 
 The captain was silent. 
 
 It was a position of difficulty. 
 
 Stavros was quite right when he said that his captain 
 had not seen the full danger of the position. 
 
 "I do not like the English," said Monastos ; "we must 
 look well to our arms, and see that they do not escape 
 us." 
 
 The force under Jack Harkaway as now composed 
 was indeed a formidable array. 
 
 Craft, wit, strength, were all and each amply repre- 
 sented. 
 
 They possessed men of daring beyond anything that 
 their enemies contemplated. 
 
 Of their enterprise and ability they had already given 
 good proofs. 
 
 "Tell us, Stavros, which way are they marching 
 now?" asked Monastos. 
 
 "By the ravine path, thence by the main route." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "The negro, who is yet safe and sound, is, or was, 
 lost in the wooded height on the right of the ravine." 
 
 The brigand captain jumped up at this. 
 
 "That's the idea, then," he said; "let us cut them 
 off in detail, kill them off one by one, these cursed 
 English." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "The first thing, then," said the brigand captain, "is 
 to send the twin bloodhounds to me." 
 
 "What, Castor and Cyrus?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Huzza!" cried Stavros, half rising from the 
 ground, and waving his hand. "You fill me with hope ;
 
 The Banquet Hall. 79 
 
 send the hounds hither that I may look upon them 
 before they go." 
 
 The next minute a deep baying sound was heard, and 
 one of the brigands brought in a pair of immense blood- 
 hounds leashed together. 
 
 The man who brought them in was the big, sullen 
 man who guarded the first gate by which Stavros had 
 entered the brigand fastness the man with the tawny 
 beard and unkempt hair, whose looks of intelligence 
 were but transient, and whose expression was generally 
 vacant. 
 
 A man whose mind was a blank, one who could hap- 
 pily forget the past at times, for his past was brimful 
 of painful recollections. 
 
 "Ah, Petrus," said Monastos, "bring them here." 
 
 Petrus led them up to the captain and let go. 
 
 The captain half drew his pistols. 
 
 "Keep them well in hand," said he; "they are not 
 muzzled." 
 
 "Fear not." 
 
 "Nay, I don't fear them," said Monastos, with an 
 uneasy look ; "only they never seem to take kindly to 
 me." 
 
 "There's no danger," said Petrus. 
 
 And without more ado he set them at liberty. 
 
 Immediately, one crawled to the brigand chief, and 
 growled ominously. 
 
 The captain was no coward, and did not fear meet- 
 ing in combat any two men, yet somehow those fierce 
 bloodhounds made him unhappy. 
 
 He would sooner face three men in single combat, 
 than one of these fierce hounds.
 
 8o The Banquet Hall. 
 
 He made a movement as though to chastise the dog, 
 when at once it crouched to spring. 
 
 There was no mistaking this action. 
 
 His tail moved uneasily from side to side, and he 
 looked full of fire. 
 
 The strange man they called Petrus seemed to watch 
 with joy the hostile movements of the bloodhounds 
 against the pirate and brigand captain. 
 
 "Call them off," said the captain, "quick !" 
 
 "Castor!" shouted Petrus, angrily. "Come here, 
 sir." 
 
 The noble beast turned with a whine to his^ keeper. j 
 
 "Come, come," said Petrus; "good dog. Kiss me." 
 
 Thereupon, the hound leaped into his arms, opened 
 to receive him, and caressed him eagerly. 
 
 He must have been a powerful fellow, indeed, to 
 stand the shock of this huge animal. 
 
 But it did not even shake him, to all appearance. 
 
 "Petrus!" 
 
 "Hola." 
 
 "Fetch this other hound from me; the brute smells 
 the blood, I am sure, and he looks as though he were 
 ready to eat me." 
 
 It was Stavros. 
 
 Cyrus did, indeed, hover round the wounded brigand, 
 as though he would have relished a meal off him. 
 
 The wounds of the poor wretch were full of fra- 
 grance for Cyrus, as you might perceive by the greedy 
 way in which he licked his fangs. 
 
 "Now you, Cyrus," cried Petrus, and the second 
 hound also came quickly to his side, licking his hands.
 
 The Banquet Hall. 81 
 
 "Bring them something to eat," said Monastos. 
 
 No sooner said than done. 
 
 A large wooden dish filled with meat and bones were 
 placed in the middle of the floor, and the two blood- 
 hounds flew to it. 
 
 But not to touch a morsel. 
 
 "Here," cried Petrtis, in a voice of thunder. 
 
 The hounds slunk back, and crouching with deep 
 humility, they dragged their bellies along the ground 
 to their noble master. 
 
 The rest of the brigands looked on astounded. 
 
 "You have them well in hand. It is marvelous," said 
 Monastos. 
 
 "There appears to be a sort of understanding between 
 them," said the wounded man. 
 
 "Yes. There is a species of affinity between an Eng- 
 lishman and a dog," said the captain, frowning. 
 
 Yells of laughter greeted this witticism. 
 
 And while they laughed, the half-savage Petrus 
 looked up, his eyes flashing fire for an instant. 
 
 But the gleam was only momentary. 
 
 It faded away, and was soon replaced by the regular 
 vacant stare. 
 
 "Quite right, Capt. Monastos," he said, with a mad 
 laugh. "Quite right. You are a brave man and a wit. 
 I am only an Englishman." 
 
 "You English are all dogs," said Monastos. 
 
 "Yes," said Petrus, staring vacantly at the ground, 
 "I suppose that I am the next thing to a dog myself, 
 and that is why I took so readily to you." 
 
 "Silence, dog," said the captain, "and start your twin
 
 82 The Vengeance of Monastos. 
 
 beauties on the hunt. A nigger is your quarry, my 
 brave Castor, and my doughty Cyrus. Hunt him down. 
 Tear him piecemeal, and you shall have a meal to your 
 liking. Real nigger sauce. Ha ! ha !" 
 
 Off they started with the hounds. 
 
 Poor Sunday was in fearful jeopardy now. 
 
 Before the twin bloodhounds had been out half an 
 hour, they were upon the scent, and following it eagerly, 
 with their noses to the ground. 
 
 "The dogs are on the scent," said Petrus, "and the 
 poor wretch will be torn in shreds." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF MONASTOS. 
 
 On board the Westward Ho! they were anything- 
 but comfortable. 
 
 Hilda was full of uneasiness, little Emily was never 
 tired of uttering her misgivings about young Jack, 
 and Mrs. Harkaway felt her own spirits sink more and 
 more. 
 
 After the lapse of a few hours, a party of men was 
 seen approaching the ship, bearing the body of poor 
 Monday on a litter. 
 
 Ada ran forward to greet her faithful Monday, and 
 received his inanimate form with deep emotion. 
 
 "Oh, my poor Monday, my poor Monday !" she cried. 
 "What can I do to help you through this trouble?" 
 
 The wounded Prince of Limbi opened his eyes.
 
 The Vengeance of Monastos. 83 
 
 "I am all right, Ada," said he ; "only a little hurt." 
 
 "Only a little," she iterated. "Why, Monday !" 
 
 "I shan't leave you a widow yet, Ada," said the 
 faithful fellow, with a faint laugh. 
 
 Emily ran up. 
 
 Her face was pale. 
 
 She was no chicken-hearted woman. 
 
 She had been in too many stirring scenes of danger 
 and trouble to feel alarmed now without ample cause. 
 
 "How are the others, my poor Monday?" asked 
 Emily, eagerly. 
 
 "All right." 
 
 "No one hurt?" 
 
 "No one." 
 
 "Ah !" she sighed, in deep relief. 
 
 "No," said he, "only poor unlucky Monday knocked 
 out of the fun. Just my luck," he continued, with a 
 groan. "That nigger, Sunday, has it all to himself; 
 he'll have the laugh at me." 
 
 Would he? 
 
 Sunday's position at that particular moment was far 
 from being enviable. 
 
 Poor Sunday ! 
 
 Little short of a miracle would it be if he chanced 
 to get through it with life. 
 
 Monday's hurts happily proved to be of a far less 
 serious nature than might have been supposed. 
 
 The consequence was that the faithful fellow made
 
 84 The Vengeance of Monastos. 
 
 rapid progress, and so, before he had been many hours 
 on board, he began to entertain hopes of soon rejoin- 
 ing Harkaway and his adventurous party. 
 
 It was night. 
 
 The watch was set. 
 
 This watch was shared by Ben Hawser and the two 
 lads, Jack Harkaway, the younger, and Harry Gird- 
 wood. 
 
 They were chatting in a half -sleepy manner forward, 
 when young Jack turned suddenly round, and 
 ejaculated: 
 
 "Do you hear that ?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "That scraping noise." 
 
 Harry listened for a while, and then he said to his 
 companion : 
 
 "You must be mistaken." 
 
 "I'm sure I was not. Hark !" 
 
 "I certainly, heard something that time." 
 
 "What do you think it can be?" said young Jack. 
 
 "It sounds very like the cable being parted." 
 
 They listened in silence some considerable time, but 
 the sounds were not renewed. 
 
 What could it mean ? 
 
 Was there something wrong going forward? more 
 evildoers lurking there? and had they been surprised 
 in spite of the vigilance of the watch? 
 
 To tell the honest truth, the awful and sudden end 
 of poor Snirillo had in some degree startled the whole 
 of the party.
 
 The Vengeance of Monastos. 85 
 
 Suddenly there was a strange creaking noise, and the 
 ship gave a lurch. 
 
 A lurch that would be nothing in the open sea, but 
 which was enough to fill them with the greatest alarm, 
 taking place in that sheltered creek, that was still 
 as a mill pond, with scarcely a ripple on its surface. 
 
 "Hello, there," cried Ben Hawser. 
 
 "What now?" said Jack. 
 
 "What can it mean?" said Harry Girdwood, seri- 
 ously. 
 
 The vessel groaned as she moved on apace. 
 
 "Why, stop my grog!" cried Ben Hawser, "if she 
 ain't under way. There's something wrong here." 
 
 The two boys looked at each other. 
 
 There was no mistaking the fact now. 
 
 The Westward Ho! was moving, gliding slowly 
 along the water. 
 
 "By Heaven ! you are right, Harry !" exclaimed 
 young Jack. "The cable has been parted !" 
 
 For a few seconds they were quite staggered with 
 this discovery. 
 
 But the gallant old tar, Ben Hawser, was the first to 
 recover his presence of mind. 
 
 "Damme!" he cried, "the enemy is up to divers 
 tricks." 
 
 "And sundry artifices," said young Jack, who had 
 the true Harkaway relish for a joke. 
 
 Ben Hawser stepped over the bulwarks, and slid 
 down the rope to the water. 
 
 Then, grasping the ship's chains, he groped along 
 round the vessel. 
 
 Nearly the whole of his body was submerged, but,
 
 86 The Vengeance of Monastos. 
 
 like a veteran sea lion, he was prepared for any sudden 
 emergency by contriving, in spite of difficulties, to 
 keep his powder dry. 
 
 And this is how he did it. 
 
 He carried his revolver in a stout, leathern case, the 
 lid of which he held in his teeth, and groping along 
 thus, he presently came in sight of a dark form 
 swimming at the head of the ship. 
 
 Drawing nearer, he contrived to see that it was a 
 man. 
 
 He appeared to be holding on to something at- 
 tached to the keel, which was invisible to Ben. 
 
 Nearer and nearer he crept, and then he made this 
 alarming discovery. 
 
 "Why, the swab has chopped our cable, fastened on a 
 line, and blow my bags, if they aren't towing of us 
 out. I'll make sure of that shark, anyhow." 
 
 And then Ben Hawser showed the prudence of 
 keeping his powder dry. 
 
 Poising himself with his left hand upon the ship's 
 chains, he took the revolver in his right hand out of the 
 leather case. 
 
 He straightened his arm, and took a deliberate aim. 
 
 "Take that, you son of a sea cook," exclaimed hon- 
 est Ben, as he pulled the trigger. 
 
 When the smoke of the shot cleared away, Ben Haw- 
 ser's target had disappeared. 
 
 Simultaneously the Westward Ho! stopped in her 
 mysterious passage. 
 
 It was very strange. 
 
 That one man could not be towing out the big ship 
 single handed.
 
 The Vengeance of Monastos. 87 
 
 Hercules himself could not have performed such a 
 labor. No. 
 
 The only solution of this seeming mystery could be 
 that Ben Hawser's shot had alarmed that man's ac- 
 complices, but Ben's attention was suddenly attracted 
 above. 
 
 There was a great outcry upon the deck. 
 
 Back he scrambled, and clambered up the ship's side 
 as nimbly as Nero himself could have done it. 
 
 Just as he reached the deck, he heard the sound of 
 a girl's voice calling for help. 
 
 He ran across young Jack and Harry Girdwood. 
 
 They were rushing along the deck in the greatest 
 excitement. 
 
 Consternation was depicted upon every countenance. 
 
 "It's all right, Master Jack," said Ben Hawser, "we 
 put an end to their towing out." 
 
 He attributed all the commotion to the exciting scene 
 that had taken place below, in which he had been the 
 principal actor, but in this he was very speedily unde- 
 ceived. 
 
 "Hark !" cried young Jack ; "which way was that ?" 
 
 The girl's shrieks before alluded to were again 
 heard, but they were soon stifled, and a stentorian voice, 
 that drowned every other sound, was heard to shout 
 out, in broken English : 
 
 "Beware of Monastos. Thus begins his vengeance !'*
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 A MOTHER'S GRIEF. 
 
 "Who is that?" asked the puzzled Ben. "What cries 
 were those for help ?" 
 
 "Little Emily has been carried off by the brigands." 
 
 Ben Hawser staggered back aghast at the news. 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 "While we were watching you for'ard, they scrambled 
 up aft; little Emily had just run on deck, and was 
 seized in a moment, and hauled overboard." 
 
 Poor girl! 
 
 It was too true. 
 
 Little Emily had been carried off by the Greek 
 brigands. 
 
 Kidnaped, with the utmost audacity, from the deck 
 of the Westward Ho! 
 
 Swiftly yet stealthily a burly ruffian had clambered 
 up the ship's side, and met Harvey's daughter as she 
 was running on deck, to ascertain the meaning of the 
 strange commotion. 
 
 Before she could utter a word or cry out, a pair of 
 brutal hands had seized her, and whisked her off with 
 as little effort or ceremony as if she had been a doll. 
 
 Ready hands awaited the prize below. 
 
 And then, profiting by their knowledge of the lo- 
 cality, the kidnapers hustled their victim out of sight, 
 and were soon lost in the adjacent intricacies that bor- 
 dered Fairy Creek. 
 
 At first the folks on board the Westward Ho! were
 
 A Mother's Grief. 89 
 
 thunderstruck, stupefied. But speedily recovering 
 themselves, they looked hurriedly to their arms, and 
 rushed off in pursuit. 
 
 They had little to guide them. 
 
 The only indication that they had was the direction 
 from whence came those two despairing cries of the 
 hapless girl. 
 
 No matter. 
 
 On they rushed, scrambled up the steep banks, and 
 with difficulty penetrated the thickly-grown shrubs. 
 
 But they failed failed entirely in finding little 
 Emily. 
 
 And after a fruitless search, they wended their 
 way back to the ship, utterly crestfallen. 
 
 As young Jack gained the deck, he found himself 
 face" to face with Mrs. Harvey. 
 
 The poor mother's face was ashy pale, as she asked, 
 tremblingly, news of her child. 
 
 "Where is my Emily? Oh, Jack!" she exclaimed, 
 "have you not found her ?" 
 
 The boy hung his head. 
 
 "We shall find her yet, Mrs. Harvey," he said, fal- 
 teringly. 
 
 "Find her!" echoed the grief-stricken mother. 
 "Find her! You should never have returned without 
 her." 
 
 Ben Hawser approached. 
 
 "Axing your pardon, ma'am," stammered the hon- 
 est fellow, tugging at his forelock, "we have searched 
 every p'int of the compass for Miss Emily, bless her 
 heart !"
 
 9<D A Mother's Grief. 
 
 Mrs. Harvey wrung her hands, and moaned 
 piteously. 
 
 "Had you done so," she exclaimed, with great bit- 
 terness, "my child would now be here." 
 
 Young Jack reddened to the roots of his hair at 
 these words. 
 
 "Avast there, ma'am," exclaimed Ben Hawser, seri- 
 ously; "we've done all that mortal man could do, and 
 as for Master Jack, why, he behaved with the pluck 
 of a second Nelson." 
 
 Young Jack, recollecting himself, however, turned 
 suddenly upon Hilda, and exclaimed: 
 
 "I'll rescue little Emily, or I'll leave my body in 
 their hands." 
 
 And then, before anyone could divine .his intention, 
 he darted from the deck into the state saloon. 
 
 Here he eagerly searched the books and papers for 
 Spirillo's famous chart. 
 
 He was lucky enough to drop his hand upon it al- 
 most immediately. 
 
 Tearing it eagerly open, he scanned it through, until 
 he came to a 'ground plan marked : 
 
 "The prisoners' cavern." 
 
 "Now," said the boy, with fierce determination, 
 "now we'll see, Mrs. Harvey, if you will taunt me with 
 not finding Emily." 
 
 And then seizing a blank sheet of paper, he hur- 
 riedly made a sketch of the route and the plan, and a 
 copy of the written indications. 
 
 This done, he turned to the cabin steps, as Harry 
 Girdwood came down and faced him.
 
 A Mother's Grief. 91 
 
 "Where are you going, Jack?" demanded Harry, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "I am going to set little Emily free," returned young 
 Jack, resolutely, "or leave my body in the hands of the 
 pirates." 
 
 "You know you are going to risk your life ?" said his 
 young comrade, earnestly. 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "That you are going to almost certain death, Jack?" 
 
 "I know it," returned young Harkaway, "but Mrs. 
 Harvey should not taunt me with cowardice, right 
 or wrong. I go. Good-by, Harry." 
 
 He held out his hand. 
 
 The other took it, but he did not release it at once. 
 
 "Do you think, Jack," said he, "that I would let 
 you go " 
 
 "Let me go!" began young Harkaway, indignantly. 
 
 "Alone ; never. We will face this danger together 
 or not at all." 
 
 "Why should you run this risk for my sake?" said 
 Jack, in a tone of remonstrance, but it was useless. 
 
 Harry Girdwood's manner showed that he would 
 brook no denial. 
 
 "Enough, Jack. I go with you, or stay with you; 
 we will face danger, it may be death, together." 
 
 Young Jack took his comrade's hand, and pressed 
 it with deep emotion. 
 
 "Brave Harry," he said, in a broken voice, "you 
 shall come, and we will share the danger together." 
 
 He ran up on deck, closely followed by Harry. 
 
 Here they met Ben Hawser.
 
 92 A Mother's Grief. 
 
 "Avast there, young gentlemen," exclaimed the old 
 salt; "whither away?" 
 
 "Ben," said young Jack, "we're going to find the 
 pirates, and rescue Emily." 
 
 The old tar stared again at the speaker. 
 
 "Not wound up yet, Master Jack, at that 'ere 
 tack?" 
 
 "No, nor do I intend to be until I have succeeded." 
 
 The old tar gave a long whistle. 
 
 "I'm afeared that'll take a precious long time," he 
 said, dubiously. 
 
 "Maybe, Ben," said young Harkaway, "maybe, but 
 I want you to bear the news to my mother as tenderly 
 as you can." 
 
 "Here, I say, stow that," said Ben Hawser. "Why, 
 I'd sooner face a broadside than have to go and tell 
 that dear lady as how I had stood quietly by and let 
 her boy parpetrate self-destruction ; no, my hearty 
 axing your pardon you shall tell her all about it 
 yourself." 
 
 And then the wily old tar made one step to the 
 grand cabin stairs. 
 
 "Mrs. Harkaway, ahoy !" shouted Ben Hawser. 
 
 He knew that he could not stop the boys himself, 
 so he hoped to bring parental authority to bear upon 
 Jack, but the latter was far too quick for old Ben. 
 
 With one bound young Jack was at the ship's side. 
 
 "Come on, Harry, old boy," he ejaculated; "fol- 
 low me." 
 
 "I'm there." 
 
 And down the two boys dropped into the water. 
 
 Two minutes more and they had gained the shore.
 
 Over the Hills. 93 
 
 At the self -same instant, Mrs. Harkaway reached 
 the deck. 
 
 A hurried word of explanation sufficed to acquaint 
 her with all that had occurred. 
 
 "That mad boy has rushed to his destruction," she 
 exclaimed, in a frenzy of excitement. "Where is Ben 
 Hawser?" 
 
 "Here, marm." 
 
 "Send up a rocket." 
 
 Ben started. 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A rocket. You know the signal that was to bring 
 my husband back in case of danger? What danger 
 could be more terrible than that which threatens us 
 now that my rash boy, alone, seeks the pirates' den ?" 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 OVER THE HILLS. 
 
 As the two boys gained an open space, Harry Gird- 
 wood's attention was attracted to the whiz of the 
 rocket on board the Westward Ho! 
 
 "Hark!" 
 
 "I hear," said Jack. 
 
 They turned round, and then they saw the rocket 
 shooting heavenwards like a fiery meteor. 
 
 "Do you know what that signal means?" said 
 Harry.
 
 94 Over the Hills. 
 
 "I know that it is a rocket," answered young Hark- 
 away; "what of that?" 
 
 "But you also remember that it was the signal 
 agreed upon with your father to recall the party in case 
 of danger?" 
 
 Jack started. 
 
 The brave boy had not contemplated this. 
 
 "Oh, Harry, Harry," he exclaimed, "what have I 
 done?" 
 
 "Upset the whole party." 
 
 Young Jack sighed. 
 
 "It is very difficult to define one's duty clearly." 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "And I could not bear Mrs. Harvey's reproaches. 
 Moreover, think of poor little Emily." 
 
 "Poor girl !" 
 
 "Yes, yes, Harry," he said, resolutely; "after all, we 
 had but one course open to us." 
 
 "To go to the rescue." 
 
 "Yes, to the rescue of Emily." 
 
 And so the two boys went on. 
 
 Now, when they had got some distance, they began 
 to hold a council of war. 
 
 Harry Girdwood was anxious to hear the plan of the 
 campaign. 
 
 Young Jack's plan was of the simplest possible de- 
 scription. 
 
 It was this. 
 
 He proposed to follow out the paths indicated in 
 the copy of Spirillo's chart, and lurk about the strong- 
 hold of the brigands. 
 
 Thither he felt sure the captive girl had been carried.
 
 Over the Hills. 95 
 
 His idea was that she would be left comparatively 
 free there. 
 
 If so, she would not be watched while she strolled 
 up and down about the cavern and its vicinity, of 
 which, thanks to Spirillo's many yarns on board the 
 Floivery Land, he possessed acute foreknowledge. 
 
 He was, indeed, as well acquainted with the place 
 already as was possible for one who had never seen it. 
 
 "And when you have seen her/' said Harry Gird- 
 wood, "what then, old boy?" 
 
 "I shall trust in Providence," said young Jack. 
 
 Harry smiled. 
 
 "I hope I am as good a believer as you, Jack," said 
 he, "but I believe in the old saying that Providence 
 helps those that help themselves." 
 
 "So do I." 
 
 "Well, we must be careful and see what we can do, 
 but I don't think we shall do much good in the dark." 
 
 "Nor I." 
 
 "Then the best thing will be to camp for the night 
 in some place snug and secure, and then when morn- 
 ing dawns " 
 
 "It would be better to get nearer to the brigand's 
 stronghold." 
 
 "If you like." 
 
 "Get a light, then, and let us look over the chart." 
 
 This was done. 
 
 It was a precious piece of imprudence, for the re- 
 flection of the light was the most likely thing of all to 
 betray them to the enemy. 
 
 They soon discovered their error, for just as their
 
 96 Over the Hills. 
 
 lantern flashed, there was a shrill bird call close by 
 that statled them both. 
 
 "Do you hear that, Jack?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "And do you know what it means?" 
 
 "Yes; I suppose some bird," replied Jack. 
 
 "Jack," replied Harry Girdwood, in a whisper, "it 
 was no bird. That is the signal of the enemy. De- 
 pend upon it, our light has alarmed something more 
 dangerous than a bird." 
 
 "I hope not." 
 
 "I am sure." 
 
 "What shall we do, old fellow?" said Jack. 
 
 "Camp for the night." 
 
 "What, here?" 
 
 "It is dangerous, I think, Jack, thanks to our lan- 
 tern ; but I vote that we roost up a tree." 
 
 "Good; but we must not let the pirates put a rope 
 round our necks in the night." 
 
 The two boys did not take long to make up their 
 minds. 
 
 They selected the nearest tree in which the foliage 
 appeared to be thick. 
 
 The reason for this selection was obvious. 
 
 They wished their bodies to be completely shaded 
 from view by the leaves and branches. 
 
 They soon hit upon a capital perch, where the thick 
 forked branches made them as secure a resting place 
 as though they had been upon terra firma. 
 
 It was, indeed, much more secure, and required far 
 less training than sleeping in a hammock. 
 
 Young Jack thought that he would never close his
 
 Over the Hills. 97 
 
 eyes, so thoroughly was he agitated by the events of 
 the day, but presently his fatigue prevailed over the 
 agitation, and our youthful hero was slumbering peace- 
 fully, even before his less demonstrative comrade. 
 
 Sober Harry Girdwood poised himself upon his 
 perch and leaned round to look at Jack, whose extreme 
 quietude rather alarmed him. 
 
 "Jack, Jack," he said, in a voice loud enough for 
 young Harkaway to hear if he were awake, yet not 
 sufficiently loud to arouse him if he slept. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Are you snug, old man?" 
 
 Snore. 
 
 "That means yes," said Harry to himself. "He's as 
 snug as if he were tucked up in the family four- 
 poster." 
 
 And the care of young Jack being off his mind, his 
 trusty comrade squatted, nestled closer yet into the 
 sheltering arms of the tree, and slept. 
 
 "Harry, old fellow." 
 
 "Jack." 
 
 "Goodness me! > I was nearly over," said young 
 Jack. 
 
 "So it appears. Why, Jack, you are half over the 
 branch ; hold on, or you will have an ugly fall, old 
 man." 
 
 Harry Girdwood straightened himself upon the 
 branch, and looked about him to take their bearings. 
 
 And then he discovered that their tree was upon the 
 border of the thick wood.
 
 98 Over the Hills. 
 
 They dropped from their perches, and gained the 
 open. 
 
 The boys were deeply impressed. 
 
 The unvarying beauty of the climate would have 
 been strange indeed to one fresh from our own foggy 
 island, but our two youthful adventurers were veteran 
 travelers. 
 
 Birds of gay plumage were in immense variety. 
 
 The vegetation was rich and varied guavas, 
 bananas, mangroves, bread-fruit and palms were com- 
 mon enough. 
 
 Occasionally a tree-fern one of the most graceful 
 of plants was met with; the long-feathered leaves, 
 which in their general character resemble the common 
 fern leaves of our own hedges, grow in a mass upon 
 the top of a stem thirty or forty feet high and descend 
 nearly to the ground. 
 
 The hills in Fairy Island assumed strange, fantastic 
 shapes, and were feathered with wood to their 
 summits. 
 
 The boys were not insensible to the beauties of the 
 place, but their thoughts were taken up by serious 
 matters just now. 
 
 Soon after daybreak they examined the chart care- 
 fully together, and having made up their minds as to 
 the precise part of the brigands' stronghold that they 
 should make for, they started forth. 
 
 But it was a serious understanding between them 
 that they were only to use their firearms in a case of 
 dire extremity, in other words, when their very lives 
 depended upon it. 
 
 Their route, according to Spirillo's plan, lay for a
 
 Over the Hills. 99 
 
 certain distance across the open country, and through 
 rich prairies, but they were forced, from motives of 
 prudence, to alter their course a bit. 
 
 Naturally, they could not make as much headway 
 when forcing a passage through the thickly grown 
 bushes and shrubs that garnished the endless hills. 
 
 It was a long journey, but their dogged perseverance 
 met with its reward, and when they least expected it, 
 they found themselves suddenly close upon the pirates' 
 lair. 
 
 They recognized the spot by a tall palm tree, and 
 other landmarks, marked down in Spirillo's chart, and 
 then the discovery was so sudden that it startled them 
 not a little. 
 
 From beyond the palm tree in question, some thirty 
 or forty yards, there was a low range of hills, stretched 
 right across their path. 
 
 There was the range of hills, sure enough, but 
 where was the river? 
 
 "Before we go any farther," said young Jack, "I'll 
 climb the palm tree, and take observations. There 
 may be pirates about." 
 
 "Good," said his wary comrade, "but be careful not 
 to speak to me while you are up there." 
 
 Up went young Jack, and when he had reached a 
 considerable altitude, he nodded excitedly to the ex- 
 pectant Harry. 
 
 "He sees the river," said Harry to himself. 
 
 Down came Jack. 
 
 They made now for the hills, choosing the part 
 where there was the thickest growth of bush and 
 shrub, and, as they had reached the crest of the hill,
 
 loo Over the Hills. 
 
 they suddenly found themselves upon the brink of a 
 precipice. 
 
 At its base rippled the stream marked in the 
 chart. 
 
 As they stood there, they heard the sound of voices 
 close at hand. 
 
 The words, being in, Greek, were not understood ; 
 but they guessed their meaning, from the tone of com- 
 mand which was accompanied by the clinking of arms. 
 
 They were changing guard. 
 
 But where? 
 
 Then followed the regular marching sound as of 
 drilled troops. 
 
 They thrust their heads farther and farther over 
 the precipice, and peered down. The first object that 
 caught young Jack's attention was the muzzle of a 
 long gun barrel, pointed directly at him. 
 
 This was, to say the least, not a cheerful thing to 
 contemplate; but it did not disturb young Harkaway 
 at all, and for this simple reason it was not presented 
 at him ; but it was carried over the shoulder of a sentry 
 below. 
 
 This man walked up and down twice or thrice, and 
 then he dropped his musket butt onto the ground and 
 rested his arms upon the muzzle, striking uncon- 
 sciously a most picturesque attitude. 
 
 Stretching over still farther, young Jack now per- 
 ceived the explanation of all that had puzzled him be- 
 fore in connection with this espisode. 
 
 Immediately beneath them was the cavern of the re- 
 doubtable Monastos. 
 
 The sentry was mounting guard at its entrance.
 
 Young Jack is Doomed. 101 
 
 "Harry, I could pop off that fellow; it would make 
 one less of their party." 
 
 "And two less of ours," returned his companion, in 
 the same tone. "Remember our compact ; not to fire till 
 we are compelled." 
 
 Barely were the words uttered, ere they were seized 
 from behind and made prisoners. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 YOUNG JACK IS DOOMED. 
 
 Young Jack and Harry were cruelly handled, and 
 bound with cords that were dragged at as though they 
 were bales of woolen cloths for shipment to distant 
 parts ; and, added to this, their villainous captors 
 heaped upon them the vilest threats and most abusive 
 epithets in their vocabulary. 
 
 Upon second thoughts, this latter part of their in- 
 dignities did not count for much, as neither the Eng- 
 lish or the American boy could understand a word. 
 
 The two boys were hurried down the mountain slope 
 by a path hitherto unperceived by them, and in a few 
 moments they were brought before Monastos, the 
 pirate and brigand of Magic Island. 
 
 As soon as Monastos saw the two boys, he nodded 
 and smiled pleasantly at them, to their intense surprise. 
 
 Looking around, Jack saw that they were in a 
 cavern, the center of which was supported by part of a 
 broken ship's mast.
 
 TO2 Young Jack is Doomed. 
 
 In other respects, too, the place was fitted up in a 
 seafaring style. 
 
 "Dimitri," said he in English, which he spoke ad- 
 mirably, "why have you bound up these two children 
 so, with huge thongs that eat into their flesh, when for 
 all purposes traces of packthread would have done as 
 well?" 
 
 The man addressed as Dimitri uttered some apology. 
 
 The thongs were severed, and the two lads stood 
 free. 
 
 "Now, young gentlemen," said Monastos, "just tell 
 me what you are doing, trespassing on my property." 
 
 The pirate never ceased to smile in the same friendly 
 manner upon his young prisoners. 
 
 "Had we known that the island was the property of 
 anyone in particular, we should not have ventured 
 here," replied young Harkaway. 
 
 "Unless your people are curious, inquisitive, spying 
 people," said Monastos, pleasantly ; "scoundrels and 
 jail birds," he smiled more agreeably than ever; "which 
 is, indeed, very probable, according to appearances." 
 
 Jack fired up at this. 
 
 "My father's friends and his servants are all hon- 
 orable people," he said. 
 
 The pirate's eyes twinkled at this. 
 
 "Your father?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "So he is at the head?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What is his name?" 
 
 "Jack, that is, I mean John Harkaway."
 
 Young Jack is DoomecL 103 
 
 "Humph! John Harkaway; I shall remember that 
 name." 
 
 Harry Girdwood noticed his manner, and be felt 
 uneasy. 
 
 The chiefs smile had a nameless terror in it. 
 
 And be judged aright, for a cold, cruel man was 
 Monastos. who took a life as coolly and remorselessly 
 as he would shoot a bird. 
 
 And it bad as little effect upon him. 
 
 Jack was silent. 
 
 Had he said too much? 
 
 Harry feared it. 
 
 "Keep mum, now, old boy," be whispered, so low 
 that the chief could not catch a word : but although he 
 could not hear, be could see pretty weH by the boy's 
 manner what it meant. 
 
 "Dimitri.' 
 
 "Excellency." 
 
 '"Take out that boy : he's too quiet and artful ; leave 
 me alone with the talkative one." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Dimitri then tapped Harry Girdwood upon the shoul- 
 der and ushered him out. 
 
 Jack was about to follow, too, when Monastos took 
 him by the wrist, and detained him with gentle force. 
 
 "1 want you." 
 
 Young Jack felt a little uncomfortable at this. 
 
 He was not afraid, but the separation from Harry 
 Girdwood was an unpleasant reminder that for the time 
 being they were not their own
 
 IO4 Young Jack is Doomed. 
 
 Monastos, never even appearing to notice the long- 
 ing, lingering looks which young Jack cast after his 
 comrade, motioned him to sit down on a pile of 
 cushions. 
 
 Young Jack hesitated, and was inclined to refuse, 
 but prudence bade him obey. 
 
 So down he sat. 
 
 "Now, my young friend," said Monastos, with a 
 bland smile, "answer me one or two questions." 
 
 "What are they?" 
 
 "How many, then, has your father got at the back 
 of him ?" 
 
 "A great many," answered Jack. 
 
 "I suppose they are all well armed?" 
 
 "Yes, well armed." 
 
 "How did they gain their knowledge of this place ?" 
 
 "That I can not, will not, tell," said young Jack. 
 
 "Oh, you had better tell all that you know, without 
 making any difficulties, for" and here he smiled more 
 pleasantly than ever "you would find the consequences 
 most disagreeable, unless you tell all you possibly 
 can." 
 
 "Even then," said young Jack, stoutly, "I will not 
 tell." 
 
 "Impudent child," said the pirate chief. "Why re- 
 fuse information, when, as you may guess, I already 
 know as much as you can tell me ?" 
 
 "Why, then, ask me?" said young Jack, quickly. 
 
 "To test your truth." 
 
 "That wants no testing/' said young Jack; "I am 
 like my father ; if I speak at all, I speak the truth." 
 
 "I believe vou. But now tell me how much the
 
 Young Jack is Doomed. 105 
 
 traitor, Spirillo, has been able to inform you of for it 
 was he who brought you here, and he has paid for his 
 treachery with his life, the renegade." 
 
 Young Jack was silent. 
 
 "On passing through the ravine, between those lofty, 
 wooded heights, which direction does your party take ?" 
 
 Young Jack found his tongue at this. 
 
 "Well," he said, with a light laugh, "you surely don't 
 expect me to tell you that." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do," said Monastos ; "indeed, I do." 
 
 "Then, sir," said Jack, quietly, "you will be disap- 
 pointed." 
 
 "Oh no," said Monastos, with that peculiar smile 
 again ; "I shall know all that you can tell upon the 
 matter, for sure." 
 
 "You mistake." 
 
 "Not I." 
 
 "Indeed, you do ; for nothing in the world should in- 
 duce me to divulge my father's movements in his en- 
 deavor to capture you and your wicked band." 
 
 "Nothing, my young friend?" said the pirate, 
 
 "Nothing," replied Jack. 
 
 "We shall see." 
 
 Monastos turned and called one of his men, and 
 upon the man making his appearance, he gave him 
 some hurried instructions in his own native tongue. 
 
 This, it is needless to say, was "all Greek" to young 
 Harkaway. 
 
 But the result of it soon appeared. 
 
 Through the wide opening a huge iron gun was 
 wheeled into the cavern, and run up, seemingly with 
 comparative ease, just behind where young Jack stood.
 
 106 Young Jack is Doomed. 
 
 "Seize the boy, and bind him tight to the cannon's 
 mouth," cried Monastos, and in an instant the unfor- 
 tunate boy was strapped to the muzzle of the gun. 
 
 "Now bring the fuse." 
 
 This was obeyed promptly, and Monastos took it in 
 his hand and made one step up to the gun. 
 
 "Now, Master Harkaway," said his majesty, still 
 smiling, "where is the information that I ask you for?" 
 
 The boy was silent. 
 
 "My patience will not hold out long," said Monastos ; 
 
 "give me the information, or " and here he 
 
 flourished the fuse. 
 
 But young Jack was silent, and looked him boldly 
 in the face. 
 
 We do not pretend to say that he felt unmoved at the 
 alarming directions given by the pirate chief to his 
 men. 
 
 "One last word," said Monastos; "I give you time 
 to reflect and recant." 
 
 "I want no time," retorted young Jack. "You are 
 a cold-blooded villain, and will meet your fate at the 
 hands of my father." 
 
 "That remains to be seen. Your father, this cursed 
 Englishman, shall yet be treated by me as you are. 
 Now will you confess ?" 
 
 "No. I am fully resolved as to what duty bids me 
 do do you worst at once ; not a word shall you wring 
 from me." 
 
 "Do you understand, boy, that as soon as I apply 
 this fuse to the touch-hole, your body will be scattered 
 in fragments?" 
 
 Young Jack closed his eyes, and a slight trejnor of
 
 Young Jack is Doomed. 107 
 
 the lids showed that he was not insensible to the 
 pirate's fatal menaces, but he was resolved to betray no 
 emotion before them. 
 
 "Once more, boy," said Monastos, "I give you the 
 chance of saving yourself; will you speak?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "For the second time, will you answer my ques- 
 tions ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "For the third time, I say, will you speak, and save 
 your life?" 
 
 "From you, pirate? Never!" 
 
 "Then that is the last chance you have on this side 
 of the grave. I am now placing the light to the touch- 
 holedie !" 
 
 "Monastos ! Monastos ! captain !" cried Dimitri, who 
 here ran in and demanded eagerly of his chief if Pa- 
 quita, his daughter, was there. 
 
 Monastos turned round with his fuse in his hand. 
 
 "My daughter here?" said the pirate chief. "What 
 do you mean, fool? Begone, and do not interrupt me 
 again on your life." 
 
 "I fear me," returned Dimitri, "that some accident 
 has happened to her." 
 
 The pirate captain looked uneasy. 
 
 "What grounds have you for supposing- that?" 
 said he. 
 
 "Her voice was heard just now calling for assist- 
 ance." 
 
 "There must be some mistake." 
 
 "No mistake ; I fear she has been imprudent enough
 
 io8 Nero Plays Postman. 
 
 to venture forth, and has fallen into the hands of the 
 enemy, to be held as a hostage?" 
 
 The pirate chief looked spitefully at Jack for a 
 moment, then let fall the fuse from his hand. 
 
 His coolness deserted him ; then suddenly rousing 1 
 himself, he turned to Dimitri with a loud ejaculation. 
 
 "Have you sent out many in pursuit?" he asked. 
 
 "Not yet," said Dimitri. 
 
 "Then," said Monastos, "let it be done ; scatter your 
 men right and left north and south, immediately, for 
 if they are about this part, we shall snare them yet." 
 
 "It shall be done," said Dimitri, "but until some- 
 thing more is learned, I would give a word of advice." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Suspend punishment," he added, with a significant 
 glance at Jack strapped to the cannon's muzzle; "for, 
 my life on it, they would take bitter revenge." 
 
 "Boy," said the pirate chief, "your life for one short 
 hour is spared ; but think not to escape your doom." 
 
 Then the pirate hurried forth to give further direc- 
 tions to recover his lost child. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 NERO PLAYS POSTMAN. 
 
 It is time to return to the main body. 
 
 Before sundown, they were destined to learn that 
 Monastos' army was far more important than they had 
 been led to suppose ; for the pirate had of late greatly 
 increased his band.
 
 Nero Plays Postman. 109 
 
 But although his arrangements were pretty perfect, 
 he was yet ill at ease. 
 
 He dreaded lest the very wind should waft out to 
 sea the secrets of his treasure isle. 
 
 You can imagine, therefore, with what mingled sen- 
 sations of rage he saw the ship Westward Ho! har- 
 bored in Fairy Creek, with daring Jack Harkaway and 
 his fellow adventurers. 
 
 Diverging a bit from the exact line of route which 
 Harkaway had laid down, the party found themselves 
 under the necessity of fording a stream. 
 
 The opposite banks of this stream were bordered by 
 a thick growth of shrub and bush. 
 
 "Stop, stop," said Magog Brand; "before any more 
 is done, let scouts be sent out." 
 
 "Who will act as scout?" 
 
 "I'll scout," said Magog, who feared to be accused 
 of making a proposal and shirking the consequences 
 of it. 
 
 And then, before a word could be uttered in opposi- 
 tion, he started off. 
 
 He forded across until it got too deep for him, and 
 then he swam the rest of the way. 
 
 Clambering carefully up the steep heights, he reached 
 the brow of the hill, where, suddenly, he dropped upon 
 a man stretched on the ground. 
 
 The strength of Magog Brand's fingers was some- 
 thing prodigious. 
 
 They closed round the throat of the unfortunate 
 brigand, and, with what seemed to be a gentle squeeze, 
 it drove every gasp of breath out of his body. 
 
 "Say half a word," he hissed in his ear, "and I'll
 
 no Nero Plays Postman. 
 
 pin you to the ground, like a butterfly in a collector's 
 case." 
 
 With this promise, it is needless to say that little 
 Mr. Brand's prisoner preserved a dignified silence. 
 
 He looked about him while he held his prisoner on 
 the ground, and seeing that all was safe, he signaled 
 the rest of his party to follow on. 
 
 "Come, old man," said Jack Harkaway to Brand ; 
 "that's not so bad. We must turn this prisoner to 
 account." 
 
 They made the unfortunate Greek struggle to his 
 feet and trudge on. 
 
 He showed some considerable alacrity in obeying 
 this last order. 
 
 If he contemplated making a bolt of it, he was 
 doomed to a cruel disapointment. 
 
 At his elbow walked Jack Harkaway, the elder, 
 armed with his death-dealing weapon. 
 
 The least show of treachery upon the unhappy man's 
 part would have been immediately followed by the 
 ramming of a pistol muzzle into his ear. 
 
 In the event of that contingency arising, the brig- 
 and's life with Harkaway and company would be a 
 short but not a merry one. 
 
 "Speak English?" bawled Mr. Jefferson, in his ear. 
 
 The prisoner, half deafened, shook his head. 
 
 "French?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Italian?" 
 
 The prisoner's eyes glistened intelligently. 
 
 "Italiano, si."
 
 Nero Plays Postman. Ill 
 
 "That's your sort," said Jefferson; "now you can 
 fire away at him, Harkaway." 
 
 "I want you," said Jack Harkaway, in Italian, "to 
 take me by a safe route to the stronghold of Monastos, 
 the pirate chief." 
 
 The prisoner made no reply, but stared stolidly before 
 him. 
 
 "Do you hear?" said Harkaway. "Havete intosso 
 male?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the brigand, doggedly; "but if I 
 refuse ?" 
 
 "That's as you please," returned Harkaway, in the 
 same tongue ; "if you do, we have but one resource." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "To hang you." 
 
 And then, turning to his party, Harkaway added : 
 
 "Get a rope ready, tie a noose at the end, and throw 
 it over a tree that will make the handiest gallows." 
 
 The significant look accompanying these words told 
 them what was wanted. 
 
 So Jack Harkaway's order was carried out with a 
 certain flourish with a view to making an impression 
 upon the prisoner. 
 
 But the Greek stared straight before him in silence ; 
 apparently he was unmoved by it all. 
 
 "Takes no notice," said Jack Harkaway; "can't 
 frighten him, I suppose." 
 
 "Wait a bit," said Jefferson ; "we'll try." 
 
 Magog Brand's thoughts ran in the same direction, 
 for seizing the rope, he cast the noose over the pris- 
 oner's head. 
 
 Now, our Greek was by no means a coward, but as
 
 Ill Nero Plays Postman. 
 
 the rope came in contact with his flesh, a change came 
 over his face. 
 
 "For the last time," said Jack Harkaway, "decide 
 your own fate." 
 
 No reply. 
 
 The brigand's lips quivered, and he closed his eyes. 
 
 "For the last time of asking," said Harkaway, "an- 
 swer our questions or hang." 
 
 He waited a second perhaps two or three and then 
 waved his hand by way of signal. 
 
 "Let him hang till he is dead." 
 
 "Pull ahoy ahoy," cried Magog Brand, gleefully. 
 
 And he did pull, too, with a vengeance. 
 
 In a moment the unfortunate wretch was swinging 
 in the air. 
 
 As his body was jerked up in the air, the victim threw 
 his arms wildly about him. 
 
 "I will answer," he cried. 
 
 Down he came with a flop upon the ground, all in a 
 heap, like a bundle of rags. 
 
 If his face had been pale before, it was black enough 
 now. 
 
 They knelt down over him, and removing the rope, 
 threw open his shirt. 
 
 "Hello!" said Jefferson, "we have gone a little too 
 far." 
 
 "Give him some water." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Magog Brand, "give him some 
 whisky." 
 
 This advice was followed by one of the men. 
 
 The flask was thrust to his mouth, and a few drops 
 of the fiery spirits poured down his throat.
 
 Nero Plays Postman. 113 
 
 Thereupon he blinked and winked and opened his 
 eyes. 
 
 He coughed and spluttered, and used some bad lan- 
 guage, and scowled upon his captors. 
 
 "Well," said Harkaway, "have you made up your 
 mind to listen to reason?" 
 
 "I am in your power," growled the Greek, "and can- 
 not help myself." 
 
 "Glad, old man, you see things in their proper light," 
 said Harkaway, cheerfully. 
 
 "But I consent on one condition only." 
 
 "Make no conditions with him," said Jefferson. 
 
 "But we may as well hear what the villain has to 
 say," cried Brand. 
 
 "Speak." 
 
 "Supposing/' said the brigand, "that your expedition 
 should be successful, I want you to engage that my life 
 shall be spared that I shall not be handed over to the 
 authorities. Else I should only be spared to serve your 
 purpose now." 
 
 "What does he say?" 
 
 Jack briefly translated the brigand's speech. 
 
 "That's reasonable enough," said Jefferson ; "consent, 
 then." 
 
 Jack Harkaway gave the required assurance, and the 
 party prepared to start. 
 
 "Be true to us," said Harkaway, "and you'll not 
 find us bad friends ; we are better friends, in fact, than 
 we are enemies, and it may be more to your profit to 
 serve us than it has been to serve Monastos." 
 
 "I serve him, but do not like him," said the brigand. 
 
 Harkaway then explained that it was a much safer
 
 114 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 
 
 game to serve the Westward Ho! than to follow the 
 treacherous Monastos. 
 
 They saw the influence of Harkaway's reasoning in 
 the prisoner's altered manner, but they did not relax 
 their vigilance. 
 
 It was pitchy dark, when suddenly a glare in the sky 
 caught their attention. 
 
 "See there!" ejaculated Magog Brand; "what's 
 that?" 
 
 "Look how it trails down," said Jefferson ; "it's a 
 rocket." 
 
 Just then a familiar voice was heard close at hand, 
 signaling the party. 
 
 It was Harvey. 
 
 He had been reconnoitering at some little distance 
 from the party for hours past, and now he had rejoined 
 the main body upon seeing the rocket. 
 
 "Do you see that ?" said he, in tones of alarm ; "the 
 danger signal from our ship, the Westward Ho !" 
 
 The words thrilled every one who heard them. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SIX TO ONE A DESPERATE FIGHT. 
 
 Jack Harkaway held a hurried council of war, in 
 which it was agreed that some should camp there for 
 the night, while two of the party returned to the ship 
 for information. 
 
 Some few slept, but they mostly passed the night 
 in restless anxiety.
 
 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 115 
 
 Towards daybreak the sentinel was heard to cock 
 his rifle. 
 
 Slight as was the noise, it was heard by all. 
 
 They saw the vigilant guard bring his rifle up to 
 his shoulder. 
 
 They also saw that he was aiming at some tall, 
 shaggy object. 
 
 And in a moment more, when he was about to pull 
 the trigger, Magog Brand bounded forward. 
 
 "Don't you see who it is ?" said he to the sentry. 
 
 Just then the shaggy object -came into the open, 
 and who should it be but Nero? 
 
 "I knew it could be no enemy," said Magog, "be- 
 cause our friend, Mike, was so quiet." 
 
 Nero advanced with his familiar waddle, and carry- 
 ing his tail under his right arm with a certain grace. 
 
 He shook hands with the party generally. 
 
 "Oh, Nero," said Harkaway, "why can't you talk?" 
 
 "He is too artful," said Jefferson, with a grin. 
 
 He had a string round his neck now, at which he 
 tugged persistently until they were forced to see it. 
 
 "He has got a string necklace," said Magog. 
 
 They pulled at the necklace, and found that at the 
 back of it was attached a piece of paper, upon which 
 these words had been hastily scribbled : 
 
 "Jack and I have fallen into the power of Monastos,. 
 and are now in great danger. If you have any pris- 
 oners, offer exchange. 
 
 "HARRY GIRDWOOD." 
 
 There was a postscript, which had been written even? 
 yet more hurriedly.
 
 Ii6 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 
 
 It read as follows : 
 
 "Miss Emily is here, I believe ; but we have not yet 
 been able to see her. Monastos is bloodthirsty, cruel 
 and revengeful. Be careful and take no lives. You 
 may want prisoners to exchange." 
 
 "Well," said Jefferson, pulling a long breath, "what 
 do "you say to that?" 
 
 Harvey shook his head. 
 
 "I don't like it." 
 
 "It certainly looks very ugly," said Magog, who had 
 an extraordinary degree of confidence in anything 
 young Jack did, "but that boy will get out of it all 
 right, I'll wager my life. Why, he has got the devil's 
 luck and his own, too." 
 
 Harkaway did not look very hopeful. 
 
 "A belief in luck is all very well in its way," said he, 
 "but I have my presentiments, too." 
 
 "You must not despond," said Jefferson. 
 
 "I don't." 
 
 "Despond," echoed little Magog; "desponding is all 
 pickles. They talk of a cat's nine lives ; young Jack 
 Harkaway has fifty lives. Why, I verily believe that if 
 he were hanged, he would come to life 
 
 "Like Ambrose Gwinnette, who was hanged on the 
 sands ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "I'm sure of it. Moreover, I believe that the bullet 
 is not cast, nor the hemp grown for the rope, that can 
 take the life of young Jack Harkaway." 
 
 "I share that belief," said Jefferson.
 
 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 117 
 
 "So do I." 
 
 "And I." 
 
 "And so do I," said Isaac Mole, with the air of a 
 man who puts the finishing stroke to an argument ; "and 
 what is more, in the course of the next four and twenty 
 hours, I'll bring back my dear young Jack to you, safe 
 and sound." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes, I." 
 
 Mr. Mole struck an attitude in which modesty and 
 boldness, diffidence and defiance, were judiciously 
 mingled. 
 
 "Am I to understand, Mr. Mole," said Harvey, "that 
 you mean to do this single-handed?" 
 
 Isaac Mole swelled out like a bantam cock, as he 
 replied : 
 
 "Such is my intention." 
 
 Jack Harkaway had grown very impatient. 
 
 He could wait no longer the return of the party from 
 the ship. 
 
 Harkaway felt anxious to know the exact truth, for 
 when he reflected that his brave boy was a prisoner in 
 the hands of the enemy, it made him feel that Jack's 
 danger was indeed great. 
 
 As may be supposed, Dick Harvey also felt not a 
 little anxious. 
 
 But he prudently resolved to await the return of the 
 party from the ship for confirmation of the bad tidings. 
 
 Jack Harkaway vowed that he would start off alone. 
 
 This was opposed by most of the party. 
 
 But the strongest opposition was made by no less a 
 person than Isaac Mole.
 
 n8 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 
 
 If Harkaway went, the warrior, Mole, swore that he 
 would go with him. 
 
 "Well, old friend," cried Jack, "you shall go with 
 me; it will remind me of old times, for we have often 
 been on desperate services together." 
 
 "Jack, my dear boy," said Mole, "it is very kind of 
 you to speak so, and you shall find Mole, your old 
 friend, has still his courage to fight for his old pupil, 
 Jack Harkaway." 
 
 "Bravo, Mole," cried Harvey; "give us the old 
 friendly grip of your hand, then off you go with Jack." 
 
 When they had covered about a mile of ground, 
 Harkaway stopped suddenly, saying : 
 
 "I have made a discovery." 
 
 "Where, Jack?" cried Mole, taking out his revolver. 
 
 "Look there," cried Jack, quickly. "A party of six 
 armed men are marching along with a prisoner, whose 
 arms are securely fastened behind him." 
 
 Now bold Jack's heart beat high when he saw them, 
 for in spite of the distance that separated them, he 
 recognized the prisoner at the first glance. 
 
 It was his son, young Jack. 
 
 "I see my son, Mr. Mole," said he, gleefully. "I see 
 him. Look." 
 
 Mole saw young Jack looking as bold as ever. 
 
 "How shall we do, Harkaway?" said he; "steal 
 round, and fall upon them?" 
 
 Harkaway stared at the speaker. 
 
 But the latter meant it. 
 
 The thought of his young pupil's peril filled him with 
 desire to be at the enemy.
 
 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 119- 
 
 "No, that will not do; leave me here; you can do 
 me good service by seeking our friends." 
 
 "And leave you, Jack ?" cried Mole. 
 
 "Yes, make all haste back," said Harkaway, "and' 
 get Jefferson, with some one else, to come back at the 
 double." 
 
 "But they are marching," said Mr. Mole, "marching 
 fast, and before we can get up, they will have cleared 
 off." 
 
 "Leave that to me," said Harkaway; "I will under- 
 take to keep them employed until you can come up with 
 assistance." 
 
 "Off I go, then," said Mole ; "anything to serve you,. 
 Jack, and our dear boy." 
 
 Off he went. 
 
 He stumped over the ground at a great rate, and 
 was very soon out of sight. 
 
 Harkaway made for the party with all caution. 
 
 His object was to surprise the party. 
 
 Jack felt all his old courage mount to his heart, for 
 fear was unknown to him. 
 
 He was a desperate man for was not his only son 
 in danger? 
 
 "Patience, patience, Jack," he said to himself, "or 
 you will do your brave boy more harm than good by 
 rashness." 
 
 At length, the party of Greeks with their prisoner 
 were within pistol shot, and it became necessary to 
 adopt some definite plan of action. 
 
 He eyed the advancing party keenly, from a snug 1 
 spot where he himself was invisible to them.
 
 I2O Six to One A Desperate Fight. 
 
 Seven men ! 
 
 "Seven Greek brigands to one Englishman," said 
 Harkaway ; "humph ! long odds, but I must rescue my 
 boy at any risk." 
 
 He did not fear for his own life, but what he did fear 
 was to fail in his purpose. 
 
 If he should be beaten off, or perhaps killed, what 
 would become of his dear boy ? 
 
 He shuddered at the bare idea. 
 
 Death would not be the worst of it, in all probability, 
 for Spirillo had told him such tales of the atrocities 
 perpetrated by these villainous compounds of pirates 
 and brigands, that it made his blood run cold. 
 
 The savage Indians were gentle by comparison. 
 
 Jack Harkaway had not long to consider about his 
 plan of action. 
 
 They were close upon him. 
 
 Creeping up behind a thick tree, he prepared. 
 
 He loosened his cutlass in its fastenings, then looked 
 to the priming of his pistols. 
 
 They were all ready for action, and so was our old 
 friend, Jack. 
 
 Carefully, yet hurriedly, he loosened them, so that 
 no bungling at the critical moment might spoil his 
 chance. 
 
 The brigands marched on, and now their steady, 
 regular tramp sounded close at hand. 
 
 Harkaway gripped his cutlass nervously in his sinewy 
 palm, and waited. 
 
 Seven stalwart fellows they were, too. 
 
 Men standing nearly six feet high, for the most part,
 
 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 121 
 
 all broad-shouldered and powerful fellows, as far as 
 he could judge. 
 
 "I shall want all my old luck and pluck to back me 
 up, or good-by to me and to my boy as well." 
 
 And now they were within a dozen paces. 
 
 "I will do no coward's trick, but face them boldly," 
 cried Jack. 
 
 "Now for it !" 
 
 They were just passing the spot where he stood when 
 he stepped forth, and with pistol in hand faced them. 
 
 "Stand, you ruffians !" 
 
 They did not understand the meaning of Jack's 
 words, but there was no misunderstanding the gesture 
 which accompanied them. 
 
 With a simultaneous cry of surprise, they started 
 back. 
 
 Harkaway, who had all his presence of mind about 
 him, dashed forward, a sword in one hand, a pistol in 
 the other. 
 
 Now, when they fell back aghast at the courage of 
 one man, he made a rush, not at them, but, to their 
 intense surprise, at the prisoner. 
 
 "Jack, my boy !" 
 
 "Father." 
 
 His cutlass was as sharp as a razor, and two strokes 
 at the cords which bound his arms set young Jack at 
 liberty. 
 
 "Take this pistol, Jack, sharp." 
 
 "All right, father." 
 
 And in less time that it has taken to describe it, the 
 odds were lessened by half. 
 
 They were two against seven, instead of only one.
 
 122 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 
 
 "Are you ready to fight for your life, Jack?" cried 
 Harkaway. 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir," responded young Jack, quite gleefully. 
 
 The Greeks, recovered from their first surprise, 
 rallied, and turned to the Harkaways, but the pistols 
 kept them at a respectful distance. 
 
 "Dare to raise your carbines and you are dead men," 
 cried Jack, keeping his pistol directed at their heads. 
 
 Suddenly, however, one of the Greeks swung round 
 his carbine, and clapping the butt to his hip, cocked it. 
 
 It was pointed full at Harkaway, senior. 
 
 Another moment, and a bullet would have, probably, 
 put an end to the encounter, but before he could pull 
 the trigger, a well-aimed shot from young Jack's pistol 
 smashed his right arm, and the carbine fell from his 
 grasp. 
 
 This was the signal for the fight to begin in earnest. 
 
 "Oh, if we had but old friend Dick here," cried 
 Harkaway, "he would soon make short work of the 
 villains." 
 
 Harkaway waved his cutlass round his head, and 
 charged the whole party. 
 
 With one desperate blow, an enemy lay writhing at 
 his feet. 
 
 A second stroke brought another to his knees, and he 
 would have been further disabled had not the rest of 
 the party, recovering from their first surprise, fallen 
 upon Harkaway, sword in hand. 
 
 Now, Jack Harkaway was a splendid swordsman, 
 but four to one are long odds, and soon he found him- 
 self very hard pressed. 
 
 Twice had he been wounded.
 
 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 123 
 
 He was bleeding from two flesh wounds, that were 
 not by any means serious, but were yet unpleasant 
 reminders that one man at the best is no match for 
 four. 
 
 Yet Harkaway was not discouraged; he felt sure of 
 victory. 
 
 "Keep one of them engaged, Jack, my boy ; this one 
 will do," he cried, passing his sword quickly through 
 one of the brigand's arms ; "he can't do much now. 
 I will soon settle the hash of the other three." 
 
 At that moment he heard the sound of hurried foot- 
 steps ; he looked up, expecting to see his friends, but 
 his disappointment was great, for instead of friends 
 he saw two more Greek brigands, with swords in hand, 
 dash forward. 
 
 Twice, then, was he beaten back, and one desperate 
 downstroke had brought him to his knees, when he 
 had a happy inspiration. 
 
 He bethought him of his old ventriloquial powers, 
 and he managed to throw his voice to some little dis- 
 tance from the scene of the strife. 
 
 It sounded like a confused murmur of voices, and 
 it succeeded in deceiving the brigands. 
 
 The Greeks fancied that their enemy was about to 
 be rescued by his own party. 
 
 They started back a pace or two, expecting to see 
 some of Jack's friends ready to rescue Harkaway and 
 young Jack. 
 
 And in that moment of surprise, Jack Harkaway's 
 chance was made. 
 
 "Be ready, boy !" cried Harkaway to young Jack, "to 
 do as I tell you."
 
 124 Six to One A Desperate Fight. 
 
 "All right, dad," said young Jack, "we will make 
 them remember we are English." 
 
 Harkaway then made another scramble forward, and 
 attacking them vigorously, drove them further and 
 further back. 
 
 At the same time Harkaway threw the sound of his 
 voice in the wood, and it sounded like the hoarse words 
 of menace that had before alarmed the Greeks. 
 
 What could they do? 
 
 A man and a boy faced them. 
 
 A whole crowd seemed to menace them in their rear. 
 
 Naturally they turned to see if the enemy was ap- 
 proaching from the wood. 
 
 It was but momentary, yet it was enough for Jack 
 and his son to dart into the wood. 
 
 The Greeks now half guessed at the truth, for no 
 sooner had the prisoners fled than they rushed after 
 them, unmindful for the time of that invisible, yet audi- 
 ble enemy, who had so startled them by their con- 
 fused murmurs in the woods. 
 
 Now Harkaway anticipated this, however. 
 
 "Stop, Jack !" he cried to his son ; "show fight again." 
 
 The boy was nothing loath. 
 
 Turning sharply round, they faced the enemy in their 
 mad rush. 
 
 "Aim low, lad," said Harkaway. "Be steady." 
 
 "All right," said young Jack ; "this little fellow will 
 stop one." 
 
 And he cocked his pistol. 
 
 Bare were the words spoken when a couple of shots 
 did execution on the advancing enemy, and then the
 
 Hunted by Bloodhounds. 125 
 
 echo of the report had barely died away, when Hark- 
 away cried : 
 
 "Ready again, lad!" 
 
 Bang ! bang ! 
 
 The brigands stopped and knew not what to do. 
 
 Quick to take advantage of their momentary confu- 
 sion, the two Harkaways plunged yet deeper into the 
 wood, and soon they were hopelessly lost to the Greek 
 brigands. 
 
 "Well done, Jack, my boy; we have given the 
 brigands a lesson that they won't forget." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HUNTED BY BLOODHOUNDS. 
 
 Let us leave Harkaway and his son for a while, and 
 take a brief glance at one whose fortunes we trust 
 have your sympathies still. 
 
 Caesar Hannibal Constantine Augustus Jex, or, as 
 young Jack christened him Sunday was, as you may 
 remember, in some considerable trouble. 
 
 Petrus, the half -daft brigand, had started with his 
 twin bloodhounds, Castro and Cyrus, to hunt poor 
 Sunday down, and consequently he was in deadly peril. 
 Sunday was in great trouble through losing his way. 
 
 Vainly did he endeavor to get again into the beaten 
 track hopelessly did he wander in search of some fa- 
 miliar landmark. 
 
 Each tree and shrub seemed alike the twin brother 
 of its neighbor.
 
 126 Hunted by Bloodhounds. 
 
 "S'pose I'se gwine to die ob hunger like de blessed 
 babbies in de wood," said poor Sunday to himself, rue- 
 fully. 
 
 He sat 4own and thought. 
 
 He rose and acted. 
 
 He climbed up the tallest tree to reconnoiter. 
 
 He slid down to mother earth in despair. 
 
 He scratched his wool for an idea, and looked a* 
 glum as possible. 
 
 At one time he was half inclined to give it up for a 
 bad job. 
 
 "If ,1 was to lay down," said he to himself, "and gib 
 up de ghost, I wonder if any of dem cocksparrows 
 would come and cober ober my blessed corpus with 
 leaves and sich." 
 
 Then, after a moment's pause, he started off with a 
 desperate resolution to recover the lost track. 
 
 And, lo ! soon came his reward. 
 
 Before he had been walking a quarter of an hour, he 
 came upon a wide path, with roads abutting right and 
 left, that evidently led to somewhere. 
 
 "Now," said he to himself, with a grin, "now I'se 
 thar, haw ! haw !" 
 
 This was holloaing before he was out of the wood 
 with a vengeance. 
 
 But he had barely begun his grin when he stopped 
 short, and his expression changed suddenly. 
 
 Wherefore ? 
 
 Why did his eyes open wider and wider, as though 
 they would start from their sockets? 
 
 Why did he tremble and look fearfully around him 
 then as if for protection?
 
 Hunted by Bloodhounds. 127 
 
 A moment more, and the cause of his alarm was 
 clear enough. 
 
 "Hark! what is that noise?" 
 
 The sound of the distant baying of dogs was heard. 
 
 Poor Jex had lived in the Southern States of 
 America in his youth, and he had fallen into cruel hands 
 there. 
 
 Goaded on to desperation, he had fled from his in- 
 human master, and he had been hunted down by blood- 
 hounds. 
 
 His sable skin even then bore traces of that fearful 
 conflict, in which he had by a mere chance escaped be- 
 ing torn piecemeal by the savage hounds. 
 
 Involuntarily he shuddered at the sound. 
 
 He looked to his weapons with some eagerness. 
 
 His pistols were ready for use. 
 
 His knife was loose in his sheath. 
 
 If the odds were not too great against him he would 
 prove an ugly customer to tackle. 
 
 This might be seen no less in his broad chest and 
 muscular arms than in the look of quiet resolution of 
 his countenance. 
 
 He listened for a few moments intently. 
 
 Then his expression brightened again. 
 
 He felt relieved. 
 
 "Only two," he muttered. "Only two dogs ; they 
 shall have a bullet each, and as for those who are with 
 the dogs, let them beware; no mercy, no quarter, if I 
 get within arm's length of them with this my good 
 knife." 
 
 He meant it.
 
 128 Hunted by Bloodhounds. 
 
 But it was not his intention to risk an encounter if 
 he could avoid it. 
 
 No. 
 
 Fight he would if he were put to it, but he meant 
 to try and escape first. 
 
 He fled along the winding road as fast as his legs 
 would carry him. 
 
 Still he could hear the fierce dogs gaining upon him 
 at every step. 
 
 They scented their prey from afar. 
 
 Now, when Sunday had covered half a mile, or 
 rather more, the road he was taking ceased its serpen- 
 tine career, and ran straight for nearly a mile, and being 
 nearly level, you could see almost to the end of it. 
 
 Nearer and nearer sounded the baying of the blood- 
 hounds. 
 
 Sunday turned as he ran to view his pursuers. 
 
 He did not stop for a moment for them, but rushed 
 on at a greater pace than ever. 
 
 They sighted their prey now, and with a fierce bark 
 of delight they flew on. 
 
 The race would have soon been over the day would 
 soon have been decided but for one circumstance. 
 
 Castro and Cyrus were tied together, and conse- 
 quently could not make the same progress that they 
 would have made had they been more free in their 
 movements. 
 
 Herein lay the flying negro's chance. 
 
 It was a poor one. 
 
 A few more strides they were close at his heels. 
 
 At this exciting juncture a voice was heard in the
 
 Hunted by Bloodhounds. 129 
 
 distance, and a man appeared flying in pursuit of the 
 twin bloodhounds. 
 
 "Ho! Castor!" he shouted. "Cyrus, hey! ho! come 
 here !" 
 
 The master of the dogs for it was the mysterious 
 brigand Petrus called and shouted to his brutes until 
 he was black in the face. 
 
 In vain. 
 
 They scented a victim. 
 
 They smelt blood. 
 
 Moreover, their master was barely within hearing. 
 
 "Brutes !" cried the exasperated brigand ; "fiends ! 
 you shall not smell food for this for days to come. 
 Hold ! hold !" 
 
 But it was in vain. 
 
 The hounds yelped and bounded forward. 
 
 Another moment and poor Sunday felt them at his 
 back. 
 
 The fight could not long be delayed. 
 
 He turned and faced them, pistols in hand. 
 
 The hounds pulled up suddenly as the negro showed 
 his face, and crouching, snarled and displayed their 
 fangs. 
 
 "Not gwine to chaw up dis chile yet," said Sunday. 
 
 Now, while they crouched and watched, Petrus came 
 on behind at a smart double. 
 
 Sunday could face the twin bloodhounds. 
 
 But this increased the odds considerably. 
 
 Was he a match for the hounds and their master ? 
 
 "Come off!" said Petrus, approaching; "lie down, 
 you brutes, or I'll be the death of you." 
 
 Sunday stared again.
 
 130 Hunted by Bloodhounds. 
 
 This Greek's English was a good deal purer than 
 his own. 
 
 It had well-nigh proved fatal to the poor negro's 
 chance, for his attention was momentarily distracted, 
 and no sooner did the watchful hounds perceive the 
 enemy's glance wander than they sprang. 
 
 But they were not quick enough for the bold negro. 
 
 He let fly his left-hand pistol. 
 
 And then, without waiting to see the result of his 
 shot, he turned and ran again. 
 
 The shot had brought the bloodhounds to a stand, 
 and before Sunday had run very far, their master was 
 kneeling before them. 
 
 "That's the reward for disobedience." 
 
 He looked after the flying negro as he spoke, and 
 then he saw that Sunday was a very long way ahead. 
 
 "Hello!" he cried; "he'll drop into the river if he 
 doesn't watch it." 
 
 The words were barely uttered when Sunday found 
 himself floundering out of his depth in the water. 
 
 He had come so suddenly upon the river that he 
 had not noticed it. 
 
 "If the poor fellow can't swim," said Petrus, "I shall 
 have wrought his destruction all the same, although 
 unintentionally." 
 
 Quick as thought he uncoupled the dogs, and ran 
 at full speed to the river, followed by his fierce servitors. 
 
 But just as he got to the bank he saw the negro 
 breasting the water, and swimming like a flsh. 
 
 He called and bawled after Sunday : 
 
 "I am a friend, I tell you; I wish you no harm. 
 Stop!"
 
 Hunted by Bloodhounds. 131 
 
 Sunday turned over on his back, shouting back : 
 
 "Not good enough for dis chile." 
 
 A few more strokes brought him to the opposite 
 bank, up which he scrambled, panting and dripping. 
 
 "Licked yer, yah !" cried Sunday ; "now take care of 
 yourself, or dis chile give you something cold in shape 
 of bullet." 
 
 "I tell you I'm a friend!" cried Petrus across the 
 water. 
 
 "Yah! yah!" laughed Sunday; "golly, a nice old 
 friend, you dam' t'ief " 
 
 "I wish to speak with you !" cried Petrus again ; "to 
 give you friendly advice." 
 
 "And to gib dem dam tykes a meal of dis chile, but 
 dis chile gib dem toko instead ah ! yah ! And I'll gib 
 dere blessed master toko likewise, by golly !" 
 
 He took out his pistol that was yet loaded and aimed 
 point-blank at Petrus. 
 
 But the latter never flinched. 
 
 He feared not. 
 
 "I tell you, I am your friend," again cried Petrus. 
 
 "You dam' t'ief, you know dat," cried Sunday, and he 
 made off as fast as his legs would carry him. 
 
 Petrus watched his retreating figure with disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 Then he followed the course of the river some thirty 
 or forty yards, until he came to a familiar spot, where 
 he forded across, closely followed by his bloodhounds. 
 
 Once on the opposite bank, he shook the water from 
 his garments and followed Sunday. 
 
 Sunday soon got a glance of them in pursuit, and
 
 132 Hunted by Bloodhounds. 
 
 he redoubled his efforts, and very soon he managed to 
 increase the distance which separated them. 
 
 As he ran he presently came in sight of a large stone 
 building that filled him with wonderment. 
 
 The stones were roughly hewn, and of many forms 
 and colors, and they were built up with an eye to 
 solidity more than elegance. 
 
 In front of the first floor window was a wooden 
 balcony of such massive construction, that the front 
 wall must have been solid indeed to have been able to 
 carry the weight of the huge beam upon which the 
 veranda was built. 
 
 The sight of the house startled Sunday. 
 
 He looked in. 
 
 It was untenanted. 
 
 Bounding in he swung to the massive door, and 
 placed in position the thick bar of timber which fitted 
 into grooves upon each side and kept it fast. 
 
 It was a tough job for one man to lift this huge 
 plank. 
 
 The door itself was made of solid wood about six 
 inches thick, and it would have taken ordnance to 
 move it. 
 
 Having assured himself that this was secure, he ran 
 to the back. 
 
 But there was no outlet there. 
 
 Then he mounted the stairs. 
 
 He was in some doubt before beginning his investi- 
 gations here, for he made his way cautiously, knife 
 in hand. 
 
 He had it all to himself. 
 
 The first floor consisted of four rooms, all lofty and
 
 Aided the Prisoners. 133 
 
 spacious, and all furnished with windows, from which 
 the country about could be seen. 
 
 Making with all speed for the front room he threw 
 open the shutters and looked out. 
 
 There was Petrus. 
 
 "Yes, and there were the twin bloodhounds, Castor 
 and Cyrus. 
 
 "Yah! yah!" cried Sunday. "Me dry my powder 
 and have shot at you soon." 
 
 Petrus looked up. 
 
 "The rash fool !" cried Petrus aloud ; "he's treed at 
 last." 
 
 "Golly!" retorted Sunday; "you calls that treed, 
 Massa Greek I calls it saved." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 HOW THE PIRATE'S DAUGHTER AIDED THE PRISONERS. 
 
 We must not forget little Emily, or the daring man- 
 ner in which her abduction had been effected by Mon- 
 astos, the pirate chief himself. 
 
 If courage and daring should give a man pre- 
 eminence among his fellows, then did Monastos earn 
 the title of king of the island. 
 
 Poor little Emily would have again shrieked for help 
 had not her cries been stifled and burked by the un- 
 ceremonious treatment she experienced at the hands of 
 her captors. 
 
 Twice thrice did she cry out before they had com- 
 pletely stifled her voice.
 
 134 Aided the Prisoners. 
 
 Gagged and rendered absolutely helpless, she was 
 forced to resign herself to her fate. 
 
 She knew that all the lamentation in the world could 
 not help her now. 
 
 The myrmidons of Monastos hurried her along until 
 they came to the cave by the river, where young Jack 
 had been also a prisoner. 
 
 Here she had been seen by the daughter of Mon- 
 astos, whose tender heart was touched by the girl's dis- 
 tress, and who interceded at once in her behalf. 
 
 There was nothing to be gained by opposing his 
 daughter's wishes, and so Monastos gave over little 
 Emily into her care. 
 
 The two girls could only converse by signs. 
 
 However, in spite of all difficulties, they soon con- 
 trived to establish between them a perfect under- 
 standing. 
 
 Little Emily explained her sad predicament, and the 
 brigand's daughter fully condoled with her. 
 
 But while they were in the midst of their mutual con- 
 fidence a noise without attracted Paquita's attention. 
 
 She ran to ascertain the cause of it. 
 
 It is needless to say that it was the advent of Harry 
 Gird wood. 
 
 Little did Emily dream who it was. 
 
 But great was her joy when the boy, escorted by two 
 of the brigands, entered. 
 
 "Harry !" 
 
 "Emily!" 
 
 He was amazed, for he had never expected to meet 
 her now, although the search for her had been the 
 origin of their misadventure.
 
 Aided the Prisoners. 135 
 
 "You are not hurt, Emily?" he asked, anxiously. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "That is well. Why, they will be overjoyed to hear 
 it, and as for Jack " 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Emily, with great eagerness, "he 
 is not here, too?" 
 
 "Yes, he is," answered Harry ; "worse luck !" 
 
 "How came you to be taken?" 
 
 "Seeking you." 
 
 "Are all safe but us?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why is Jack not here?" 
 
 "The chief of these villains has kept him back for 
 some purpose that I can't guess at." 
 
 Emily's countenance fell at these words. 
 
 Harry Girdwood stared at Paquita, and then at 
 Emily. 
 
 "This is his daughter," said Emily. 
 
 "The pirate chiefs?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "She looks very kind and gentle," said Harry. 
 
 "And isn't she pretty?" exclaimed Emily, enthusias- 
 tically. 
 
 "Well, I think she is," said Harry, with the air of one 
 who would not be led away rashly by female charms. 
 
 "Think ! Why, you know she is lovely !" said Emily. 
 
 And then to clinch the matter and settle it beyond 
 further dispute, she seized the brigand's daughter and 
 embraced her diligently. 
 
 Paquita returned her caresses with as much affection 
 and warmth. 
 
 Already they were like old friends.
 
 136 Aided the Prisoners. 
 
 Paquita asked Emily in Greek who Harry was. 
 
 But as Emily could not understand her, she showed 
 in pantomime what she meant to convey by pressing 
 her hand to her heart, sighing deeply, and then kissing 
 the tips of her fingers. 
 
 "No! no! no!" said Emily. 
 
 Harry understood this likewise. 
 
 "No! no!" said he; "he is there with your father." 
 
 Harry's words were to her as Greek was to him. 
 
 But she understood his gesture. 
 
 She gave him a nod and a smile of intelligence, and 
 ran to the entrance of the adjoining cavern, where she 
 learned all that was going forward. 
 
 She heard the command given, and knowing the 
 cruel, vindictive nature of her father, she trembled for 
 the young prisoner. 
 
 She beckoned to Harry Girdwood. 
 
 He approached. 
 
 "Listen," she said, pointing to the other cavern. 
 
 He caught her meaning, and at the self-same instant 
 he heard young Jack's voice indignantly refusing to be- 
 tray his people. 
 
 He heard the bold boy scoffing at the king of Magic 
 Island, hurling defiance in his very teeth. 
 
 Paquita saw the consternation in his face, and she 
 was full of eagerness to aid young Jack, no less upon 
 his friend's behalf than his own. 
 
 For about a minute she stood aloof, buried in 
 thought. 
 
 Then she looked up with a start and clapped her 
 hands joyously. 
 
 She had hit upon a scheme.
 
 Aided the Prisoners. 137 
 
 "Come this way with me," she said, pointing to an 
 aperture in the further end of the cavern. "Quick!" 
 
 They followed her into the dark recess, where, to 
 their intense surprise, they discovered a ladder leading 
 to a large vaulted chamber above. 
 
 "Quick!" she exclaimed, excitedly. "Andiamo!" 
 
 "Hello!" exclaimed Harry Girdwood, "that's not 
 Greek. I shall be able to talk to her, if she can speak 
 Italian." 
 
 He had learned it from his friends, the Harkaways. 
 
 So diligently had he pursued his studies of that 
 beautiful language, indeed, during the voyage of the 
 Westward Ho! that he was tolerably proficient now. 
 
 "Where are we going?" he demanded in Italian. 
 
 "To save your friend," replied Paquita, eagerly. 
 "You must be quick, or it will be too late. Up the lad- 
 der ! Quick ! quick !" she continued. 
 
 He ran up. 
 
 Emily followed. 
 
 Then went Paquita. 
 
 As soon as she was at the top, she pulled the ladder 
 up after her, or, more properly speaking, she essayed to 
 do it, for it was so weighty that it required their united 
 efforts to accomplish it. 
 
 When, however, it was safely there, Paquita sud- 
 denly startled the companions of her flight by giving 
 a succession of the most piercing shrieks. 
 
 "Help ! help !" she cried. "Save me oh, save me !" 
 
 The brigands rushed into the cavern and looked about 
 in all directions. 
 
 But not a trace could they discover of their chief- 
 tain's daughter.
 
 138 Aided the Prisoners. 
 
 One of the men, it is true, examined the recess be- 
 neath the aperture, where the fugitives stood watching, 
 but seeing no ladder there, it never occurred to him 
 that they had winged their flight in that direction. 
 
 One of the pirates then ran in to inform Monastos 
 of the supposed fatal tidings, the capture of his daugh- 
 ter by the enemy, and for the time young Jack's life was 
 spared. / 
 
 ******* 
 
 Parties of armed men were sent out in every direc- 
 tion to seek for the daughter of King Monastos. 
 
 The most trusty scouts were sent to scour the woods 
 and forests. 
 
 But in vain. 
 
 Not a trace of the lost Paquita could they find. 
 
 One of the men brought back the tidings that a whole 
 army was advancing upon them. 
 
 "What army?" demanded the chief. 
 
 "Those cursed English have managed to get together 
 a powerful force." 
 
 "Then call my men together. These bold intruders 
 shall find a terrible foe when they meet me." 
 
 The brigand's fears had exaggerated the danger and 
 tripled, at least in his fancy, the effective force of 
 Harkaway's troops. 
 
 "You say they are marching in this direction?" said 
 Monastos. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And that their force presents how many men?" 
 
 The brigand, his informant, was taken at a nonplus 
 here. 
 
 He was not very good at counting heads, and he
 
 Aided the Prisoners. 139 
 
 had not expected to be called upon to knock off the 
 precise quantity to such a fine point. 
 
 "I cannot estimate their number as to a dozen," said 
 -he, "but this I know, they are numerous enough to 
 crush us by sheer force of numbers." 
 
 Monastos wore a troubled expression of countenance. 
 
 "Then," said the chief of the brigands, promptly, 
 "we must make up in tact what we may lack in 
 strength." 
 
 "This boy," resumed Monastos, indicating young 
 Jack, "you will have taken under guard to the castle." 
 
 "Yes, captain." 
 
 "Away with you," said the chief, "and mind that you 
 select those paths that the enemy has not yet advanced 
 upon." 
 
 "It shall be done, captain." 
 
 "Once at the castle, see to make everything secure, 
 for we shall join you there as soon as we have got 
 Paquita safely back." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "Away !" 
 
 ******* 
 
 The orders of the autocratic chief were obeyed to the 
 letter. 
 
 The armed escort of the young prisoner took a most 
 secluded route that is, the way that was the most re- 
 mote from Fairy Creek. 
 
 But chance was against them, for during their march 
 Jack Harkaway and Mr. Mole dropped across the 
 party. 
 
 It is not necessary either to allude more closely to 
 the fight in the woods between our old friend Jack and
 
 140 Sunday in the Castle. 
 
 the brigands, or the boldness and dash which brought 
 about the rescue of our youthful hero by his daring and 
 adventurous father. 
 
 ******* 
 And now for Sunday. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SUNDAY IN THE CASTLE THE MOVABLE TRAP A SNARE 
 
 A RARE BRIDGE THE SENTRY AND HIS HOUNDS 
 
 A SURPRISE NEW HOPE! 
 
 The stone building in the forest, in which our good 
 friend Sunday had taken refuge, was the identical place 
 to which the king of the brigands had ordered his young 
 prisoners to be sent for security. 
 
 Now Sunday's first care was to fortify himself in 
 his stronghold. 
 
 He had simply to protect himself against Petrus, the 
 man of mystery, and the two bloodhounds. 
 
 Having made himself easy upon this point he began 
 to look about him to see if there was any water or food. 
 
 The upper rooms of the house bore signs of having 
 been recently inhabited. 
 
 Upon the floors were thick Oriental carpets, that 
 would have been of immense value in any of the Euro- 
 pean markets. 
 
 In two of the rooms, which may be styled the state 
 apartments, there were beautiful crystal chandeliers, fit- 
 ted with long wax candles. 
 
 In one of these rooms was a basket of lady's work
 
 Sunday in the Castle. 141 
 
 embroidery and knitting and an open book of poems, 
 which would tend to show that the place had been 
 hastily vacated. 
 
 Having made this casual survey, he went to the ver- 
 anda and peered cautiously out. 
 
 There sat Petrus and his ferocious pets, the two 
 bloodhounds. 
 
 Sunday chuckled. 
 
 "You'll have to wait there some time, by golly," he 
 said, with a laugh, "you no put salt on this blackbird's 
 tail dis journey." 
 
 He went back into the room and dropped down onto 
 one of the luxurious couches. 
 
 "Dis am bery nice bed ; wish old Monday and Massa 
 Jack was wid dis child." 
 
 Sunday then took out his pistols. 
 
 Both were wet. 
 
 First he carefully drew the charges. 
 
 Then he rubbed the two pistols as dry as he could 
 upon one of the curtains. 
 
 This done, he examined his powder flask. 
 
 And now he had a bit of luck, for his powder was 
 perfectly dry. 
 
 In order to make himself the more sure of his pistols 
 he looked about for the means of making a fire. 
 
 So after looking about he ran downstairs and set to 
 work to kindle a flame under some faggots that he 
 found upon the stone hearth of one of the rooms. 
 
 Having got up a good blaze he put his pistols close 
 to it to dry, and 
 
 "Hello!" What's dat?" 
 
 Something startled him.
 
 142 Sunday in the Castle. 
 
 Sunday did not turn pale, for that was physically 
 impossible, but he showed unmistakable signs of alarm. 
 
 He turned towards the door and drew his knife. 
 
 A creaking noise was heard in the adjoining room, as 
 though a door with rusty hinges had been cautiously 
 opened. 
 
 Clutching his knife firmly, the negro stole forward. 
 
 Then as he came in sight of the room he stood still, 
 with his knife in his hand ready for action. 
 
 Another moment and a trap in the floor was opened, 
 and the figure of a girl appeared there. 
 
 Sunday stared, but held his knife still ready. 
 
 The girl mounted a ladder, which Sunday could not 
 see, and reaching the floor, peered cautiously about her. 
 
 Then she called to some one below to come on. 
 
 "Now," thought Sunday, "now or never is my time." 
 
 With two steps, or rather jumps, he was beside the 
 
 girl- 
 One vigorous kick sent the trapdoor down. 
 
 Then planting his foot firmly upon it, he dragged the 
 girl over it and flourished the knife before her eyes. 
 
 "Half a word," hissed Sunday in her face "a 
 breath a wink, and I'll cut yer head right off, s'elp my 
 golly!" 
 
 The girl said nothing. 
 
 She stared at her sable captor and gasped. 
 
 And then she lay like a log in his arms. 
 
 Sunday looked around him in sheer wonderment. 
 
 It had all taken place so suddenly that he could 
 scarcely believe it was real. 
 
 So to test the truth of it, he prodded himself with 
 his knife in the thigh.
 
 Sunday in the Castle. 143 
 
 "Ha! whoo!" he yelled; "dat's real enough dat's 
 flesh and blood yes, by golly ; and hyar's the blood." 
 
 And he nearly let his lovely burden drop. 
 ******* 
 
 Hark! 
 
 "Paquita !" 
 
 "Paquita!" 
 
 "Push the door open, Harry! something has hap- 
 pened," said a voice beneath the trap. 
 
 "I will, Emily, if you stand out of danger." 
 
 Sunday heard all this distinctly. 
 
 "Am dis chile awake," thought Sunday, "or am he 
 dreaming?" 
 
 There was no mistaking that voice ; in fact, those 
 voices, for both were equally familiar to him. 
 
 He did not know what to do. 
 
 So first he moved his swooning burden carefully out 
 of the way. 
 
 And then, knife in hand, to guard against all acci- 
 dents, he gently raised the trapdoor and looked down. 
 
 Then two voices exclaimed simultaneously : 
 
 "Sunday!" 
 
 "Massa Harry ! By golly ! am dat you ?" 
 
 "Yes, Sunday. I am glad to find you here. Lend me 
 a hand," said Harry Girdwood. 
 
 "By golly ! and Missie Emily, too ?" 
 
 "Yes, Sunday," returned little Emily ; "it's me. But 
 where's Paquita?" 
 
 "Hyar's de oder female gal," answered Sunday. "My 
 pretty face has frightened all de breaf out of her body. 
 If old Monday had been here, him ugly face hab fright- 
 ened her to def, poor young critter."
 
 144 Sunday in the Castle. 
 
 Little Emily was already by Paquita's side, doing all 
 she possibly could to restore her to her senses. 
 
 After a lapse of about a minute or so, she opened her 
 eyes and looked about her. 
 
 Then her eyes dropping upon Sunday, she gave a 
 shudder and shrank back. 
 
 "There is nothing to fear," said Harry Girdwood, 
 in Italian ; "this is only a faithful old friend of ours, 
 though how he has got here quite bewilders me." 
 
 "Your friend?" said Paquita, in the same language; 
 "why, he must be connected with the " 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 "// diavolo." 
 
 Harry Girdwood burst out laughing at this. 
 
 "What am diavolo, Massa Harry?" asked Sunday. 
 
 "Why, the devil," whispered Harry. 
 
 Then continued : 
 
 "There's no danger. Sunday is quite harmless." 
 
 Paquita accepted their assurances with apparent good 
 faith, and yet seemed to have some misgivings. 
 ' "If what they say is true," she said to herself, "it is 
 all very singular. How came this negro here?" 
 
 Had she been able to speak English, she would have 
 understood just then the conversation that was going 
 forward between Harry and Sunday. 
 
 A few words put him in possession of the whole of 
 the facts. 
 
 And as soon as he knew all, he explained to Paquita. 
 
 He told her how poor Sunday had lost his way in the 
 forest, and how he had been pursued by the twin blood- 
 hounds of the pirate chief. 
 
 Sunday to whom the Greek maiden was now com-
 
 Sunday in the Castle. 145 
 
 pletely reconciled took her by the hand, and led her 
 to the window. 
 
 "See dere, missie," said he. 
 
 She peeped cautiously out. 
 
 "There are the two beautiful dogs," she exclaimed, in 
 rapture. 
 
 "Booful dogs!" exclaimed Sunday; "cussed tykes, 
 Missie Brigand, dat's what I calls 'em. Why, dey try 
 to eat dis young and tender chile." 
 
 "Then they are not particular to a trifle," said Harry 
 Girdwood, laughing ; "for you must -be precious tough, 
 Sunday." 
 
 Paquita laughed, and seemed to take great interest 
 in all that interested Harry Girdwood. 
 
 As she looked out, her face grew suddenly thought- 
 ful. 
 
 "Petrus, with his dogs, will wait," she said to 
 Harry. 
 
 "So it seems." 
 
 "Yes ; he has been sent on by my father, who will 
 come on after with his men, and then we shall be 
 taken." 
 
 "But you have nothing to fear. It is our lives he 
 will take. He would never harm you." 
 
 She shook her head, and taking Harry Girdwood 
 by the hands, said, smiling: 
 
 "No ; he loves me too much. My only fears are for 
 you." 
 
 "You must not fear on my account." 
 
 "But I do. My father is good and gentle to me, but 
 cruel to his foes."
 
 146 Sunday in the Castle. 
 
 "I believe that," said Harry; "but still, dear young 
 lady, we do not know for sure that they are coming." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ''You don't know my father," she said ; "he is all 
 powerful here, and he is sure to have Petrus followed 
 up, sure look there." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Petrus." 
 
 Harry looked out, and then it must be confessed he 
 was a little startled. 
 
 Petrus had taken his dogs by the chain, and dragged 
 them nearer to him, while he held their muzzles tightly 
 to prevent them betraying him. 
 
 The two hounds were restless, and pawed the 
 ground impatiently, anxious to be off. 
 
 At the same time Petrus' manner showed that he 
 had heard some one coming, and, moreover, that that 
 person was an enemy. 
 
 Petrus looked stealthily out. 
 
 Then he withdrew into the covered part, right into 
 the thicker growth of shrub and bush. 
 
 "Look!" said Harry Girdwood, excitedly; "two men 
 are approaching." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "There! See?" 
 
 "I see ! I see ! turning the corner of the path." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Little Emily peered eagerly out of the window. 
 
 "I see them! I see them!" she ejaculated. 
 
 And then she started and stared, while her face 
 changed color. 
 
 "Sunday."
 
 Friends or Foes. 147 
 
 "Yes, missie." 
 
 "Look!" 
 
 "Whar?" 
 
 "Don't you see who those two are?" asked Emily. 
 
 Sunday stared, and then he rubbed his eyes again. 
 
 "By golly !" he cried, in wonder ; "dis chile t'ink 
 him ought to know dem. Ho ! golly ! It am Massa 
 Harkaway." 
 
 "Yes," returned little Emily, joyously, "it is Mr. 
 Harkaway and dear Jack." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 FRIENDS OR FOES A STRANGE ALLY THE MAN OF 
 
 MYSTERY SPEAKS OUT. 
 
 And so it was. 
 
 Jack Harkaway and his gallant boy. 
 
 "Oh ! brave, good Jack !" said Emily ; "he will save 
 us." 
 
 "Yes, by golly ! Massa Jack chip of de ole block ; 
 'im fight like young giant." 
 
 As Harkaway appeared before the house there was 
 a commotion observed in the bushes, and then a low, 
 ominous growl was heard. 
 
 "Steady; what was that?" ejaculated Harkaway. 
 
 "It sounded like a stifled growl." 
 
 "Right, boy," said Harkaway; "keep your eyes 
 open." 
 
 "All right, dad," replied our young hero; "trust 
 me."
 
 148 Friends or Foes. 
 
 "I do, Jack." 
 
 They looked to their arms carefully, and stood back 
 to back upon the qui vive. 
 
 A formidable couple they were, too, this father and 
 son. 
 
 The two Harkaways father and son scented 
 danger. 
 
 Sunday, Harry Girdwood and little Emily dare not 
 interfere to help the Harkaways, for they ran the risk 
 of exposing them to a surprise. 
 
 But their suspense did not last a very long time. 
 
 Suddenly the ferocious hounds broke from the care 
 of their master and bounded out into the open. 
 
 With three or four leaps they were upon the Hark- 
 aways, and had them upon the ground. 
 
 Emily shrieked. 
 
 Harry Girdwood dashed open the window to leap 
 out, but before they could interfere Petrus was there. 
 
 "Come here !" he cried, in a voice of thunder. "De- 
 sist, brutes ; desist, I say !" 
 
 And he accompanied each word with a succession of 
 blows with his fist that sent them howling back. 
 
 "Rise, gentlemen," said he, courteously, as he turned 
 to menace the fierce bloodhounds again. 
 
 They were more surprised at this than they had 
 been at the attack, but they quickly recovered their 
 weapons. 
 
 "You have no need to seek your pistols," said 
 Petrus ; "my dogs will not hurt you, if you give me 
 your hands in friendship." 
 
 These words, spoken in an English accent, caused 
 Jack Harkaway to stare in utter amazement.
 
 Friends or Foes. 149 
 
 "You hear? Do you not understand? I say, give 
 me your hands to show signs of friendship, and then 
 you will be quite safe from their fangs." 
 
 "Friendship?" echoed Harkaway, in surprise. "But 
 can we give our hands so to you?" 
 
 "Have I shown myself an enemy to y.ou?" 
 
 "Why, no." 
 
 "Your hands, then; you shall not regret it." 
 
 He held out his hands to them as he spoke, but as 
 they hesitated to take them, he went on : 
 
 "Well, I cannot wonder at your refusal. You see 
 me a degraded outcast, and one of a band of pirates. 
 But reserve your judgment and give me your hand in 
 outward sign of friendship, to guarantee you against 
 the attacks of my dogs. They are faithful and sa- 
 gacious to friends as they are ferocious to strangers and 
 foes, and once you seem to have my friendship you 
 have nothing to fear from them." 
 
 Harkaway hesitated no longer. 
 
 Young Jack gave him a hearty grasp, and the 
 strange brigand flushed with evident pleasure. 
 
 "Castro !" he exclaimed. "Cyrus ; hey, come here !" 
 
 The two fierce hounds crept slowly up. 
 
 "Nearer, sir," said Petrus, sternly; "now give this 
 gentleman your paw." 
 
 Castro obeyed with wonderful promptitude. 
 
 "Now, sir, you." 
 
 The other followed his brother's example with great 
 docility. 
 
 It was strange to see those great, fierce brutes then, 
 licking the hands and fawning upon the enemies they 
 would lately have devoured.
 
 150 Friends or Foes. 
 
 At this juncture the door was thrown open, and 
 Sunday and Harry Girdwood appeared, rifle in hand. 
 
 They brought their guns to their shoulders, ready 
 for action. 
 
 "Sunday!" ejaculated Harkaway. 
 
 "Harry !" cried young Jack, in amazement. 
 
 The docility of the bloodhounds vanished on the 
 instant. 
 
 They crouched, and prepared to spring upon the 
 newcomers. 
 
 "Are these friends of yours?" asked Petrus, point- 
 ing to the door. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "Recover arms," called out Harkaway, "and come 
 here." 
 
 They were about to obey, when Petrus interposed. 
 
 "If they are indeed your friends," said he, "and 
 true men, let me first make sure of my dogs." 
 
 And then turning to the hounds, he bade them 
 sternly to lie down. 
 
 Walking up to the old negro and Harry Girdwood 
 he extended a hand to each. 
 
 "Give me your hand," said he; "I am a friend to 
 you." 
 
 Both obeyed. 
 
 "A very particular odd friend to dis chile," said 
 Si'.nday. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because you chivy dis infant half over de blessed 
 island with your pups."
 
 Friends or Foes. 151 
 
 "You are mistaken," said Petrus. "I did not mean 
 it." 
 
 "It looks most dam uncomfor'ble like it, by golly!" 
 
 "I merely sought to overtake you," said Petrus, "to 
 come to that understanding which I hope to bring 
 about now/' 
 
 "This man is a friend," said Harkaway, who was 
 thoroughly convinced by Petrus' manner of his hon- 
 esty of purpose. 
 
 Sunday accepted this as an order from his master, 
 and a general reconciliation was brought about. 
 
 "How came you here?" said Harkaway. 
 
 "How did you manage your escape?" demanded 
 young Jack, eagerly. 
 
 "Have you any news of Emily?" asked Harkaway. 
 
 "Is she still in the brigand's clutches?" asked young 
 Jack. 
 
 Fast as they showered the questions upon them, 
 Harry Girdwood found means of replying. 
 
 "No; Emily is safe, and here she comes to answer 
 for herself." 
 
 "Jack!" 
 
 Young Jack flew to the door as Emily appeared, and 
 catching her in his arms, he showed his joy at her es- 
 cape by kissing her until her blushing cheeks recalled 
 him to a sense of decorum. 
 
 "After you, Jack," said his father, taking Emily by 
 the hand and kissing her. 
 
 "But who is this?" demanded young Jack, pointing 
 to the door, where the brigand's daughter lingered as 
 if unwilling to disturb the harmony of the scene. 
 
 "Paquita?"
 
 Friends or Foes. 
 
 "Yes," said Harry Girdwood, "it is Paquita, the 
 daughter of the terrible Monastos. It is to her kind- 
 ness we owe everything perhaps our very lives." 
 
 Emily ran back to her new-found friend, and, pla- 
 cing her arm round her waist, led her gently forward. 
 
 "Jack," said Harry Girdwood, "she saved your life, 
 too." 
 
 "Mine?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "At the moment when Monastos had you bound to 
 the gun, she led us out of his clutches and placed her- 
 self in our power, in order to frighten her tyrant 
 father into sparing you." 
 
 And then followed a full explanation of what the 
 reader already knows concerning the manner of their 
 escape from the brigand's cavern by the river. 
 
 Young Jack was thoroughly overcome by the recital. 
 
 But his father, having discovered in what tongue 
 they could understand each other, made her the warm- 
 est acknowledgments upon their joint behalf. 
 
 "Receive a father's heartfelt thanks, my dear young 
 lady," said he, with deep emotion, "for saving the 
 lives of my son and of our friends." 
 
 Paquita smiled her reply to Harkaway. 
 
 It was indeed a happy reunion to all the party. 
 ******* 
 
 During the foregoing scene, Petrus, the man of 
 mystery, looked sternly on. 
 
 He seemed like one in a dream. 
 
 "Why do you side with your father's enemies, young 
 lady?" said he, advancing towards her.
 
 Friends or Foes. 153 
 
 "Because my father would have behaved cruelly to 
 them." . 
 
 "But do you know what the consequences of this 
 will be?" 
 
 "My conscience acquits -me of all blame," returned 
 Paquita. "I should do the same again if the same op- 
 portunity offered itself." 
 
 A smile lighted up his countenance. 
 
 "Your conscience tells you right, young lady," 
 said he. 
 
 "I know it." 
 
 "Follow its dictates ever; and some day I will im- 
 part an important secret to you." 
 
 Suddenly the conversation was rudely interrupted 
 by Sunday. 
 
 "By golly ! Massa Harry," he exclaimed, "s'pose 
 some of dem fellers get up de chimbly, too?" 
 
 "The chimney?" 
 
 "Yes, sar ; de flue, sar." 
 
 "The flue ?" 
 
 "Yes, sar." 
 
 The party looked at each other for an explanation. 
 
 "Why, didn't you all come up a hole in de floor?" 
 said Sunday, indignantly. 
 
 Thereupon, Harry Girdwood burst out laughing. 
 
 "Oh ! that's what you call the flue." 
 
 "Yes, sar." 
 
 "We did." 
 
 "S'pose den, Massa Harry, dat dem piratical beasts 
 plays a lily game at follow my leader up de hole in de 
 floor, and give dis chile bullet, he get de bellyache, by 
 golly!"
 
 154 Friends or Foes. 
 
 "You are right, Sunday!" cried Harkaway; "we 
 must take precaution, and at once, or the pirates will 
 take us all by surprise by forcing their way through 
 the flue, as you call it." 
 
 Until Sunday's opportune but unpleasant suggestion 
 cropped up, they had thought only of looking out for 
 enemies from the woods. 
 
 Harry Girdwood led the way into the house. 
 
 Petrus, in the meanwhile, tethered Castor to the 
 doorpost, while he brought the other dog in with him. 
 
 It was well he did so. 
 
 Following the party to the inner chamber, in which 
 was the trapdoor in the floor, he found that they had 
 already passed through it, and were anxiously peering 
 down. 
 
 "Well, can you hear any sounds below?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "All is safe for the present." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "But every precaution must certainly be taken now." 
 
 Petrus did not appear satisfied with their investiga- 
 tion ; he preferred taking observations for himself. 
 
 "Hey, Cyrus, boy, come here! Stand you there on 
 guard, good dog." 
 
 The dog obeyed. 
 
 "Listen there for anyone coming, and if you fail to 
 warn us in due time of danger, I'll kill you." 
 
 The hound replied to his master's exhortation by 
 an intelligent wag of the tail. 
 
 This settled, they went round the house to examine 
 the various apartments, and in one of the upper rooms 
 Petrus delighted the party by discovering a cupboard,
 
 Friends or Foes. 155 
 
 concealed from the casual glance, which was amply 
 stocked with wines and fruits, and some welcome eat- 
 ables. 
 
 "You can sit and regale at your ease," said Petrus. 
 
 "We must not be surprised," said Harkaway. 
 
 Petrus smiled. 
 
 "No fear of that." 
 
 "Sure?" 
 
 "Quite ; the sentinels I have posted will keep better 
 guard than the most reliable soldiers we could ever 
 have." 
 
 Thus reassured by Petrus they partook of the vari- 
 ous delicacies that the house afforded. 
 
 "Before we proceed further, tell me," said Hark- 
 away, "how came you, an Englishman, to be here with 
 such miscreants as are Monastos and his gang of 
 brigands ?" 
 
 As Harkaway spoke a sickly expression flitted across 
 the other one's face. 
 
 "It would take too long at present," he replied, 
 grimly, "to tell the whole tale of my woes, to relate 
 the horrors that I have gone through during my cap- 
 tivity here; but as we are strangers, and as some par- 
 ticulars are due to you, if only in proof of my good 
 faith, I will put my sad history into the briefest possi- 
 ble form." 
 
 "Did I understand you aright?" said Harkaway. 
 "Did you say captivity?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Has it lasted long?" 
 
 "Five years." 
 
 "How have you lived it through?"
 
 156 Friends or Foes. 
 
 "By looking forward to this day," replied Petrus, 
 with flushed cheek and flashing eyes. "The hour that 
 I have been praying for, sighing for, weeping for, has 
 come at last, and my deliverance will be brought about 
 exactly as I've seen it in my dreams." 
 
 "But why did you not rise up against your oppress- 
 ors? You are an Englishman. I should have slain 
 my tyrant, if my body had been hacked piecemeal next 
 moment." 
 
 "I will tell you why," replied Petrus; "my venge- 
 ance could not be satisfied by his death. Had he a 
 hundred lives, and could lose each by slow torture, it 
 would not satisfy me. On this island is a treasure of 
 fabulous wealth, that has been got together by this 
 man monster the labor of a life of crime." 
 
 "I know it," said Harkaway. 
 
 "Each ounce of gold," continued Petrus, "represents 
 broken hearts, sighs, tears ay ! tears of blood ; every 
 imaginable crime. To lose this treasure would pain 
 this monster far more than the thoughts of death, for 
 he is physically brave. Now, it shall be my task to let 
 him know he is losing it, to wring his heart, to let him 
 drain the bitter cup to the very dregs, and then devote 
 my whole life to making his end wretched, a horror, 
 one long degradation, as mine has been; ay! a long 
 death. I would " 
 
 "Hark !" 
 
 "What was that ?" 
 
 "Listen. Did you not hear?" 
 
 "Massa Harkaway," cried Sunday. 
 
 "What is it? Danger?" 
 
 "Yes, sar. The dog at the flue hears suffink."
 
 The Pirate Chief's Grief. 157 
 
 It was true. 
 
 Cyrus had already given his note of warning. 
 
 A low growl. 
 
 "Come," said Petrus, moving towards the door, "we 
 have work before us now. We may in a few moments 
 be surrounded by the pirates of this island." 
 
 And they followed him in anxious expectancy to the 
 chamber below. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE PIRATE CHIEF'S GRIEF BOLD RESOLUTIONS THE 
 
 WARNING A SURPRISE AN OLD FRIEND IS FOUND 
 
 FULL OF SPIRITS MOLE IN A NEW CHARACTER; 
 
 THAT OF TARGET. 
 
 The pirate, or King Monastos, as he liked to be 
 called, was in distress about Paquita. 
 
 Heartless ruffian as he was, this pirate had one soft 
 place in his heart. 
 
 Paquita filled it. 
 
 It was most remarkable to see a girl brought up in 
 the midst of cruelty, brutality and vice, and yet pre- 
 serve her purity of mind and her gentle, guileless 
 nature. 
 
 Yet so it was. 
 
 And this, perhaps, it was that so made the despotic 
 brigand's heart yearn towards her. 
 
 She was so utterly unlike anyone with whom he 
 came in contact, that he looked upon her as a superior 
 being altogether.
 
 158 The Pirate Chief's Grief. 
 
 Her singular disappearance completely unmanned 
 him. 
 
 Presently he would fall a-cursing the English ad- 
 venturers. 
 
 "I'll kill them all all ! To the last one they shall 
 die !" he cried aloud, shaking his clinched fists in the 
 intense bitterness of his wrath. 
 
 "Ho, there!" he shouted, after a while; "where is 
 Dimitri ?" 
 
 "He is away." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Conducting the prisoner to the castle by your or- 
 ders, captain." 
 
 A smile of fiendish triumph lit up the brigand's face. 
 
 "We must be up and doing," he exclaimed, rousing 
 himself; "let the worst come to the worst, we will 
 show our teeth, and then let them beware of Monastos, 
 the king of the brigands." 
 
 "We have received no news yet, captain, of your 
 daughter." 
 
 Monastos made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 "Oh, if I had those English devils in my power, I 
 would grind their lives out by slow torture; but my 
 Paquita must not be lost to me." 
 
 ******* 
 
 "You have got the boy safe, captain?" demanded 
 one of the band. 
 
 "Yes ; under a strong guard. But we must be ready 
 for action, or those English will escape." 
 
 A dozen chosen men were armed and got ready to 
 sally out into the woods in search of the enemy. 
 
 Besides the dozen men there were three trusty
 
 The Pirate Chief's Grief. 159 
 
 scouts, who preceded the party a considerable distance, 
 and with whom a series of signals was arranged. 
 
 In this way they proceeded a considerable distance, 
 when they heard the sound of a parrot. 
 
 "That's Moustakos ; he imitates a parrot perfectly," 
 .said one of the pirates. 
 
 These children of the forest and mountain side pos- 
 sessed wonderful powers of imitation. 
 
 The pirate's reply was the shrill call of a bird, which 
 no one would have thought possible to have emanated 
 from a human throat. 
 
 Then came the countersign from Moustakos. 
 
 Their code of signals was perfect. 
 
 Monastos joined again his band. 
 
 "Let no sound be heard ; all depends upon surprising 
 the enemy." 
 
 They were passing along a sort of natural lane, with 
 tall forest trees bordering it, beyond which was a 
 large open glade. 
 
 Suddenly Monastos stopped short. 
 
 "Hush !" 
 
 He held up his hand in warning, for close by they 
 could hear the sound of voices. 
 
 "We have them now," said Monastos. 
 
 He made 'a sign to his followers to spread them- 
 selves out, and silently, noiselessly they obeyed orders. 
 
 Each man took up his post behind a tree and slowly 
 prepared arms. 
 
 Then they turned to their captain. 
 
 They wanted fresh orders. 
 
 But a faint noise in the thicket caused them to sus- 
 pend operations for a moment.
 
 160 The Pirate Chief's Grief. 
 
 Looking in the direction of the sound, they saw a 
 neatly-turned piece of wood passed gently through the 
 foliage. 
 
 This was surmounted by a trouser leg. 
 
 Then came a human frame, dragging after it a 
 second wooden member, the exact counterpart of the 
 first. 
 
 The brigands stared amazed at this strange figure, 
 but the strange figure in question was all unconscious 
 of the excitement his presence was creating. 
 
 In fact, he hugged himself in the belief that he was 
 quite alone. 
 
 First he looked over his shoulders, and then he gave 
 a sort of comfortable sigh, as he drew from his pocket 
 a black bottle, which had been his constant companion 
 and trusty friend in many a distant clime. 
 
 Gently he withdrew the cork. 
 
 Then he wiped the neck of the bottle with the cuff 
 of his coat and took a gentle pull. 
 
 "How unpleasant it is to be surrounded by such a 
 suspicious set of people. I verily believe that some of 
 them would suspect their own mothers of taking strong 
 waters on the sly." 
 
 He sucked again. 
 
 "It was a happy thought of mine," murmured this 
 singular person, who was no other than our old friend 
 Mole, "to offer to mount this guard, for I can keep 
 careful watch, and take my drop of comfort at the 
 same time." 
 
 He washed down this observation with another 
 gentle pull at the black bottle. 
 
 "Come what will," said Mole, "I am determined that
 
 Guerilla Warfare. 161 
 
 the success of this expedition shall be due to my cour- 
 age and forethought." 
 
 He solaced himself once more with that little black 
 bottle. 
 
 "Hello! what noise is that?" and he hastily clapped 
 the bottle in his breast pocket, and looked up. 
 
 "Why," he gasped again, "what does all this mean?" 
 
 And well he might. 
 
 He found himself the target for twelve long-barreled 
 guns, and all the twelve so close to him that there was 
 not the faintest hope of their missing their aim. 
 
 Isaac Mole tried to cry out. 
 
 He could not. 
 
 He thought he was a dead man this time. 
 
 The brigands closed upon him until the tips of their 
 musket barrels touched him. 
 
 The cold sweat poured down his back, for every in- 
 stant he expected to receive the contents of those 
 twelve gun barrels in his devoted carcass. 
 
 Suddenly he found his tongue, and at a moment that 
 they certainly did not expect it. 
 
 Mole gave a loud yell, and then he fell forward, flat 
 on his face. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 GUERILLA WARFARE. 
 
 What ensued was gone through with wonderful 
 rapidity. 
 
 "Hello, there! is that you, Mole, yelling out for 
 help?"
 
 1 62 Guerilla Warfare. 
 
 The next moment Jefferson made a rush forward. 
 
 And then a surprise awaited him. 
 
 The band of Monastos, with admirable precision, 
 wheeled round at a sign from their chief, and turned 
 their guns upon Jefferson. 
 
 The latter looked and stared as though suddenly be- 
 reft of his senses. 
 
 Seven of the guns were pointing at him. 
 
 "Treed, by gum !" exclaimed the American giant. 
 
 But he did not give in. 
 
 Suddenly he darted round, sprang back into the 
 bushes, and rolling back, disappeared before they could 
 say "Jack Robinson," or its equivalent in Greek. 
 
 "Take a tree, every mother's son of you," he cried 
 to his friends, who were advancing, "or you'll be cata- 
 wampously chawed up by the pirates." 
 . They needed no second warning. 
 
 In the twinkling of an eye Harkaway's party sought 
 refuge behind trees. 
 
 "Be cautious, lads, and don't pop your heads out too 
 soon," cried Jefferson. 
 
 And then began an Arkansas duel upon a very ex- 
 tensive scale. 
 
 Not another word was spoken for several minutes. 
 
 Then suddenly the silence was broken by the sharp 
 crack of a rifle, and Yanni, the pirate chief's favorite, 
 was dropped. 
 
 "That's a chalk to me, Jeff," said Magog Brand, 
 complacently. 
 
 "Bravo, Magog!" returned Jefferson. 
 
 But as he spoke he was busy fixing his own quarry, 
 and before the echo of Magog's shot had died away
 
 Guerilla Warfare. 163 
 
 there was a second report, and down dropped another 
 of the brigands. 
 
 This was warm work for the Greeks. 
 
 But Monastos was equal to the task. 
 
 He made a sudden grab at Mr. Mole's collar, and 
 dragged him up, rested his own rifle over his prisoner's 
 shoulder, and kept him as a shield in front of himself. 
 
 But Mole soon slipped down, and the consequence 
 was that Monastos emptied both barrels upon the 
 enemy, but missed ignominionsly in both cases. 
 
 Dick Harvey made his presence felt then. 
 
 No sooner did he catch sight of the commanding 
 figure of Monastos, then he marked him for his own. 
 
 "Now then, Mr. Mole," he shouted, as Monastos 
 once more dragged Mole to his feet, "drop to the 
 ground when I give the word. Now!" 
 
 Mole dropped, but it was not in obedience to Dick's 
 order. 
 
 Fear seemed to have got possession of him to such 
 an extent that it took all the power out of his body, 
 and appeared actually to infect his wooden legs. 
 
 At that very instant Dick pulled the trigger. 
 
 Monastos staggered back, clapping his hand to his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "He's potted !" ejaculated Jefferson. 
 
 "A good shot, Harvey." 
 
 But the Greeks were not beaten by any means ; they 
 set up a cry of alarm when they saw their leader hit, 
 but they kept to their work. 
 
 A second shot from the English party whizzed un- 
 pleasantly close to Monastos' royal ear. 
 
 "Curses on you all!" he cried.
 
 164 Guerilla Warfare. 
 
 Then stooping down, he grasped poor Isaac Mole 
 firmly by the shoulders, and without any very great 
 difficulty, he lifted him up and carried him on his back 
 across the open. 
 
 Mole yelled. 
 
 He struggled and kicked, and he galled his captor's 
 legs with the spikes with which his wooden pins were 
 tipped. 
 
 Captor and captive were suffering, after their fash- 
 ion, at the same time. 
 
 Another shot was fired, and Mole gave a wild, un- 
 earthly yell. 
 
 Was he struck? 
 
 Evidently. 
 
 Else why did he kick and wriggle so wildly upon 
 the back of his captor? 
 
 "Here," cried the chief to one of his men, throwing 
 poor Mole on the ground, "pick up this wretched Eng- 
 lishman, and carry him to our cave." 
 
 A savage-looking brigand then threw Mole on his 
 back, and commenced to trot away with him. 
 
 But Mole was not to be taken off so easily, for he 
 began to probe the calves of the man's legs with his 
 spikes. 
 
 "Keep still!" roared the brigand, as he trudged on. 
 
 "Oh! Aha!" 
 
 "Quiet, you English dog!" 
 
 "Aha oh!" cried Mole. 
 
 "If you scratch my legs with your toenails like that 
 I'll have your nails drawn with pincers," said the am- 
 iable brigand. 
 
 "Oh!"
 
 Guerilla Warfare. 165 
 
 "Be still." 
 
 "I can't." 
 
 "Then I shall have the pleasure of cutting your 
 throat," said the brigand. 
 
 "Beast!" returned Mr. Mole, with great readiness; 
 "you know I am wounded." 
 
 "Are you hit?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where ?" 
 
 "Where? In the rear; I can't stand in comfort on 
 these timber pins, and now I shall never be able to 
 sit down again." 
 
 "We shan't want you to," answered the brigand, 
 trotting on. 
 
 "I shall, though," groaned Mole. 
 
 "Oh, no ; we shall lay you down," said the man. 
 
 "Lay me down? Wh wh where? Don't jiggle- 
 joggle so. Let me try and walk." 
 
 The brigand, who seemed in no way incommoded 
 by his burden, made a goatlike skip, upon finding 
 how much his prisoner was suffering so gratified 
 was he at the thought and trotted on. 
 
 "Where shall we lay you down, my friend? I'll tell 
 you," and he dropped into a sharp trot; "we shall 
 find you a nice soft bit of earth, caro mio, and dig 
 down, a good six or eight feet, English measurement, 
 for your earthly bed, and then " 
 
 Mole gasped. 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "And then, we shall drop you in, whether you are 
 alive or dead." 
 
 "Oh oh oh!"
 
 1 66 The Mysterious Retreat. 
 
 "Yes, my brave Englishman," said the brigand, "we 
 shall find you a good, deep grave, and cover you up 
 with good solid earth ; so let me advise you to die 
 quickly before reaching your last bedroom it will 
 be better for you. Ha! ha!" 
 
 "Oh, Jerusalem!" cried Mole, "you don't mean to 
 bury me alive. I say, old fellow, stop a bit, and take 
 a little drop out of my bottle." 
 
 "Oh, no" said the brigand; "I intend to give you a 
 drop, and that very soon, in your deep grave; I can 
 then help myself out of your bottle." 
 
 "You horrid vagabond," cried Mole, trying to wrig- 
 gle himself out of the brigand's grasp, "let me go." 
 
 In this way, poor Mole was carried off to captivity. 
 Poor Mole! 
 
 Bit by bit, leg by leg, he had been disappearing 
 from the scene. 
 
 And now it looked sadly like a wholesale vanishing 
 of the rest of his tough old hide. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS RETREAT. 
 
 Harkaway's party waited in security behind the 
 trees for some minutes. 
 
 Not a sound was heard not even a whisper. 
 
 What could it mean? 
 
 After waiting for some few minutes, with every 
 nerve in his body tingling with the subdued excitement, 
 Magog Brand stole out.
 
 The Mysterious Retreat. 167 
 
 "Hist! Magog, hist!" exclaimed Jefferson; "keep 
 back, or you will be a dead man." 
 
 Magog Brand's reply was brief but expressive. 
 
 "Are you mad?" said Jefferson. "Come back, I 
 say." 
 
 "No, I'll face the brigands." 
 
 He stepped out into the open as if there was nothing 
 to fear, as though he had the utmost contempt for 
 their adversaries, who were, truth to tell, anything 
 but contemptible marksmen. 
 
 He walked forward with gun in hand, as though 
 he bore a charmed life against rifle bullets. 
 
 "Silly fellow !" exclaimed poor Jefferson ; "this will 
 be the last appearance on any stage of Magog Brand." 
 
 But Magog was not to die yet. 
 
 His appearance beyond the shelter of the trees ex- 
 cited no attention on the part of the enemy. 
 
 He made direct for a wide-spreading tree, from 
 which the hottest fire had come during the skirmish. 
 
 And then, turning round, he shouted out to his com- 
 panion : 
 
 "The skurtks have gone!" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Bolted, by Jove!" 
 
 Jefferson could not credit the announcement thus 
 briefly conveyed. 
 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 "Come and see ; there is not a brigand in sight." 
 
 Although his words and manner implied a doubt, 
 yet he showed pretty clearly that he accepted it in good 
 faith by marching out into the open. 
 
 Then he ascertained the truth himself.
 
 1 68 The Mysterious Retreat. 
 
 The brigands were indeed gone. 
 
 "Well!" cried Jefferson in amazement, "I thought 
 to have potted a few more of the vagabonds." 
 
 "We are doubled on this time." 
 
 "So it seems." 
 
 "But what of poor old Mole?" 
 
 "Poor Mole!" 
 
 They were sincere in this, for, in spite of his draw- 
 backs, Mole was a favorite with all, and now it seemed 
 as though death, perhaps a cruel death, was about to 
 snatch their old friend from them, for, the brigands, 
 they knew, would have no mercy on poor Mole. 
 
 "Poor old fellow," said Harvey, sadly; "I fear that 
 I shall never laugh over your tricks again." 
 
 'Jefferson shook his head mournfully. 
 
 "I fear not." 
 
 "At any rate, there is this to be said, Mole as a 
 prisoner will be no trifling encumbrance, and will so 
 far impede their movements, that I've no doubt we 
 shall be able to come up with them." 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 "In which direction do you think they can have 
 gone ?" 
 
 That was a question that required some thought, 
 for the brigands had not left the faintest traces behind 
 them, or the least indication that could aid the pursuers. 
 
 Amongst the latter were several experienced trap- 
 pers and hunters, who were voted especially to the 
 service of recovering the trail. 
 
 But their task was one of no ordinary difficulty, 
 for the retreat of the brigands had been made through 
 the woods.
 
 The Mysterious Retreat. 169 
 
 For half a mile around their present camping place 
 they searched diligently. 
 
 But in vain. 
 
 Not a trace or a clew to help them ! 
 
 Or stay, we were wrong in saying not the faintest 
 clew, for they labored under what may be described 
 as the exactly opposite disadvantage. 
 
 There were too many traces too many clews. 
 
 In other words, their examination of the ground con- 
 vinced them that the party of brigands had broken 
 up and scattered in all directions. 
 
 This was a puzzle. 
 
 They held a general consultation upon it. 
 
 "We have scattered them," said one of the party 
 a young American, called Hiram Lee ; "there can 
 be no two opinions about that, I should say." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "The victory is ours." 
 
 "Yes, it is a rout," added another enthusiast. 
 
 Harvey smiled. 
 
 "Not that," he said; "or else they would not have 
 carried off their prisoner so easily." 
 
 "Poor Mole!" 
 
 "My opinion," said Jefferson, "is rather that they 
 have scattered with the express purpose of throwing 
 us off the scent, and have probably joined at a little 
 distance off." 
 
 This was the most likely supposition. 
 
 All agreed to this. 
 
 "Taking that for granted " 
 
 "Jefferson," said Dick Harvey, "the best thing for us
 
 ijo The Mysterious Retreat. 
 
 to do is to keep our largest weather eye open, and 
 look out for squalls." 
 
 "True." 
 
 "They will probably return in force and endeavor 
 to surprise us." 
 
 "Probably." 
 
 "Well, then," said Magog Brand, "all I have to say 
 is this: If, with that belief in our minds, we suffer 
 ourselves to be surprised, we deserve the worst that 
 can possibly befall us." 
 
 "Right." 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 "Let us take every possible precaution to guard 
 against it." 
 
 "We will." 
 
 "In the first place, let us take opinions about our 
 next step." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 "You put the question, Harvey, for our consider- 
 ation," said Jefferson. 
 
 "Hear! hear!" 
 
 "In the first place, then," said Dick, "what is to be 
 done ? Shall we camp here and fortify this position, or 
 move on?" 
 
 "Camp here," cried several. 
 
 "Let us examine well the two questions before we 
 decide," said Dick. 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "If we remain here, there is this advantage : Hark- 
 away will better be able to find us out." 
 
 "True, if he lives." 
 
 "Oh, he is safe enough," said Dick. "Jack and I
 
 The Mysterious Retreat. 171 
 
 have got through worse scrapes than this, I promise 
 you." 
 
 "Doubtless ; and I am no croaker of evil," said Jef- 
 ferson ; "but I confess that I would give a tall pile of 
 dollars to shake hands with Jack Harkaway at this 
 moment." 
 
 "Give me your hand, Jeff," said Dick, earnestly ; 
 "you're a good fellow a true pal, and one of the 
 luckiest days in my life was when I fell across you." 
 
 Jefferson returned his grasp, warmly. 
 
 "On the contrary, my boy," he said, "you and 
 brave Jack Harkaway have made life endurable for 
 us eh, Magog?" 
 
 "Rather," returned the dwarf, quickly. '"Why, 
 Jefferson and I were dying of sloth quietly hum- 
 bugging each other with idleness and expiring of ennui. 
 Harvey, my boy, you and Harkaway are our bene- 
 factors." 
 
 "Well, old fellow, I and Jack will never forget how 
 you fought for us in the New York gaming house." 
 
 "The disadvantage of staying here," said Hiram 
 Lee, "is that the brigands, knowing the spot, will make 
 their arrangements accordingly." 
 
 "True." 
 
 "March on, then." 
 
 "That is what I was coming to," said Dick. 
 
 "Let us examine the ground about," said one of the 
 party, "and if we find any place more suitable, we can 
 camp there, and yet keep a sharp look out for friends 
 or foes."
 
 172 The Mysterious Retreat. 
 
 "Good." 
 
 A diligent search was made, and they selected a 
 spot on high ground, yet sheltered by heavy timber, 
 which commanded a view for some little distance. 
 
 This settled, Dick set to work, making secure 
 arrangements for the coming night. 
 
 "I'll show you now," said he, "how I and my old 
 friend Jack used to fortify our position when attacked 
 by Indians years ago." 
 
 This was watched with considerable curiosity. 
 
 First, he set friends and himself to work to chop 
 off some branches of the nearest trees. 
 
 With these he had the ground strewn all round, 
 covering a circumference, or rather the openings in it, 
 of about a hundred feet. 
 
 Besides this, he fastened thin slips of willow from 
 tree to tree, at about a foot from the ground, a very 
 dangerous obstacle to men creeping on the ground 
 in the dark. 
 
 By the time this was done, it became necessary to 
 post the sentries for the night. 
 
 Then they ate their cold supper, and washed it down 
 with the contents of their ample flasks. 
 
 "Now," said Magog, "as my watch begins .an hour 
 hence, I'll take a snooze." 
 
 When he had snored gracefully for half an hour, he 
 was awakened by something, soft and warm, brushing 
 against his face. 
 
 Then there was something both cold and damp. 
 
 "Harvey!" he said, sitting bolt upright, "Dick! 
 Jefferson !"
 
 The Mysterious Retreat. 173 
 
 "Hello !" 
 
 "What now?" 
 
 "Any alarm?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 They were already on their feet, rifles in hand, and 
 upon the lookout. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Our friend come back," replied Magog, with a 
 chuckle. 
 
 "Surely not Harkaway?" gasped Harvey. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I thought it was too good," he said. 
 
 "Yes; but we have our four-footed postman back 
 with news." 
 
 "What, Mike?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 And then everyone had a kind word for that luckiest 
 of lucky dogs. 
 
 They lit a lantern and took observations of Master 
 Mike. 
 
 Around his neck was fastened a letter written by 
 Mrs. Harkaway and Mrs. Harvey. 
 
 It was brief and to the purpose. 
 
 "We hope you have got Emily safe with you by 
 this time, and that our foolish boys have not been run- 
 ning risks in this dreadful place. We are all full of 
 anxiety. Monday is nearly well. Unless you are soon 
 back, he will start after you. As it is, we have all 
 our work to do to restrain his impatience, and poor 
 Ada is in a constant state of worry about him. That 
 darling, Mike, is the prince of dogs. If he gets safely 
 to you with this, he shall have a collar of gold and 
 jewels, and feed upon all the dainties of the land, if
 
 174 The Mysterious Retreat. 
 
 once we escape from this desert. Oh, pray return at 
 once." 
 
 ******* 
 
 Dick had but just finished the letter, when Mike was 
 seen to prick up his ears and look sharply round. 
 
 Magog Brand watched him eagerly. 
 
 "That's my post," he said to himself. 
 
 So out he crept upon all fours towards the sentry- 
 whom he was to replace. 
 
 And the first thing he saw here filled him with 
 warmth and indignation. 
 
 The solitude and fatigue together had been too much 
 for the sentry. 
 
 He was leaning upon the muzzle of his rifle, and in 
 this position he was half dozing. 
 
 He was not strictly speaking asleep, but he had suf- 
 fered the drowsiness so far to conquer him that he did 
 not hear Magog Brand's approach. 
 
 Suddenly the dwarf was surprised by a sound close 
 beside him. 
 
 It was like the cocking of firearms of a rifle or a 
 pistol. 
 
 An alarming sound. 
 
 Magog did not wait to consider. 
 
 This was time for action not thought. 
 
 To pause was to be lost. 
 
 He dropped his rifle and took out his bowie knife. 
 
 "This is like Paddy's shillelah," he said to himself.. 
 "It never misses fire." 
 
 Creeping through the brushwood, he suddenly saw 
 before him a tall form of one of the Greek brigands 
 watching the sleeping sentinel.
 
 War's Alarms. 175 
 
 In his hand he carried a gun, that he was just upon 
 the point of bringing to his shoulder. 
 
 He was a huge fellow, and he took a slow and de- 
 liberate aim. 
 
 The sentry was about to pay for his negligence. 
 
 He was doomed. 
 
 "Now !" said Magog to himself ; "now is my time." 
 
 Gripping his long knife nervously, he stole forward 
 in the direction of the brigand. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 HOW MAGOG BRAND STOPPED AN INTRUDER ADVEN- 
 TURE ON THE MARCH WAR'S ALARMS. 
 
 Magog Brand was, figuratively speaking, all there. 
 
 He meant mischief. 
 
 You might see this by the vicious look about the cor- 
 ners of his mouth and the peculiar expression of his 
 eyes. 
 
 It was not a long job for him, however. 
 
 Three or four strides brought him close to his man. 
 
 And then gathering up his strength for a big effort, 
 he leaped upon the unsuspecting Greek from behind. 
 
 "Ugh!" 
 
 And that was about all the brigand said. 
 
 Magog was short, sharp and decisive in his action. 
 
 Before the man could struggle much, that murderous 
 long knife was buried up to the very hilt in his neck. 
 
 The windpipe was severed it choked his utterance, 
 and down he dropped upon the ground.
 
 176 War's Alarms. 
 
 Two sharp strokes of the knife right and then left 
 and what a few minutes before had been a huge, 
 muscular body, full of life and vigor, was now a 
 hideous, headless trunk. 
 
 Now this was accomplished without noise and the 
 sentry, whose life had been in danger, was actually un- 
 aware of what had taken place. 
 
 This truly horrible feat was barely accomplished 
 when Magog was startled by the sound of some one ad- 
 vancing in that direction. 
 
 The stockade which Dick Harvey had suggested 
 betrayed the approach, for the dried twigs were 
 crushed beneath a heavy foot. 
 
 Magog glanced up, and catching sight of the out- 
 line of a tall figure, he felt that it was high time to beat 
 a retreat. 
 
 But before going, he hit upon a novel defense. 
 
 Catching up the head of his victim, he hurled it with 
 all his force in the direction of the newcomer. 
 
 It was a good aim. 
 
 The reeking missile struck the man as he was com- 
 ing on, and brought him to a sudden stop. 
 
 Then Magog snatched up the slaughtered brigand's 
 gun, and scampered back, just as the astonished sentry 
 opened his sleepy eyes, and gazed about him. 
 
 "On guard !" ejaculated the dwarf, in a stage 
 whisper. 
 
 "All right." 
 
 "It is now." 
 
 And back he scrambled to the camp. 
 
 Harvey and Jefferson were wide awake. 
 
 They had missed Magog, and were wondering what
 
 War's Alarms. 177 
 
 could have become of him ; so that they saw him back 
 again with considerable sensations of relief. 
 
 "Anything wrong?" demanded Jefferson. 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 "Are you hurt ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why, what is that, blood on you? you are cov- 
 ered." 
 
 "So I am," replied the little man, coolly; "but it is 
 not mine." 
 
 "Whose, then?" 
 
 "Another of the Greek brigands," was Magog's 
 reply. 
 
 He thought no more of killing a brigand than he 
 would of shooting a wolf. 
 
 "I was just in time," he explained; "our sentry was 
 asleep on his post. I heard some one coming, so I crept 
 and cut off one man's head and threw it at another. 
 It saves powder and shot, you see." 
 
 His hearers stared. 
 
 And then when they got at the real truth of it, 
 they shuddered at the recital. 
 
 Be that as it may, it saved the rest of the party. 
 
 For a craftily-planned purpose, the work of Monas- 
 tos himself, was frustrated by Magog's courage; for 
 when the gory head fell at the advancing brigand's feet, 
 it filled him with horror and fear. 
 
 The man whom the desperate dwarf had thus cut 
 down was one of the worst and boldest of the brigands, 
 and as soon as Monastos was told what had happened, 
 he ordered the retreat to be sounded.
 
 iy8 War's Alarms. 
 
 And then it was agreed that they must give it up 
 for the night. 
 
 "We are discovered," said Monastos. "We are 
 bunglers and growing unworthy of our names, when 
 we can not conduct an attack at night with more 
 prudence than has been displayed this time." 
 
 The watches of Harkaway's party were doubled, and 
 this left but three men unoccupied. 
 
 These three men were Dick Harvey, Jefferson and 
 Magog Brand. 
 
 Morning dawned. 
 
 The three sleepers woke up in a general state of 
 alarm. 
 
 Their first impulse was to feel for their weapons. 
 
 "It's all right ; no more brigands to decapitate." 
 
 They shook themselves together, and trotted about 
 hither and thither to the various posts, for the purpose 
 of shaking off their drowsiness and of ascertaining at 
 the same time if their men were all safe. 
 
 Their cheeks were rather pale, and their eyes were 
 rather bloodshot for want of rest. 
 
 In other respects all was as well as could be wished. 
 
 Magog Brand kindled the fire, and boiled some 
 water, that they got from a neighboring spring, in a 
 tin pannikin which he carried in his knapsack, and 
 with this he prepared some coffee. 
 
 And then a grand feast was held of cold meat, bread 
 and hot coffee. 
 
 They had been anxiously waiting for the reappear- 
 ance of Harkaway, senior.
 
 War's Alarms. 179 
 
 One and all of the party missed him sadly, and now 
 at last they began to fear that something dreadful had 
 happened to him. 
 
 "The skunks shall suffer for all that \ve suffer," said 
 Jefferson, bitterly. 
 
 "They shall, we swear !" 
 
 A general chorus of voices showed that they were 
 all agreed upon this point. 
 
 If harm should have befallen Jack Harkaway, or his 
 boy, then woe betide the Greek brigand. 
 
 Here was a party of bold and desperate men, all 
 meaning to protect each other ; and if evil should hap- 
 pen to -one or the other of them, the rest were pledged 
 to fight with the avowed object of exterminating^ 
 Monastos and his band of brigands. 
 
 They grew impatient of remaining inactive, and so 
 they resolved to march on in search of Harkaway, and 
 of adventure generally. 
 
 One of their advanced guards, or beaters, started a 
 Greek scout just upon the skirts of a wood, and as soon 
 as the Englishmen perceived him they gave the view 
 halloo, and started off in pursuit, and when they had 
 got about a hundred yards, they saw that the Greek was 
 distancing them fast. 
 
 Run as fast as they could, the brigand lengthened 
 the gap between them at every stride. 
 
 "He mustn't escape," said Jefferson. 
 
 "Not quite, Jeff," said his little friend. 
 
 They were of one mind upon this head. 
 
 Both men had stopped in the chase influenced by 
 the same idea ; they meant to put a stop to his flight by 
 an ounce of lead.
 
 i8o War's Alarms. 
 
 Magog Brand, being loaded first, knelt, took a steady 
 aim, and pulled the trigger. 
 
 They watched for the result of the shot with some 
 anxiety. 
 
 But no use. 
 
 He was not touched. 
 
 On he ran faster than ever. 
 
 Jefferson knelt and had his turn now. 
 
 The big American was a crack shot with a rifle. 
 
 Jefferson pulled the trigger, and the fugitive bounded 
 into the air. 
 
 "Hist !" 
 
 "Potted !" 
 
 "Spiked !" 
 
 Such were the ejaculations of the lookers-on. 
 
 They thought he was brought down for good ; but 
 although the unlucky man fell, evidently struck by 
 Jefferson's bullet, yet he was not seriously damaged; 
 not too seriously, that is, to prevent his resuming his 
 flight. 
 
 He clapped his hand to his side thus indicating his 
 hurt and flew on, with as much speed and energy 
 as before. 
 
 "Hello!" 
 
 "Winged him only." 
 
 "He's badly hurt, though," said Dick ; "I can see by 
 his run." 
 
 "Then he is ours." 
 
 "Doubtless." 
 
 But they reckoned without their host for once. 
 
 By the time that they got another five minutes upon
 
 Torturing a Prisoner. 181 
 
 the way, the fugitive Greek, wounded as he was, had 
 contrived to get clean off. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Suddenly they were startled by the sound of fire- 
 arms. 
 
 First a single shot, then a straggling volley, and then 
 followed a well-sustained, though not very regular, fire. 
 
 A very warm engagement was going forward close 
 at hand. 
 
 "I can hear our rifles going it," said Dick Harvey. 
 "I know the ring of them too well to be mistaken." 
 
 "You're right, Dick, there." 
 
 "We shall have some fighting now." 
 
 "Rather," exclaimed Magog Brand, "and hang me 
 if I am going to miss it." 
 
 "Nor I !" 
 
 "Nor I !" 
 
 "Forward, then. Look to your rifles and pistols all 
 round, and let us get on to the fighting ground, wher- 
 ever it is." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 TORTURING A PRISONER. 
 
 We are compelled to leave the party on board the 
 Westward Ho ! for a while longer, and follow the chan- 
 ging fortunes of Mr. Mole. 
 
 We left that worthy gentleman hoisted upon the 
 back of the muscular brigand, and while he served as a 
 rampart, he received a wound in the rear from a bullet. 
 
 Poor Mole!
 
 1 82 Torturing a Prisoner. 
 
 He was indeed unfortunate. 
 
 In spite of his kicking and struggling, poor Isaac 
 Mole was carried away bodily from his friends by these 
 -desperate ruffians, who did with him pretty well as 
 they liked, and when they began to find their burden 
 grow heavy, they were out of range of fire, so they 
 dropped him down to the ground. 
 
 He fell like a limp sack, and doubled up. 
 
 "Rise!" cried Monastos, who had followed the 
 brigand who carried Mole. Then turning his band, 
 he said: 
 
 "We must march quickly forward." 
 
 "Get up !" exclaimed the brigand to Mole, "and 
 march." 
 
 But as Mr. Mole did not understand the meaning of 
 the words "rise," or "get up," in modern Greek, he 
 curled himself up with a hope that they were going to 
 leave him to his own devices. 
 
 Vain hope. 
 
 His master did not speak twice. 
 
 The brigand growled at him as if he were some 
 wretched mongrel, and gave him a kick in the ribs. 
 
 "Ah, oh !" 
 
 It nearly took all the breath out of his body, but 
 the brigand thought that there was something- comical 
 in the sound, so he dropped him another, playfully as 
 before. 
 
 "Beast!" gasped Mole. 
 
 The precise meaning of this the brigand did not 
 catch; but he shrewdly judged that it was abusive, and 
 so he gently prodded Mr. Mole with the point of his 
 stiletto.
 
 Torturing a Prisoner. 183 
 
 "Oh !" shrieked poor old Mole ; "murder ! murder !" 
 
 Monastos was heading the party, and marching in 
 stern silence. 
 
 He turned sharply round at the noise. 
 
 "Who was that shrieking so loudly?" asked 
 Monastos. 
 
 "The prisoner." 
 
 "Prisoner," said the chief of the brigands, in Eng- 
 lish, to Mole, "another such cry as that, and you will 
 never utter another in this world." 
 
 Mole groaned, and said quietly to himself: 
 
 "Oh, you beast !" 
 
 The brutal brigand once more prodded Mole in his 
 side with his stiletto. 
 
 "You had better slaughter me outright; have me 
 stuck to death by inches, you ugly, dirty vagabond," 
 cried poor Mole. 
 
 He had only received half an inch of the stiletto as 
 yet. 
 
 "We shall not kill you," said Monastos, turning back, 
 with lowering brow, and each word measured so as to 
 fall like a deathknell upon the hapless Mole's ears. 
 
 "That is very kind of you," muttered Mole; "per- 
 haps you will tell me what you will do." 
 
 "We shall only cut your tongue out." 
 
 Mole turned faint. There was a steady deliberation 
 in the brigand's manner, which filled his very soul with 
 terror. 
 
 The brigand who had charge of him bade him rise. 
 
 He winced as he received another playful prod, but 
 he was mindful of the chief's words, and he bit his 
 tongue to stifle the cry that rose to his lips.
 
 184 Torturing a Prisoner. 
 
 Having got him upon the move, the two brigands 
 in charge of him were merciless. 
 
 Not a step did he take without a reminder of their 
 proximity, in the shape of a kick or a cuff, or a dig 
 with their stilettoes. 
 
 He was prodded all down his back, and it smarted 
 and bled woefully, but he was in too great awe of the 
 chief to breathe a sigh of complaint. 
 
 A mile or more was covered in this way, and Isaac 
 Mole's sufferings grew intense. 
 
 At length he began to look about him in hopes of 
 seeing some of his own party. 
 
 "Oh, Harkaway! Oh, Harkaway! Why are you 
 not here to help your old friend, Mole!" 
 
 Despair took possession of him. 
 
 Let him but see his tyrant beaten, tortured, killed. 
 
 Let him but see some retaliation for the indignities 
 he had endured, and he would willingly risk his life. 
 
 But there was little hope of this. 
 
 As he glanced round, they seemed to anticipate his 
 thoughts, to read his very heart. 
 
 The cold ring of a pistol barrel was pressed against 
 his cheek, and a menacing hand motioned him to 
 proceed. 
 
 "You blackguard!" groaned the injured Mole, in- 
 wardly, "if I had you by yourself, I would fight and 
 show what Mole is made of." 
 
 Prod! 
 
 But never a word came from poor Mole. 
 
 Not a sound nor a groan escaped him. 
 
 Kick. 
 
 "Thief !" muttered Mr. Mole to himself ; "dogs and
 
 Torturing a Prisoner. 185 
 
 scum of the earth ! If Harkaway was here, how he 
 would scatter you all." 
 
 Then came a gentle rap on the back of the head with 
 the butt end of a pistol. 
 
 That is, a gentle rap according to the brigand's 
 notions. 
 
 Luckily Mr. Mole's skull stood it bravely. 
 
 "I should like to have you pinned down to the 
 earth naked," said Mr. Mole to himself, as he looked 
 round at them, "and dance a fandango over you, with 
 new spikes to my timber toes. Wouldn't I shuffle nim- 
 bly all over you." 
 
 They camped for the night in a snug forest glade. 
 
 Mr. Mole watched most anxiously for any signs or 
 movements upon the part of his captors by which he 
 could profit. 
 
 But he had to labor against one great difficulty, and 
 that was his ignorance of their language. 
 
 A scout came in, and conversed in an animated man- 
 ner with the king. 
 
 The result of this was that a body of men were dis- 
 patched under the command of a huge fellow, whom 
 the king addressed as Paradia, to make that memorable 
 night attack. 
 
 Paradia boasted, and bragged, and swelled out his 
 chest, as he swore to the king to bring him Harkaway's 
 head or forfeit his oWh. 
 
 Result he forfeited his own. 
 
 This was the fellow who fell at the hand of little 
 Magog Brand, and had his head severed from his body 
 by the knife of the little warrior.
 
 1 86 Torturing a Prisoner. 
 
 The rest of the men came back to report to their 
 chief the failure of their surprise. 
 
 Monastos grew more sullen and savage than ever. 
 
 Suddenly he ordered the prisoner to be brought be- 
 fore him. 
 
 "Do you wretched English dog know what has 
 taken place?" said he to Mole, after staring at him 
 for a while. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Can you guess ?" 
 
 As he put this question, he fixed Mole with a stern 
 eye that appeared to go right through him. 
 
 "Answer me," he thundered. 
 
 "Well, yes, I can," responded Mole, with some hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 "And you are pleased to think that we have failed? 
 Do you hear me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then answer." 
 
 He turned abruptly off at this. 
 
 "You are right, too ; for if my band had succeeded 
 if they had crushed the gang of thieves and intruders 
 you belong to, your life would have paid the penalty as 
 well." 
 
 Mr. Mole shuddered. 
 
 "As it is, we want you, and so you may live a little 
 longer." 
 
 He breathed again. 
 
 "Your mission now is to give them up to us." 
 
 Mr. Mole stared. 
 
 "Mine?" 
 
 "Yes, yours."
 
 Torturing a Prisoner. 187 
 
 "But how ?" inquired Mole. 
 
 "You have to tell us how many there are, what arms 
 they possess, and how they have planned their cam- 
 paign ; and how many men are left on board the ship 
 to protect it in the absence of the rest of the party. 
 Do you hear?" 
 
 Mole was silent. 
 
 "Speak !" 
 
 Not a word from Mole. 
 
 "Answer me, I say, or ' 
 
 One of the brigands prodded Mole as he had done 
 before ; and then he howled out, wildly : 
 
 "Kill me cut my tongue out, but I shan't utter a 
 word. Do you expect me to betray my only friends ? 
 No; you may cut me to bits, but I will be true to my 
 dear old friends." 
 
 The king of the brigands smiled sardonically. 
 
 "We shall not do that," he said. 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Mole felt relieved. 
 
 "At present." 
 
 Mr. Mole had got relieved too quickly. 
 
 "Now, first in order, is the question of numbers," 
 said the king of the brigands; "tell me what is their 
 strength ?" 
 
 Mole was silent. 
 
 "Do you hear me?" 
 
 Not a word. 
 
 The king frowned, and with a glance he beckoned 
 two of his men to his side. 
 
 They were the two who had charge of Mr. Mole. 
 
 "The prisoner cannot find his tongue," said he, 
 significantly.
 
 1 88 Torturing a Prisoner. 
 
 "Shall we assist him, your excellency?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 And they did, in this way. 
 
 One of them seized the prisoner's right hand and 
 spread it open, while the other cut a thin swish from 
 the nearest bush. 
 
 The swish was peeled and straightened, and then the 
 man turned to the chief for further orders. 
 
 The pirate chief gravely inclined his head, as he 
 said "fifty." 
 
 And then, while Mr. Mole was wondering what next 
 was to take place, down came the swish upon his 
 palm. 
 
 "Whoo !" he cried. 
 
 And he popped it under his left arm for solace, just 
 as he had done in his schooldays. 
 
 "Confound their impudence !" thought he ; "they are 
 making a laughingstock of me ; they are showing their 
 contempt of me by giving me cuts on the hands, as 
 though I were a refractory boy at school." 
 
 The hand was dragged out again, and down came 
 the second whack. 
 
 This time the unlucky tutor was better prepared, and 
 he would not flinch. 
 
 "They shall find I am not to be cowed by a cut on the 
 hand," he said, boldly. 
 
 Alas ! poor Mole ! 
 
 He little thought what this punishment could be 
 worked up to in the hands of experienced torturers. 
 
 But for his existing misfortunes, Mr. Mole would 
 have begun by an introduction to the bastinado.
 
 The Face at the Window. 189 
 
 You probably know that the bastinado is a beating 
 with canes on the soles of the naked feet. 
 
 But you may not know that it is one of the most 
 horrible of refined cruelties. 
 
 Mole's punishment was the antithesis of the bas- 
 tinado, and he soon discovered that it was no trifle. 
 
 At the tenth stroke the hand was swelling rapidly. 
 
 At the twelfth, he had bitten his tongue through to 
 stifle his groans, and yet a cry burst from his very 
 heart in spite of himself. 
 
 They expected he would give in then. 
 
 But no, the brave old man submitted to his torture; 
 he knew well he was serving his old friends by remain- 
 ing quiet. 
 
 He took his fifty strokes on the hand, and then he 
 sank half fainting upon the ground. 
 
 His two torturers smiled upon him in derision, and 
 Mole returned their glance with one of undying hatred. 
 
 "If I live," said he aloud, "it shall be my task to 
 make sure of you two, and if I die, Harkaway shall 
 have your disposal as my legacy." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 
 
 Suffering actually invested the poor old gentleman, 
 tippler and braggart though he was, with a sort of 
 dignity. 
 
 "He holds out well," said the king of the brigands.
 
 190 The Face at the Window. 
 
 "He would not hold out long, sir," said one of the 
 men, "if you gave me full power with him." 
 
 Monastos smiled, in a half-condescending way. 
 
 "You are young and sanguine, Sarandi," he said. 
 
 Mole repeated the name. 
 
 "Sarandi, I shall not forget that." 
 
 "You would kill him before I had squeezed the in- 
 formation from him." 
 
 "No, captain. What I propose will not cause such 
 pain as what he has but now received, but if he holds 
 out against it, take my head." 
 
 The confident air of the ruffian caught the chief's at- 
 tention. 
 
 "Speak, then," said he ; "what have you to propose ?'* 
 
 The man drew near the pirate chief and whispered. 
 
 "Right," said the chief; "we will try the English 
 hound." 
 
 The unfortunate prisoner was then bound and 
 stretched upon the ground, and then the brigand, Sa- 
 randi, lay down full length beside him. 
 
 The pirates looked on. 
 
 Mole was wondering what on earth was to come 
 next, when he felt a sharp, pricking sensation at the 
 back of his head. 
 
 Sarandi had pulled out a single hair. 
 
 This is scarcely as painful as the prick of a pin, and 
 Mr. Mole could only wonder what it was for. 
 
 He soon found out. 
 
 Hair after hair was drawn from his head, until the 
 whole of his scalp was itching to the most painful 
 degree.
 
 The Face at the Window. 191 
 
 The irritation increased every instant his head was 
 on fire with it. 
 
 He could not touch it with his hands, for he was 
 bound. 
 
 The sensations communicated themselves to the rest 
 of his body. 
 
 From head to legs he felt one mass of fiery irritation. 
 
 Indeed, he subsequently described his sensations as 
 those of a man who has inadvertently swallowed a 
 firework. 
 
 When this had gone on for ten minutes or so, poor 
 Mole's sufferings quickened his inventive faculties. 
 
 "Why should I suffer so ?" said he to himself ; "why 
 not give them a full account of all they ask, and be- 
 tray my friends, after my own fashion? Yes, I will 
 answer the wretches, but take care to deceive them." 
 
 Suddenly, as though he could no longer hold out, he 
 cried : , 
 
 "Enough. I'll tell." 
 
 "Hold !" said the king. 
 
 Sarandi turned to his chief. 
 
 "Shall I continue the torture?" 
 
 "Enough," said the chief of the brigands. "Set 
 him loose." 
 
 This was done. t 
 
 "Now answer my questions," said his majesty, "and 
 your life shall be spared." 
 
 Mole bowed. 
 
 "How many men does the whole of your expedition 
 muster ?" 
 
 "All told?"
 
 192 The Face at the Window. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "On land and on board ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mole appeared to reflect for a moment or two. 
 
 "Two hundred and fifty." 
 
 The pirate stared again at this, and his face grew 
 grave. 
 
 "Are you sure that you don't overestimate it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I should recommend you to be very particular." 
 
 "I am," returned Mole, coolly ; "I am not in the 
 habit of saying what is not true." 
 
 "Who is the commander of the party?" inquired 
 Monastos. 
 
 "I am the chief officer," responded Mole. 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The brigand chief looked dubiously at Mr. Mole. 
 
 "Beware ; if you deceive me, you shall suffer more 
 than death." 
 
 "I am a truthful man," said Mole. 
 
 "How many are on shore?" demanded the chief. 
 
 "I don't know to a man," replied Mole ; "perhaps a 
 hundred." 
 
 "Where did you get your information of my treasure 
 from?" 
 
 Mole thought a while. 
 
 "There can be no harm in telling the truth there," 
 said he to himself, "since poor Spirillo is dead and 
 gone." 
 
 "Well ?" 
 
 "It was Spirillo," answered Mole ; "to him I owe all
 
 The Face at the Window. 193 
 
 the information which led me to organize this ex- 
 pedition." 
 
 "I knew it," answered Monastos. "I put that ques- 
 tion to test your truth." 
 
 Isaac Mole was smarting with the anguish of his 
 wounds all over, but he could not repress an inward 
 chuckle at this. 
 
 "Truthfulness, like honesty," he said to himself, "is 
 its own reward." 
 
 Monastos, thinking he had gained his purpose, or- 
 dered one of the men to give the prisoner some wine. 
 
 He drank and made a very wry face. 
 
 "Good Heaven !" he suddenly ejaculated ; "they think 
 they have got all the information they want, and have 
 poisoned me now. They half threatened it." 
 
 Monastos thought long and earnestly over the im- 
 portant revelation which the prisoner had made. 
 
 If his estimate of the numbers of the enemy should 
 be anything at all near the mark, their position was 
 critical. 
 
 He was no coward. 
 
 He never for a single moment thought of flight. 
 
 No ; he would fight it out to the bitter end, and, let 
 the worst come, he would die upon the spot, guarding 
 the treasure he had spent his life to obtain. 
 
 Such was the resolution of this bold, bad man. 
 
 The brigand monarch passed a sleepless night, brood- 
 ing dismally over the camp fire, while poor Isaac Mole 
 slumbered peacefully, in spite of his bruised hand and 
 aching head, his throbbing back and pricking side, 
 dreaming that he was slaughtering the brigands whole- 
 sale by the side of Harkaway and his son.
 
 194 The Face at the Window. 
 
 With morning came a scout, bearing news of the 
 most interesting nature. 
 
 The man was not a Greek, and he addressed the 
 chief in Italian, which Mole could follow pretty easily. 
 
 "Some of the enemy have got possession of the cas- 
 tle," he said, "and they hold there as their prisoner your 
 daughter, the Signorina Paquita." 
 
 "Are you sure ? Whence do you gain your informa- 
 tion ? Answer." 
 
 "From the indisputable testimony of my own eyes." 
 
 The pirate chief thought for a while in silence, and 
 then he gave his orders. 
 
 The scout who had last arrived was a man of trust, 
 so he was started off to the cavern home, with in- 
 structions to procure ladders, and proceed by the sub- 
 terranean passage to the castle. 
 
 Then the march was resumed. 
 
 At length they came in sight of the castle. 
 
 "Who can be there?" said Mr. Mole to himself. 
 "Who of our friends can be there? It would cheer 
 me more than all the whisky I ever drank, if I could 
 only look upon Harkaway or his friends' faces." 
 
 His wish was granted, his prayer answered. A face 
 did appear at the window over the veranda. 
 
 A dusky countenance, illumined by two glistening big 
 eyes and a set of pearly white teeth ! 
 
 Mr. Mole stared again. 
 
 Could he believe his own eyes? 
 
 Yes, surely ! There could be no mistake in this. It 
 was the faithful negro, with whom he had had so many 
 a passage at arms in happier days, and under more 
 pleasant auspices.
 
 Toro and Hunston Are Rescued. 195 
 
 "Sunday!" ejaculated Mr. Mole. 
 
 And as he looked, there appeared another counte- 
 nance beside Sunday's woolly poll a face that made 
 Mr. Mole absolutely cry out with joy. 
 
 "Jack ! Jack ! my poor boy ! my own Jack ! Oh, 
 where is your father?" 
 
 If Harkaway were near, his troubles would be over. 
 Such was his confidence in young Jack's father. 
 
 Another figure appeared on the balcony, and then 
 Mole startled all the brigands out of their stolid, calm 
 exterior by shrieking at the top of his voice : 
 
 "There he is ! There he is ! Hurrah ! hurrah ! hur- 
 rah for Harkaway ! and a little one in !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 TORO AND HUNSTON ARE RESCUED HUNSTON^S FATE 
 
 THE FUNERAL TAKES PLACE AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 We left Toro and Hunston, Jack's deadly enemies, 
 adrift on the ocean in an open boat. 
 
 It seemed as if their sufferings were about to be 
 ended by violence. 
 
 But fate had ordered it otherwise. 
 
 Hunston slipped and fell back into the bottom of the 
 boat, while Toro, quick to profit by the accident, strode 
 across him with his dagger uplifted. 
 
 It was a narrow squeak for Hunston then. 
 
 Toro raised his knife. 
 
 It gleamed in the air it descended. 
 
 But not on Hunston.
 
 196 Toro and Hunston Are Rescued. 
 
 The latter wriggled his body out of harm's way, and 
 only just in time, for the knife struck the seat upon 
 which his left side had rested, and went more than an 
 inch into the wood, where it stood, quivering like a 
 young sapling freshly planted. 
 
 The giant Italian seized it again and jerked it out 
 of the seat, his rage not yet expended, and the next 
 stroke would probably have settled the strife. 
 
 But it was not to be. 
 
 Just at this critical juncture, a sound reached his ears 
 which caused him to look up in some surprise. 
 
 It was the sound of a gun. 
 
 It was a distant sound ; it came ever so far across 
 the sea, and Toro's sight was so dimmed with fasting 
 and suffering that he could not perceive anything for a 
 while. 
 
 But presently he contrived to make out a ship. 
 
 It was a long way off. 
 
 Toro started up. 
 
 In an instant his enmity to Hunston was forgotten. 
 
 All he could think of was the coming vessel, and his 
 chance of rescue. 
 
 Frantically he waved a handkerchief, being the only 
 bunting they could muster on board that frail craft. 
 
 But no change in the ship's course showed that they 
 were observed. 
 
 Toro shouted with all his strength, and again waved 
 the handkerchief. 
 
 Presently they were answered. 
 
 A signal gun was fired, and then a boat was lowered 
 and manned, and it pulled towards them. 
 
 The boat's crew saluted them, as it drew near, but
 
 Toro and Hunston Are Rescued. 197 
 
 they spoke in a language which Toro could not under- 
 stand. 
 
 Toro shook his head. 
 
 Then he tried them in several languages, until he con- 
 trived to make himself understood. 
 
 Then he explained: 
 
 "We were wrecked," said he. "Our vessel went 
 down, and all on board, with the exception of our- 
 selves, perished. We got away in a boat, as you see, 
 and have lived in daily and nightly dread ever 
 since " 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "Of being starved," was Toro's reply, "or of dying 
 of thirst. I am choking now ; my comrade is as badly 
 off." 
 
 Hunston groaned. 
 
 "Here," said a sailor, "try this," and he held out a 
 small flask. 
 
 Both put forth their hands for it, seeking to snatch 
 it from the sailor who held it. 
 
 "Gently, gently," said the coxswain of the boat ; "you 
 must not drink much of it." 
 
 They were brought up to the ship, and helped on 
 board. 
 
 The vessel on which they now found themselves was 
 the C onstantine , and bound for a Greek port, whence, 
 as the captain informed them, they could find a vessel 
 for England. 
 
 The British consul would, of course, help them to 
 that end. 
 
 This was because Toro volunteered information that
 
 198 Toro and Hunston Are Rescued. 
 
 the vessel from which they had escaped was bound for 
 Liverpool. \ 
 
 Hunston's sufferings told severely on him, and for a 
 long time he lingered between life and death. 
 
 The joint to which the mechanical arm was fixed 
 grew worse from day to day, and the ship's surgeon 
 feared that mortification might ensue. 
 
 Constant care and attention alone prevented this. 
 
 At length, when they reached their destination, and 
 cast anchor, the first thing that was done was to bear 
 off Hunston and his comrade to the nearest hospital. 
 
 The place they were taken to bore the ugly-sounding 
 name of lazaretto. 
 
 "Toro," said Hunston, as he was carried in, "I 
 think it is all over with me." 
 
 "Why?" demanded Toro. "You must not think 
 that." 
 
 "I feel it is sure." 
 
 Hunston rose on the litter on which he was being 
 carried, as they passed the gates of the lazaretto, and 
 pointed out to Toro, who walked beside him, a low, 
 flat-roofed building, that stood away from the hospital. 
 ."That's the deadhouse," replied one of the litter 
 bearers to Toro. 
 
 "That's where I shall be, Toro," he said, "before 
 many days are over." 
 
 Toro shuddered in spite of himself. 
 
 "You are low-spirited," he said, "and you get strange 
 fancies into your head." 
 
 Hunston shook his head. 
 
 "You don't believe in presentiments?" he said. 
 
 "No."
 
 Toro and Hunston Are Rescued. 199 
 
 "Do you remember Emmerson?" demanded Hun- 
 ston, in a low, grave voice. 
 
 Toro felt uneasy. 
 
 He tried his best to change the topic. 
 
 But Hunston would not be denied. 
 
 "Emmerson knew that his end was near," said Hun- 
 ston; "he felt sure of it, I know. I often think of it; 
 and I feel sure that Emmerson felt then just as I feel 
 now as I feel now." 
 
 As he repeated the last phrase, his voice died away, 
 and his head sank back. 
 
 A strange, unpleasant feeling crept over Toro. 
 
 Day by day Hunston sank. 
 
 Upon the fifth day one of the doctors stood beside 
 Toro, when a messenger came, to speak to him of a 
 patient who had just died. 
 
 "Very curious case that, signor," said the doctor. 
 
 "Indeed !" 
 
 "Yes ; a man with a very wonderful mechanical 
 arm." 
 
 Toro opened his ears. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The arm has got out of order, and the symptoms 
 that the shoulder just showed have altogether baffled 
 us. We contemplated amputating it at the shoulder. 
 But it almost seems as if there had been some 
 subtle poison in the secret springs of the arm, which 
 had been injected into one of the veins as the arm 
 got out of order." 
 
 Toro listened in awe-struck silence at these words. 
 
 He thought of Hunston's last despairing speech. 
 
 He thought of Emmerson's dying words.
 
 aoo Toro and Hunston Are Rescued. 
 
 "Do you think you will have to amputate it?" he 
 asked. 
 
 The doctor stared. 
 
 "No," he answered, curtly. 
 
 "I'm glad of that." 
 
 "And I, too," responded the young doctor, flip- 
 pantly, "for if we had amputated the shoulder joint, 
 it would have put the poor devil to an unnecessary 
 amount of suffering." 
 
 "Is he progressing now, then?" demanded Toro. 
 
 "He's dead." 
 
 "Dead !" 
 
 A shiver shook the ex-brigand's big frame. 
 
 The young doctor nodded and smiled quite pleas- 
 antly. 
 
 "Yes, dead. The porter was sent to ask if he should 
 be taken to the dissecting room or to the deadhouse." 
 
 "Yes, and you " 
 
 "Said the deadhouse. My opinion is that mortifica- 
 tion had set in, and so we shall not be able to keep 
 him long. He must be buried to-night." 
 
 Toro shuddered. 
 
 It was but too true. 
 
 Hunston was at that moment in the deadhouse of 
 the lazaretto, in the narrow, long box, made of the 
 roughest unplaned deal. 
 
 "The man you speak of I knew well." 
 
 "Were you related?" asked the doctor. 
 
 "No ; only comrades." 
 
 "Would you like to see him before " 
 
 "If I could yet no no," he added, with a shiver.
 
 Toro and Hunston Are Rescued. 201 
 
 "No," he decided, "he would not go to that awful 
 deadhouse." 
 
 "Very good. It is as well not. Only you would have 
 to go now, or not at all. No one is allowed there 
 after noon at midnight he will be buried." 
 
 Now, towards nightfall, Toro remembered that 
 Hunston had got sewn up in the lining of his waist- 
 coat certain valuables which they had agreed to keep as 
 a reserve store. 
 
 The valuables consisted of diamonds and other 
 precious stones, the fruits of crime. 
 
 Hunston dead, these belonged to Toro. 
 
 They represented, in fact, all his worldly wealth. 
 
 "What is done with the clothes of those who die 
 here?" he asked one of the nurses. 
 
 "Unless they have relatives, they are buried with 
 them." 
 
 "In the coffin?" 
 
 The sister of mercy bowed her head gravely. 
 
 "A strange custom." 
 
 "It is," she responded. 
 
 Toro made no reply to this. 
 
 He felt uncomfortable about it. 
 
 He dared not mention the fact of the valuables ex- 
 isting, for the possession of such trinkets by two 
 sailors would have excited grave suspicions. 
 
 Yet he could not lose them. 
 
 "No !" he exclaimed aloud. "Never, never ; I'll have 
 the diamonds if I have to snatch them from the grave 
 myself."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE SIEGE OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Back we return to the castle, and take up the ad- 
 ventures of the inmates at the moment that the blood- 
 hound, Castor, who was posted over the trapdoor in 
 the floor^ warned them of some one's approach. 
 
 "Silence all !" exclaimed Petrus. "Not a word now." 
 
 He raised the trap, and listened intently. 
 
 "They are coming in some force," he said to Hark- 
 away. 
 
 'What shall we do?" 
 
 "Let me think." 
 
 "S'pose I pick 'em off as dey come up?" said Sunday. 
 "I'se quite ready, by golly!" and he looked like it. 
 
 His sleeves were tucked up to the muscles of his 
 arms, and in his right hand he brandished his long, 
 ugly bowie knife. 
 
 And, as he spoke, he dropped upon one knee over 
 the opening, ready for the first man who should ap- 
 pear. 
 
 But Harkaway deemed it imprudent to leave the trap 
 open. 
 
 In this Petrus fully concurred. 
 
 And he gave his reason for having that opinion. 
 
 "We are not strong enough in numbers to seek hos- 
 tilities," he said. "Bad enough when we are forced 
 to fight." 
 
 "True," said the elder Harkaway. "Right, Petrus."
 
 The Siege of the Castle. 203 
 
 "We must fasten the trap. Quick as you can. Gently 
 no noise ; so." 
 
 The trap was replaced. 
 
 Then Petrus beckoned them to a yard or outhouse 
 at the back, where they found a huge flat stone, that 
 required their united strength to move. 
 
 By dint of much labor and perseverance, they con- 
 trived to roll this huge stone across the room and onto 
 the trap. 
 
 This held it firmly. 
 
 Young Jfack now brought the two bloodhounds in, 
 and the main entrance was securely barricaded. 
 
 And when this was done, it was like a regular 
 fortress. 
 
 Nothing short of a cannon could reduce it. 
 
 When all their precautions were taken, they went 
 upstairs again, leaving only two sentries below. 
 
 Castor and Cyrus. 
 
 The twin bloodhounds were posted, one at the trap 
 and the other at the door, so that they might give warn- 
 ing of anyone's approach. 
 
 Young Jack and Harry Girdwood were charged 
 with the examination of the firearms, while Harkaway 
 and Petrus mounted to the upper rooms. 
 
 "How came you a prisoner in the power of Monas- 
 tos ?" suddenly asked Harkaway. 
 
 "How ?" reiterated Petrus, bitterly. "How came 
 I " 
 
 Harkaway saw his strange glance and paused. 
 
 "Do not let us trouble you with any questions if 
 they call up recollections that are painful." 
 
 "They are painful," answered the outcast; "bitter
 
 204 The Siege of the Castle. 
 
 and painful beyond measure. Yet I like to brood, else 
 I might forget what I live for " 
 
 "Forget?" 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 "And what is it that you live for?" said Harkaway. 
 
 "Vengeance !" 
 
 The glare of the speaker's eye caused Harkaway to 
 shudder. 
 
 He began to ask himself whether this strange Eng- 
 lishman was not mad. 
 
 "He has got a very mad eye," thought Harkaway. 
 "It is very likely that his wrongs may have turned his 
 brain." 
 
 Petrus presently looked up and said, abruptly: 
 
 "My story can be told in a very few words ; I am 
 not a gifted speaker. Had I ever possessed the gift of 
 eloquence, I should have lost it during my captivity 
 here." 
 
 "Captivity!" replied Harkaway. "But surely you 
 have had plenty of opportunities of escaping." 
 
 "Plenty, as you say but too late to avail myself of 
 them. When I could have escaped, I had no longer 
 the will or inclination. I had a mission to fulfill. I 
 had to wait for it. I have waited long years, and now 
 the time has come, and you are the chosen instrument." 
 
 "I don't quite understand," said Harkaway. 
 
 "You will some day. You asked how I came here 
 once would you like to know ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I will tell you," said Petrus. "Monastos was cruis- 
 ing about in the neighboring seas, when ill luck brought 
 him across the vessel in which I was traveling with
 
 The Siege of the Castle. 205 
 
 my young wife and child. They varied brigandage 
 with piracy. Well, our crew walked the plank the 
 passengers mostly followed them, and I was destined 
 to follow, and in an evil hour their accursed chief 
 cast his eyes upon my wife. She pleaded on her knees 
 for my life and he granted her prayer the villain ! 
 the fiend ! Ask me not to enter into particulars more 
 closely than that to describe in detail my own ever- 
 lasting shame. I became the slave, the wretched, ill- 
 used tool of that villainous monster, and my poor, 
 martyred wife died after a twelvemonth's life of horror 
 upon this island. My mind went, I believe, for a time, 
 but I survived for a purpose that is fast approaching 
 consummation after all these years." 
 
 And then, overcome by the recollection, he buried 
 his face in his hands and was silent. 
 
 Harkaway respected the strong man's grief. 
 
 It touched him to the heart to see a man so moved. 
 
 "Did you never rebel?'' 
 
 Petrus shook his head. 
 
 "It is marvelous how you stood it; I never could 
 have done so my blood would have been up forty 
 times an hour." 
 
 Petrus smiled. 
 
 "You don't know what adversity can move you to," 
 he said, sadly. "When my life was clouded by this in- 
 human beast, the sorrow came so suddenly upon it that 
 we were dazed ; looking back, I can scarcely account 
 for what occurred ; I appear foggy, misty, about it. 
 My spirit was cowed. We were absolutely at their 
 mercy, and I feared for my poor darling's life. I lost 
 my calm one day, however."
 
 206 The Siege of the Castle. 
 
 "How? What was the occasion?" asked Jack. 
 
 "I saw Monastos strike my poor wife to his feet, in 
 my presence. My reason fled. Then I fell upon the 
 evildoer, and should have destroyed him in my fury 
 for he was taken completely by surprise. But I was 
 torn away. Maimed and bleeding, I lay awaiting my 
 doom." 
 
 "Death would surely have been a boon," said Hark- 
 away. 
 
 "Ah, had she, my wife, been dead first. I could not 
 bear to die and leave her to their tender mercies. Your 
 thoughts came upon me then, and I prayed aloud that 
 my darling might die before me." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "The prayer was barely uttered ere it was heard. 
 And it was responded to oh, how fearfully! I was 
 fetched by one of the men to her side. She was 
 dying. Ill usage had done its work. She breathed her 
 last in my arms, poor angel ! As I laid her down, 
 there came over me a fearful change. The iron en- 
 tered my soul ! From that moment my thoughts turned 
 to one thing. I could only reflect upon one subject; 
 on all else my thoughts refused to center. So that it is 
 not altogether without reason that they regarded me 
 as an idiot. A man of one thought is practically an 
 idiot. I had but one ; day and night, sleeping or wak- 
 ing, it was ever with me vengeance !" 
 
 Jack shuddered. 
 
 The bitter intensity of the wretched man filled Hark- 
 away with horror. 
 
 "Well, well," said he, "I marvel that you supported 
 it as you did."
 
 The Siege of the Castle. 107 
 
 "What would you have done?" then asked Petrus. 
 
 "I should have slain him a hundred times over," said 
 Harkaway. 
 
 "What!" iterated Petrus, "you would kill Mon- 
 astos ?" 
 
 "Had I suffered as you have yes ; decidedly." 
 
 "Why, had Monastos a life for every hair of his head, 
 and could I take them all with suffering for him, it 
 would not satisfy my vengeance. Death," he added, "a 
 boon, a gift for him, a reward for the righteous ! No ; 
 Monastos must live. Life is torture ; death is oblivion 
 sleep, rest. Monastos must live. He shall be pun- 
 ished in his affections, by her he thinks his daughter; 
 punished in his greed for money, for he shall, please 
 Heaven, lose all, and know it but too well ; punished 
 in his pride, for he has despised me more than the 
 meanest mongrel that ever crawled, and, if Heaven be 
 just, he shall become my slave ; my abject slave and 
 tool ! Unless I am utterly mad, my dreams will now be 
 realized, and I shall have what I have waited for so 
 patiently? What I have prayed and sighed for for, 
 ah, how many weary, weary years !" 
 
 At this point; one of the party came with the tidings 
 that a number of men could be seen lurking among 
 the trees, and evidently meaning to surround the 
 building. 
 
 "Ha !" said Harkaway, "the work is beginning. 
 Look to your rifles ; load them all, and let us lie snug 
 until they are close up." 
 
 The story of the poor Englishman's wrongs had al-
 
 2o8 The Siege of the Castle. 
 
 most unnerved him, and he welcomed the desperate 
 tidings as a positive relief. 
 
 Harkaway now proceeded to post his party in the best 
 positions for the business before them. 
 
 Young Jack and Harry Girdwood were sent to the 
 top of the house with the two girls. 
 
 Sunday was placed at the window at the back of 
 the house. 
 
 Harkaway himself, with Petrus, took the chief posi- 
 tion, the window at the veranda. 
 
 Here, with rifles loaded and cocked, they waited the 
 first demonstration of the foe. 
 
 Waited, waited. 
 
 "I wish dey'd come," said Sunday, "so as to have 
 one pop at de ugly varmints.'' 
 
 "What are they doing?" said Harkaway. 
 
 "They are planning a surprise," said Petrus. 
 
 "The villains," returned Harkaway ; "they don't like 
 close quarters." 
 
 "They can fight well enough when they are put to 
 it," returned Petrus, "if they are three to one. But look, 
 they are coming !" 
 
 The brigands were now seen advancing in strong 
 force. 
 
 They had advanced halfway to the house when Hark- 
 away gave the word to fire. 
 
 The volley was answered by another, and a shout 
 from the brigands, who, with Monastos at their head, 
 now pressed on, but not until they had received a sec- 
 ond discharge from Harkaway 's little band and the 
 brigands had fired in return.
 
 The Siege of the Castle. 209 
 
 Harkaway's trick told, for the brigands imagined 
 their force to be much larger than it really was. 
 
 Monastos now ordered his men to spread themselves 
 in a semicircle in front of the veranda, and keep up a 
 continuous fire. 
 
 This was returned by Harkaway's party for nearly 
 an hour. 
 
 It was now getting dark. 
 
 Monastos and one of his men left the rest to con- 
 tinue the attack, while they glided towards the house 
 to examine the door and lower windows. 
 
 There appeared little chance of forcing an entrance. 
 
 But it immediately occurred to him that under the 
 veranda their men would not be exposed, and that 
 they might fire through the floor of it upon those 
 above. 
 
 Monastos hastened away, and returned with about 
 half the men, leaving the others to continue the attack 
 as before. 
 
 The advantage of his maneuver was soon evident. 
 
 The musket balls of the brigand soon pierced the 
 planks. 
 
 This startled Harkaway, and he ordered them all to 
 retreat from the windows for a few minutes. 
 
 The brigands were quiet, as if preparing for another 
 move. 
 
 Presently there was a slight, crackling noise, and 
 then a flame rose before the window. 
 
 They had fired the veranda, and the wood being very 
 dry, it burned up in a very few seconds. 
 
 "What shall we do now ?" asked Harkaway.
 
 2IO The Siege of the Castle. 
 
 "Well, they cannot set fire to the house, it being of 
 solid stone," returned Petrus. 
 
 "Hist ! they are trying the door." 
 
 "They may try," said Petrus; "they'll try a very 
 long time; they should have arranged that matter be- 
 fore they burned the veranda; that might have shel- 
 tered them." 
 
 "Will you go above," said Harkaway, "and give 
 them a shot or two? Sunday and I will give them a 
 few ; we may keep them off for a while, and at least we 
 shall be gaining time." 
 
 But Sunday had a trick worth two of them. 
 
 While the rest of the party were absorbed in their 
 various ideas for repulsing the attack, he mounted onto 
 the roof, and with the point of his dagger set to work 
 loosening some of the heavier pieces of masonry near 
 the parapet. 
 
 He lent all his strength to the task, and loosened the 
 stone in its socket. 
 
 It rocked it shook. 
 
 Just then he was startled by cries of triumph coming 
 from below. 
 
 The brigands had made a large battering-ram by 
 felling a tree and lopping off its branches. With this 
 they were charging the door, and the power they thus 
 brought into play was something prodigious. 
 
 The door bulged in at the second charge. 
 
 At the third it fell in with an ominous crash. 
 
 On they pressed, shouting wildly ; and above all the 
 din was heard the voice of the king calling his men 
 together, and giving orders as coolly as though com- 
 manding a troop of regular soldiers on parade.
 
 The Siege of the Castle. ill 
 
 The door no sooner gave way than a smart volley 
 was poured in upon them from inside the house. 
 
 Twenty shots in rapid succession, and every bullet 
 had its billet. 
 
 All their pistols were loaded, and among the defend- 
 ing party they mustered four revolvers and all their 
 rifles. 
 
 The rifles were first discharged, then the revolvers 
 came into play; and while the brigands imagined that 
 twenty men at least were in front of them, the volley 
 had taken them so completely by surprise that they 
 never thought of firing in return. It cowed them. 
 
 Back they dropped, slowly, step by step, leaving sev- 
 eral men upon the ground. 
 
 Monastos now showed his mettle. 
 
 "Cowards!" he cried, in a voice of thunder, "flying 
 from a mere handful of savages ! Back back, I say !" 
 
 He struck at one man with the flat of his sword. 
 
 This served, strangely enough, to rally them all, for 
 the men stopped and turned. 
 
 Back to the charge they went. 
 
 They were steadied by a well-directed volley that met 
 them upon the very threshold of the door. 
 
 "A hundred lire," cried Monastos, "to the first man 
 in the house." 
 
 "Hurrah !" shouted several of them in response. 
 
 And there was a regular scramble for the doorway. 
 
 At this juncture a wild and unearthly cry was 
 heard from above. 
 
 The very house seemed to shake. 
 
 Down fell the large block of stone upon the strug- 
 gling mass.
 
 212 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 
 
 And beneath were crushed three of the brigands, 
 while several were maimed. 
 
 Sunday had contributed his portion to the work. 
 
 "Yah! yah! yah!" laughed the darky. "Dat'll gib 
 you toko, Massa Brigand yah ! yah !" 
 
 For a while this awful incident paralyzed the efforts 
 of the attacking party. 
 
 "Back!" cried Monastos, with considerable readi- 
 ness. "Retreat and reform. Look to your rifles." 
 
 His men struggled back. 
 
 "Their position is stronger than we supposed," said 
 Monastos, hurriedly. "Fortune has played into their 
 hands so far; but if we are quick, we shall take them 
 all, and then they shall pay for the blood of my brave 
 men with a slow torture!" 
 
 A cry a yell of fierce glee from the pirates greeted 
 these words. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 HAND TO HAND, MAN TO MAN. 
 
 Monastos was speaking to gain time for thought. 
 
 More than half his men were hors de combat. 
 
 As for the enemy, he had no reason to suppose that 
 anybody was so much as scathed. 
 
 "Keep to this part," he said, addressing one of his 
 confidential men. "I will take six or seven good 
 hands to the back of the place, and try what can be 
 done there, while you engage their attention here." 
 
 "Good, captain."
 
 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 213, 
 
 Scarcely was it said when a bullet whistled so close 
 to Monastos' eye as to make him wink. 
 
 "That's a novice," said the king of the brigands, 
 coolly. "Now, men, follow me." 
 
 Round they went. 
 
 And now danger threatened our friends in the house, 
 for the brigands knew too well where the weak part 
 of the defenses lay. 
 
 "I wish they would keep the fight up," said Hark- 
 away. "While we are engaged in fair fight I look 
 upon two Englishmen as a match for a mob of these 
 vermin. What I don't like is this dodging about." 
 
 "They are contemplating some different tactics," 
 said Petrus. 
 
 "That big fellow is the master spirit in it all," said 
 Harkaway, pointing. 
 
 "That is Monastos," was Petrus' reply. 
 
 "That?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then, by Heaven!" ejaculated Harkaway, "I will 
 soon end this." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 Harkaway, in reply, tapped his rifle significantly. 
 
 The pirate chief's life was in jeopardy for an instant 
 only, for at the moment that Jack pulled the trigger 
 the rifle was knocked up by Petrus. 
 
 Harkaway turned round indignantly. 
 
 "Petrus !" 
 
 "His life is mine," returned the man of mystery. 
 "When his end comes, it must be my work, none 
 other's, or I should not rest in my grave!" 
 
 Harkaway forbore to express his anger.
 
 a 1 4 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 
 
 He remembered the wretched man's wrongs. 
 
 While they stood by their window, watching in 
 great anxiety the movements of the enemy, young 
 Jack was called to the rear premises by his friend, 
 Harry Girdwood. 
 
 The latter had been put upon the alert by their 
 faithful though fierce ally, Castor. 
 
 His twin Brother, Cyrus, was on guard, we should 
 mention, at the broken entrance, where Petrus had 
 placed him, carefully out of rifle range, but so as to 
 be able to pin any of the brigands who might venture 
 to creep on all fours under the wall. 
 
 On reaching the rear of the house Jack made a seri- 
 ous discovery. 
 
 The brigands were making a breach by displacing 
 the stones of the wall. 
 
 Now, instead of calling for assistance, these two 
 brave boys were of one mind. 
 
 They thrust their rifles into the breach and fired to- 
 gether. 
 
 A cry from without told them that one at least of 
 their shots had taken effect. 
 
 "Hurrah, hurrah!" yelled young Jack, desperately. 
 
 But barely was the triumph thus made known when 
 a storm of bullets rattled into the place through the 
 breach. 
 
 It was a fearful sound. 
 
 The room seemed alive with bullets. 
 
 And young Jack was surprised to find himself un- 
 touched. 
 
 But alas ! for poor Harry Girdwood. 
 
 He stepped back and sank against the wall on one
 
 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 11$ 
 
 knee, stretching out his hand for something to sup- 
 port himself by. 
 
 "Jack, old boy." 
 
 "Harry!" 
 
 "I am hurt, Jack." 
 
 "No, I hope not, old fellow." 
 
 "I am, Jack ; hurt in the thigh ; give me a hand ; 
 the bone is broken, I think ; I I " 
 
 Young Jack flew to his side, and caught him up by 
 the waist belt, while poor Harry's head sank upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 It was imperative to remove him from that room. 
 
 "Castor, good boy," said Jack to the bloodhound, 
 "eat the first man that comes in through that hole." 
 
 The bloodhound replied with a look of intelligence. 
 
 He had appetite enough for several brigands. 
 
 Young Jack raised his poor friend, Harry, and bore 
 him tenderly away. 
 
 A third attack from the brigands sent the masonry 
 flying, as he staggered out of the room. 
 
 "Jack," said Harry Girdwood, faintly, "I think it is 
 all over." 
 
 "Don't talk so, old fellow." 
 
 "If I die, promise me you will protect her." 
 
 "Who? Emily? Of course I shall." 
 
 "No ; I mean Paquita, the pirate's child." 
 
 And then he fainted. 
 
 Young Jack staggered into the room under his heavy 
 burden, just in time for Petrus to catch him in his 
 arms. 
 
 "Is he hurt?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 216 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 
 
 "Why, Jack," exclaimed his father, "you have been 
 to the windows, and after my my orders " 
 
 "No, no, no, no," cried his son hurriedly, "they at- 
 tacked the back of the house, and the wall has given 
 way." 
 
 "Good Heaven ! then we are lost." 
 
 "No," said Petrus, with great self-possession; "call 
 your negro." 
 
 "Sunday !" 
 
 "Yes, sar," replied the darky. 
 
 "Keep guard here." 
 
 "Yes, sar." 
 
 Harkaway, the elder, accompanied by Petrus, ran 
 to the back of the house, where the breach was by this 
 time considerably enlarged. 
 
 "Look at Castor," ejaculated young Jack. 
 
 There was something to look at here, indeed. 
 
 The huge bloodhound crouched over the lifeless 
 brigand, whom he held by the throat. 
 
 He had obeyed young Jack's orders to the very 
 letter. 
 
 Petrus called the hound off, and the man fell heavily 
 to the ground. 
 
 "He is dead." 
 
 Castor had done his work but too well, for the 
 wretched man's windpipe was severed, and he had not 
 suffered long. 
 
 ******* 
 
 What surprised them most was the sudden silence- 
 without. 
 
 "Hurrah! Massa Jack," cried Sunday. "Massa 
 Harkaway! Massa Petrus! Hurrah!"
 
 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 217 
 
 "What now?" said Harkaway. 
 
 "Rescue! rescue!" cried the negro; "hyer's Massa 
 Jeff. They have come, sar, to the rescue. Hark at dat 
 moosic! by golly, it's j'yfcd. j'yfrd moosic, sar! Won't 
 dem cuss pirates hab toko now !" 
 
 The music to which Sunday alluded was the rattle 
 of rifle shots, that could now be heard plainly enough. 
 
 The newcomers were divided into two parties. 
 
 One was headed by Jefferson, the other by Harvey. 
 
 They came on at a double ; and when within easy 
 range they delivered their fire and charged. 
 
 The brigands were in great measure taken by sur- 
 prise, but they fought bravely. 
 
 Shots were heard, mingled with the clashing of 
 swords, fierce oaths and cries of the wounded. 
 
 It was a fearsome sight to see. 
 
 Obstinately was every inch of ground contested. 
 
 Desperately did they fight on every side. 
 
 And so resolute were they that the issue long ap- 
 peared doubtful. 
 
 "Now's our time," said Harkaway, sword and pistol 
 in hand. 
 
 "Hurrah !" 
 
 "Down with the brigands !" 
 
 "Death to Monastos !" 
 
 "No !" thundered Petrus ; "Monastos is mine ! For- 
 ward !" 
 
 And then from out the castle sallied Harkaway, 
 closely followed by Petrus, by young Jack and by 
 Sunday. 
 
 These four took the enemy in the rear and the result 
 of the movement soon made itself manifest.
 
 ai 8 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 
 
 Sunday was armed only with a huge bar of iron, 
 but he wielded the instrument with considerable ease 
 and dexterity. 
 
 The stoutest swords essayed in vain to parry the 
 fearful blows it dealt. 
 
 Every time it descended it cracked a skull. 
 
 The carnage was most fearful to behold. 
 
 Dead and dying strewed the ground thickly. 
 
 Jack Harkaway, his arm bare to the shoulder, was 
 covered with blood, and yet he wielded his heavy cut- 
 lass as though it had been a willow twig, and all un- 
 conscious of his hurts. 
 
 The men went down before him like wheat before 
 the reaper's sickle, until the boldest hearts were cowed. 
 
 And involuntarily they retreated before him or 
 opened out a passage to his desperate advance. 
 
 Petrus also fought bravely. He had an object in 
 view. 
 
 Monastos. 
 
 No less an adversary than the redoubtable king of 
 the brigands would satisfy our bold hero's thirst for 
 glory. 
 
 The blood-stained king of the brigands saw Petrus 
 approach, and he passed through the fray to face and 
 kill his slave. 
 
 "Ha !" exclaimed Petrus. "At last we meet !" 
 
 Monastos brought down his trusty blade with a fear- 
 ful clash, hoping to decide the combat at once with a 
 single stroke. 
 
 But Petrus' sword was there to meet it. 
 
 The swords shot forth a shower of sparks, and it 
 was a wonder that they did not break.
 
 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 219 
 
 But they stood out boldly against the shock. 
 
 "Stand back !" cried Petrus, seeing his friends press- 
 ing in. "Let us alone ; let no one interfere." 
 
 And then reluctantly they gathered round, while the 
 two champions contested. 
 
 It was but a brief fight, for they feinted and finessed 
 but little. 
 
 Their blows notched their weapons every stroke, and 
 they were of a force to bring down an ox. 
 
 But the fourth blow that Monastos delivered was of 
 such violence that he nearly overbalanced as Petrus 
 simply leaped aside to avoid it. 
 
 And then, quickly as he recovered himself, Petrus 
 put in a stroke that disarmed him, and sent his weapon 
 spinning out of his hand. 
 
 In less time than it takes to record the fact, Petrus 
 toppled him over, and planting his right foot firmly 
 upon his chest, he pressed the point of his sword 
 against the vanquished king's throat. 
 
 "Beg your life," he cried. 
 
 "Never, slave, from you!" cried the pirate chief. 
 
 Then, to the surprise of all, Petrus shouted: 
 
 "Long live Monastos ! his life belongs to me, re- 
 member !" 
 
 But before another word could be uttered the brig- 
 ands, rallying, dragged their leader up. 
 
 "To the treasure cave!" he shouted, as he vanished 
 from sight. 
 
 The rest of his party responded by shouts, and a 
 general retreat began. 
 
 At least a dozen men got off to the woods, and once 
 there, pursuit became a very difficult job.
 
 220 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 
 
 "Petrus, you have let the villain escape !" exclaimed 
 Harkaway. 
 
 "Fear not ; follow me," returned Petrus ; "only, re- 
 member this Monastos must not die ! He must be 
 my prisoner only." 
 
 "Agreed !" 
 
 "Agreed !" 
 
 "Do you hear, all?" cried Petrus. "Monastos' life 
 i? to be spared, for it belongs to me." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Follow me, then." 
 
 He led them through the forest by a series of short 
 cuts known only to himself, and soon they came upon 
 the range of caverns wherein was situated the treasure 
 of the crime-stained chief of the brigands. 
 
 Meanwhile, Monastos and his followers gained the 
 caves. 
 
 But, to their dismay, when they arrived upon the 
 spot, they found that parts of the cave were already 
 occupied by the enemy. 
 
 "Now," said Monastos, "we will exterminate them 
 to a man !" 
 
 "We will," responded the bulk of them, as if in one 
 voice. 
 
 "Stop!" 
 
 "Who speaks?" eagerly demanded Monastos. 
 
 "I, Stavros." 
 
 "What have you to say, Stavros?" demanded the 
 chief. 
 
 "What reward are we to get for this service? It is
 
 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 221 
 
 dangerous work, and, remember, two-thirds of our 
 men have fallen in this fight." 
 
 "I know but too well brave men have fallen in fight- 
 ing with these cursed English, and I give yo"u my 
 word you shall have half my treasures ; in fact, more 
 wealth than you can take away with you." 
 
 The pirates' eyes sparkled with ferocious glee. 
 
 "You promise!" cried the band of pirates. 
 
 "Good ! brave lads !" he said, "you have my word 
 my promise the promise of Monastos !" 
 
 "Hurrah!" cried Stavros. 
 
 His cry was caught up by all, and they rushed pre- 
 cipitately after their brave leader. 
 
 As soon as they were gone a smile of devilish tri- 
 umph lit up the chief's face, and shaking his clinched 
 hands after the retreating forms, he turned and van- 
 ished in the opposite direction. 
 
 At the corner of the cavern in which the foregoing 
 scene had taken place was a massive wooden door 
 in the wall, which none of the band of Monastos had 
 ever seeti removed. 
 
 One or two of the more inquisitive spirits had es- 
 sayed to remove it, but its massive make resisted vio- 
 lence, and they were ignorant of the secret which 
 rendered its removal a task of comparative ease. 
 
 Monastos, however, showed it to be a trifling job. 
 
 First stooping down, he scraped away a little of 
 the earth upon the ground, disclosing an iron handle. 
 
 This he tugged heavily at, and the massive door 
 swung back. 
 
 Monastos pushed it open and entered hastily.
 
 222 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 
 
 Within there was a vault more spacious than any 
 that the lair of the redoubtable brigand could boast. 
 
 It was filled with a motley collection of bowls filled 
 with gold pieces, bags of leather gorged with precious 
 stones and metals, coffers of iron and of wood, huge 
 chests of valuable plunder of every description. 
 
 In the center of the cavern were five small barrels 
 piled up. 
 
 Monastos paused a moment or so to glance about 
 him. 
 
 He smiled grimly as he noted each particular store 
 of the vast riches contained in the vault. 
 
 There was no irresolution in his glance, for his mind 
 was already irrevocably made up. 
 
 "Farewell !" said he, addressing his riches, "fare- 
 well to all for a time ; but I may yet live to scrape you 
 together again. And now for the punishment of 
 traitors, and a glorious revenge on these savage Eng- 
 lish ; for all shall perish at one fell blow." 
 
 While he thus spoke, he proceeded to drive a hole 
 in the head of one of the casks. 
 
 This done, he tilted it, and out rolled a stream of 
 black powder. 
 
 The quantity he abstracted was about two quarts. 
 
 With this he made a long train leading to the en- 
 trance of the cavern which was at once his treasury 
 and his powder magazine. 
 
 He drew a pistol from his belt and got ready. 
 
 "I hear them above, shooting, stabbing, cutting each 
 other's throats," he said to himself; "and now the 
 moment is come for my stroke."
 
 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 223 
 
 He knelt and presented a pistol to the train of 
 powder. 
 
 Led by Petrus, the Harkaway party gained the 
 cavern above the magazine. 
 
 "Hark !" said Petrus, "I hear the sound of the 
 brigands' footsteps." 
 
 "I can now show you how to strengthen our posi- 
 tion." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "At the entrance that mass of rock is placed upon a 
 kind of pivot, in such a way that it can be wheeled 
 into its place by one man." 
 
 "Ha ! I see." 
 
 "But how about the exit?" asked Jefferson. 
 
 "There is a huge bowlder there, the same," re- 
 sponded Petrus. 
 
 "I begin to see." 
 
 "Once outside, we move the rock into its place, and 
 then, as they pass in, we close the other side upon 
 them, and we hold them at our mercy." 
 
 "Good! good!" 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Magog; "that is splendidly thought 
 of." 
 
 "Come, then," said Petrus ; "let us not waste time in 
 words." 
 
 Out they trooped, and when the last man had passed 
 out they watched Petrus, in some curiosity, bend to 
 the massive rock and push against it with all his im- 
 mense strength. Slowly it yielded. 
 
 Sluggishly, lazily, it rolled over, blocking up the 
 egress from the cavern. 
 
 "Now for the other."
 
 224 Hand to Hand, Man to Man. 
 
 Petrus glided round as nimbly as Nero himself 
 could have gone. 
 
 But he had barely time to secrete himself behind the 
 huge rock, that stood like a sentry at the entrance at 
 the cavern, when the brigands approached. 
 
 The decimated band of Monastos mustered now, 
 perhaps, fifteen men ; and of the fifteen not one had 
 escaped scathless. 
 
 Some had but trifling hurts, yet all had wounds of 
 greater or less gravity. 
 
 "I do not hear them," said one of the brigands. 
 
 Stavros placed his forefinger upon his lips, and, 
 silently drawing his sword, he beckoned them to fol- 
 low him. 
 
 He crept on, his men following close at his heels. 
 
 "There is no one here." 
 
 "They have fled !" 
 
 "Come along, fellow." 
 
 Stavros only turned to beckon them, and then he 
 made for the exit at the further end of the cavern. 
 
 Finding it closed, he turned to his men with a cry of 
 wonderment; but ere the sounds died away upon his 
 lips, the entrance through which they -had just passed 
 was barred up in a similar manner. 
 
 They were caught. 
 
 "Ha ! ha !" laughed Petrua wildly, "we have them all 
 now." 
 
 "All?" 
 
 "Monastos as well?" demanded Harkaway. 
 
 Petrus started. 
 
 "No, by thunder! I did not see him among the
 
 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 225 
 
 number; but so much the better. I shall trap him 
 alone, and then my revenge " 
 
 Why did he pause? 
 
 What caused his speech to falter? 
 
 What could it be? 
 
 The earth trembled violently beneath him. 
 
 Then, as they were one and all thrown down by 
 this alarming earthquake, there was a terrific crash, 
 and the whole of the cavern, not twenty yards away, 
 was blown into the air. 
 
 Monastos had done his fatal work. 
 
 The king of the brigands had destroyed the remnant 
 of his band at one dire stroke. 
 
 But his worst foes, Harkaway and the party, yet 
 lived. 
 
 His worst foes? 
 
 Had he no worse enemy? 
 
 Yes ; surely. 
 
 Petrus, the Englishman, his deadly foe, still lived. 
 
 And in Petrus he had yet to discover the worst 
 enemy that mortal man ever knew. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 MOLE IS RESCUED BY NERO. 
 
 When the brigands made their formidable attack 
 upon the castle, they were greatly embarrassed by their 
 wooden-legged prisoner.
 
 226 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 
 
 So they tied him up and put him in a snug part of 
 the wood. 
 
 And here poor old Mole lay perdu, unable to stir a 
 
 While the battle progressed he trembled all over. 
 
 He would not have been able to render any particu- 
 lar service himself, yet he would have liked to watch 
 the fray. 
 
 "They are sure to get their jackets dusted," said he 
 to himself, "and that is some consolation. Torture a 
 gentleman, will they? pull the few remaining hairs 
 out of his head, will they? a landed proprietor like 
 me." 
 
 Poor old Mole had suffered much, and he really felt 
 exhausted. 
 
 To add to his mental sufferings he remembered that 
 he still carried in his breast pocket a flask of spirits, 
 that in his present condition would only have proved 
 too welcome a restorative could he li:ive got at it. 
 
 But, alas ! that was impossible. 
 
 "I hope they'll die of thirst, some of them," groaned 
 poor old Mole. 
 
 And then he began to vent his feelings in bad lan- 
 guage in reviling his captors in no measured words. 
 
 But as he grew more and more noisy in his speech 
 he reflected that it was very imprudent thus to let his 
 feelings carry him away, inasmuch as the Greeks 
 might return and vent their spite upon him. 
 
 While the firing was at its briskest, and the din of 
 battle drowned all else, Mole was suddenly startled by 
 the flitting of something in the trees above his head. 
 
 And down dropped a huge hairy figure.
 
 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 217 
 
 "Nero!" 
 
 Nero it was, too. 
 
 Young Jack's friend stood surveying Mole with an 
 air of mingled curiosity and surprise. 
 . Mr. Mole saw and appreciated Nero's wonder. 
 
 "Yes, Nero," he said, nodding in a patronizing way, 
 "it is me, your old friend, Mole ; don't go away ; lend 
 a poor old friend a hand I mean a paw." 
 
 How he contrived to make the monkey understand 
 it is beyond our power to say, but certain it is that 
 Nero fell to biting the cords which bound Mr. Mole, 
 and soon the prisoner was free. 
 
 Mole stretched himself out and got on his timber. 
 
 "Nero," said he, "you are a splendid fellow, and I 
 hope to do you a good turn some day." 
 
 Nero appeared to understand. 
 
 He nodded, and then he took a sight at Mr. Mole 
 in the quaintest manner in the world, a trick his young 
 master had taught him with infinite pains, and then 
 he had a brisk flea hunt upon his ribs. 
 
 The liberated prisoner took his flask out, had a good 
 stiff pull at it, and passed it on to his liberator. 
 
 Nero took it, stared at Mr. Mole, and drank. 
 
 But the hot spirit half choked him, and so he spat 
 it out and threw the bottle at its owner, who caught it 
 with considerable dexterity. 
 
 "The monkey's an ass," said Mr. Mole, with dig- 
 nity, "to try and waste good liquor like that." 
 
 But a rattling fusillade from the castle put an end 
 to their discussion. 
 
 Crack! bang! bang!
 
 228 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 
 
 Nero hopped about like the proverbial parched pea 
 on a fire shovel. 
 
 At every shot he capered along or bounced in the air 
 on all fours. 
 
 "Warm work this, Nero," said Isaac Mole. "You 
 haven't learned to stand fire with the coolness and 
 equanimity of your old friend, Mole. Oh !" 
 
 His valiant speech was cut short by the crashing of 
 a stray bullet through the trees and shrubs, that 
 passed within two inches of his nose. 
 
 And as the last word of brag died away on his lips 
 he dropped upon the ground, flat on his face. Nero 
 evidently thought that Mr. Mole was doing this for 
 his special amusement. 
 
 And so, while the old fellow lay thus quiet, Nero v 
 examined him all over until he came to the wooden 
 legs. 
 
 Now, Nero could not understand Mole being got up 
 like a kitchen table, and convinced doubtless that 
 therein lay some occult matter, which it was his duty, 
 in the interest of monkeydom generally, to fathom, he 
 tried to pull them off. 
 
 "Oh ! oh !" cried Mole. 
 
 "Queek ! queek !" responded Nero, capering away. 
 
 "Let my timber alone, you brute !" cried Mole, and 
 he arose and examined the fastenings of his wooden 
 legs. 
 
 They were quite safe. 
 
 He then looked out for a snug corner where the 
 bullets of the contending parties could not reach. 
 
 For this it was necessary to penetrate more deeply
 
 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 229 
 
 into the forest, where Nero was very glad to follow 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Mole perched himself up in a tree, and having 
 gone through considerable fatigue, he soon fell fast 
 asleep. 
 
 Mr. Mole slept. 
 
 His head sank upon his breast, and he snored. 
 
 He dreamed of battles, and wars, and rumors of 
 wars. 
 
 His soul was filled with thirst for martial glory in 
 that dream. 
 
 He burned with a fierce desire to "seek the bubble 
 reputation," even in the cannon's mouth. 
 
 He fancied that his aspirations were granted, and 
 that he was leading the Harkaway party to battle 
 against overwhelming odds. 
 
 He fancied that Monastos headed the brigands in 
 the field; but that his Mole's presence inspired 
 them with feelings of awe. 
 
 He headed the charges, and the enemy fell before 
 him. 
 
 Just then there was a shot. 
 
 He was struck. 
 
 He felt the wound so plainly. 
 
 This part of his dream was so fearfully vivid that 
 when he dreamed that he was struck by a rifle bullet 
 he woke up: 
 
 "Only a dream," he said, aloud, "and yet ha !" 
 
 A missile hurled by an unseen hand struck him in 
 the eye. 
 
 The object was soft, and it smashed there, com- 
 pletely bunging up Mr. Mole's optic.
 
 230 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 
 
 "Good gracious me!" he exclaimed, "what can it 
 be?" 
 
 And then Mole scooped gracefully out of his eye 
 the remains of a ripe fig, when down came another 
 shot, and landed him a regular stinger upon his pro- 
 boscis. 
 
 This was another fig. 
 
 But this time it was beyond ripeness, and it spread 
 across his face, making him look like a portrait of oils 
 with a jar of paint upset over it. 
 
 "Good gracious me!" ejaculated Mole, "I never " 
 
 A third one shaved his ear, and smashed on the bark 
 of a tree, and then he caught sight of Nero making 
 ready for another shot. 
 
 Mole dodged it with great dexterity. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" 
 
 And the next time he lunged sharply out and 
 caught the fig. 
 
 They were wild figs which Nero had raked up, and 
 not at all bad eating for a fasting man. 
 
 So he had a meal. 
 
 While this went on the firing ceased, and after al- 
 lowing a certain time to elapse to make sure, he ven- 
 tured from his perch. 
 
 Mole crept out of the woods until he gained the 
 clearing in which the castle was built. 
 
 Not a man was in sight. 
 
 "Where have they all gone to?" asked Mole, aloud. 
 
 "Queek !" replied Nero. 
 
 "Hold your tongue," whispered Mr. Mole ; "if those 
 beasts of brigands are anywhere near, you'll bring 'em 
 down about our ears."
 
 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 231 
 
 Cautiously he stepped forward and made towards the 
 deserted castle. 
 
 Deserted castle ! Was it deserted, though ? he asked 
 himself, with some anxiety. 
 
 He saw the splintered ruin. 
 
 "They have been going it here," he thought. "I 
 hope our good friends are all safe and sound." 
 
 Followed closely by Nero, he crept up to the door. 
 
 "All gone," he said. "Ugh ! no ! there's one there 
 still." 
 
 One of the brigands, stiff and stark. 
 
 A huge fellow, whose face wore the hideous pallor 
 of death, and whose features were distorted by the 
 agony of his last moments. 
 
 In his hand he clutched a long dagger knife, and 
 the position of his arm, now rigid in death, showed 
 that he was about to strike when he received the 
 wound. 
 
 "Poor wretch!" murmured Mr. Mole. "I think I 
 have had enough adventures for some time, and once 
 I get safely home again to my old friends all, I'll make 
 up my mind to get quite domesticated with Mrs. M. 
 Still, the sight of this deadhouse is anything but in- 
 spiring; it is grievous to see, and it's anything but 
 pleasant to be in a lone place, with no company but 
 dead bodies, and " 
 
 He stopped short, and why? 
 
 He heard a voice close at hand, too. 
 
 His color fled from his cheeks, and his wooden legs 
 threatened to give away beneath him. 
 
 A minute more and the voice grew familiar. 
 
 Not only was the voice familiar, but it breathed or,
 
 232 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 
 
 let us use a poetical figure, and say warbled an air 
 which Isaac Mole had heard under happier conditions. 
 
 The words were the very opposite of poetry ; in fact, 
 both words and music were decidedly jiggy. 
 
 We leave the -readers to fit their own music, which 
 they will probably do without any great difficulty. 
 
 "Old daddy Mole, 
 Was a Band of Hope soul, 
 
 Teetottlin' soul was he; 
 Whisky and gin 
 He regarded as sin ; 
 
 A evil sperrit he vowed was brandie." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" ejaculated old Mole, with a theatrical 
 start. "Surely yet hark!" 
 Again the voice shouted: 
 
 "Old Ikey Mole 
 Had no wool on his poll, 
 
 An' no teef in his 'ead for to munch J 
 He'd two timber toes, 
 An' a grog-blossom nose, 
 
 Though it didn't insiniwate punch." 
 
 Mr. Mole jumped. 
 
 "Damme!" he cried, "it's that Sunday; the imp of 
 darkness, I'll throttle him." 
 
 "Yah ! yah !" laughed the invisible minstrel. 
 
 "Sunday!" 
 
 "Yes, sar." 
 
 "Where are you?" 
 
 "Up here." 
 
 "I'll come! I'll come!" cried Mole, trotting to the 
 foot of the stairs. 
 
 He turned to call Nero.
 
 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 233 
 
 But that erratic ape had disappeared. 
 
 So up Mole went alone. 
 
 Great was his surprise when he found himself in a 
 gorgeous apartment, which we have already described. 
 
 And so great was his surprise that he did not notice 
 the occupants of the chamber until a faint voice called 
 him by name. 
 
 "Mr. Mole!" 
 
 "Hello i;' 
 
 He turned round and discovered a youth reclining 
 upon a low ottoman. 
 
 The poor lad was badly hurt, and his cheek was 
 ghastly pale. 
 
 Beside him knelt two young and lovely girls, both 
 flushed with deep concern for the patient. 
 
 Is it necessary to give the names of the three? 
 
 Perhaps. 
 
 The suffering youth was poor Harry Girdwood. 
 
 The two gentle nurses were pretty little Emily and 
 her new-found friend, the lovely Paquita. 
 
 "Mr. Mole," said Harry, "I'm so glad to see you 
 safely back." 
 
 These kind words showed such consideration from 
 one suffering as the poor boy did that Mr. Mole was 
 melted. 
 
 "Are you much hurt, my dear Harry?" he asked in 
 a broken voice, for the pallor of the lad's cheek 
 alarmed him. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "He is," said little Emily, looking up into Mole's 
 face ; "but he is so brave that he will not let us know 
 his pain,"
 
 234 Mole is Rescued by Nero. 
 
 Poor Paquita ! Her eyes were bent upon the pa- 
 tient's face, and she followed his varying expression 
 with an eagerness that pierced his very thoughts. 
 
 "Who is that?" demanded Mr. Mole, pointing to 
 her. 
 
 "Paquita." 
 
 At hearing her name mentioned, the girl looked up, 
 and smiling a welcome at Mr. Mole, turned again to 
 the patient. 
 
 His pain was less when the sunshine of her pure 
 eyes rested upon him. 
 
 There was a magic in her glance which seemed to 
 drive suffering back. 
 
 Did thirst assail him, her hand was there with a 
 glass at his lips. 
 
 If the fever scorched his brow, she had a damp cloth 
 ready to cool it; and when more than once he grew 
 faint from loss of blood, and felt as though he were 
 vanishing from the world, she was ready there to 
 press his hand in hers and bring him back to life. 
 
 Who would not be wounded for such care? 
 
 Mr. Mole learned all about Paquita, and. very much 
 surprised he was. 
 
 "But where," said Mr. Mole, looking about him, 
 "where is Sunday?" 
 
 "Yah! yah!" 
 
 His voice sounded .close by. 
 
 And then the faithful negro made his appearance. 
 
 Grinning all over his face, he ran up to Mr. Mole, 
 and threw his arms around him in unaffected pleasure 
 at seeing him again. 
 
 "Glad to see you, Brudder Mole," he exclaimed;
 
 Monastos Plays His Last Card. 235 
 
 "puffectly considerable dam glad to meet you, ole Brud- 
 der Mole." 
 
 "Keep off, you nigger !" said Mr. Mole, with dignity. 
 
 He repulsed Sunday rather unceremoniously. 
 
 "You'se a ignorant ole pump after all," said the 
 darky; "you s'pose 'case a nigger fellar's skin is black 
 dat his heart can't be white as yourn. Sunday's a b'iled 
 owl to wish you back, you cantankerous ole ole ole 
 rhinoceros !" 
 
 "I don't care a fig, Sunday," Mole answered, "about 
 a man's colos, only I don't like to be made a fool and 
 a laughingstock of by anybody, black or white, 
 and " 
 
 "Dat's dis infant's fault, den, Brudder Mole ; I'se 
 berry much infernal confounded sorry ; but 'tain't me 
 so much as yourself, Brudder Mole ; but I'm awful 
 pleased you'se back so safe." 
 
 "I can see you are, Sunday," said Mr. Mole ; "give 
 me your fist." 
 
 And the brothers-in-law shook hands heartily to the 
 infinite pleasure of all. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MONASTOS PLAYS HIS LAST CARD. 
 
 When Harry Girdwood came to be tended more 
 closely, and his hurts examined, it was found that, 
 come what would it was not possible to move him. 
 
 Paquita saw this.
 
 236 Monastos Plays His Last Card. 
 
 "But, my dear," said Mr. Mole, "don't you see that 
 if he remains here there is great danger?" 
 
 "No," replied the bold girl, "he is not in danger 
 while I am here." 
 
 "I don't see that," replied Mr. Mole; "you are not, 
 for they would not touch you, I suppose, but it is a 
 very different matter with him, poor fellow." 
 
 "Do you think I would let them harm him?" ex- 
 claimed Paquita, with flashing eyes; "never! never! 
 while I live!" 
 
 "I am safe with Paquita for a protector,, Mr. Mole," 
 said Harry. 
 
 Little Emily would have stayed to share Paquita's 
 watch, but the others would not hear of it. 
 
 Mr. Mole, Sunday and little Emily, therefore, 
 started out in search of their party. 
 
 As they made their way through the intricacies of 
 the wood, they were suddenly startled by a terrific 
 explosion, which shook the earth as though by some 
 awful volcanic eruption. 
 
 The remnant of the band of Monastos had been 
 blown into eternity by the evil hand of the king of 
 the brigands. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Monastos knew well the awful nature of the destruc- 
 tion he had wrought. 
 
 "Now!" he cried, "before I escape from this island 
 I will have my revenge on Harkaway's friends left on 
 board their ship." 
 
 And -as he ran he conceived the devilish scheme of 
 scuttling the Westward Ho! with its living freight. 
 
 The pirate chief was soon lurking in a small boat
 
 Monastos Plays His Last Card. 237 
 
 that was made fast to the ship's chains, and busying 
 himself there, preparing to take his revenge on Emily 
 and Hilda. 
 
 And he might have been sadly successful in what he 
 sought but for an accident. 
 
 Young Jack was there before him, he having been 
 sent forward to see if all on board were safe, for young 
 Jack dearly longed to see his mother, and as soon as 
 they had got through a rapturous greeting, Mrs. Hark- 
 away sent him flying off to his berth to change his 
 garments. 
 
 The consequence was that, while engaged in this 
 hasty toilet his attention was attracted by certain scrap- 
 ing sounds. 
 
 "Hello!" thought Jack, "I must find out what that 
 means." 
 
 So up he got, and was quickly on deck ; then look- 
 ing over the side of the ship he saw Monastos busy at 
 his work of destruction. 
 
 Young Jack was dumfounded at what he saw. 
 
 But he did not pause to reflect. 
 
 "Hello! ugly mug!" he shouted, "what's your 
 game ?" 
 
 The brigand chief started, and with great presence 
 of mind drew a pistol from his belt, and straightening 
 his arm he pulled the trigger. 
 
 Click ! 
 
 Nothing more. 
 
 Monastos had forgotten that he had discharged his 
 pistol some time back. 
 
 With a muttered imprecation he leaped over into 
 the water and dived.
 
 238 Monastos Plays His Last Card. 
 
 "You don't get off like that, you land shark !" cried 
 young Jack. 
 
 And before anyone could divine his intention, much 
 less prevent him, the fearless boy went over head 
 first after the pirate. 
 
 He had made a long dive, and as he rose to the sur- 
 face he faced the redoubtable Monastos. 
 
 "What !" cried the king of the brigands, in mixed 
 surprise and exultation, "is it you? You spawn of 
 Satan, you shall soon be put out of harm's way." 
 
 Young Jack made one stroke and grappled boldly 
 with the speaker. 
 
 "Yield, thou brutal pirate!" said the boy. 
 
 Monastos replied by a loud, mocking laugh. 
 
 "Yield to you, young cub ? Never ! Your life I 
 will have here, in this water!" 
 
 As he spoke his right hand groped about his belt 
 for his knife. 
 
 He then grasped young Jack by the throat, and the 
 unlucky boy was about to pay for his temerity with 
 his life. 
 
 The huge brigand chief, by sheer weight alone, bore 
 the struggling lad under water. 
 
 Had he been able to get out his knife it would soon 
 have ended young Jack's history, but before he could 
 get hold of it fairly, there was some one else upon 
 the scene. 
 
 A loud and manly voice was heard shouting : 
 
 "Hold on there, lad ! I'm with you, Jack, my boy !" 
 
 The next moment Monastos was seized roughly by 
 the shoulder.
 
 Monastos Plays His Last Card. 239 
 
 And then a burly voice bawled words of defiance in 
 liis ear. 
 
 ''Why, you black-muzzled swab, let the boy go, or 
 I'll precious soon make small biscuits of you, as sure 
 as my name is Ben Hawser!" 
 
 Monastos had to make a hurried choice. 
 
 Either he must let Jack go or go under himself. 
 
 Jack was released, and Monastos, knife in hand, 
 turned upon bold Ben Hawser. 
 
 "Strike out for shore, lad, and leave this skunk to 
 me !" cried old Ben to Jack. 
 
 And now began a short, sharp and decisive struggle 
 in the water. 
 
 So quickly did it all take place that by the time that 
 young Jack had filled his lungs again with air after 
 his long immersion he could not see either old Ben or 
 Monastos. 
 
 Old Ben was tough and wiry, but his adversary was 
 a man of immense power, and his weight alone told 
 fatally in that brief contest which now ensued. 
 
 Ben seized Monastos by the throat, and twisting his 
 horny hands in his neckcloth, pressed so hard upon 
 his windpipe that the brigand chief was in deadly peril ; 
 but, disengaging one hand, Monastos turned upon his 
 opponent, and grappling fiercely, both went under. 
 
 A moment or so elapsed and then young Jack saw 
 only one rise to the surface eight or ten feet away. 
 
 It was Monastos. 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" he laughed demoniacally, as he struck 
 out for shore ; "one of my foes gone." 
 
 Before the echo of his laugh had died away Ben rose 
 too, and as he breasted the water young Jack perceived,
 
 240 Monastos Plays His Last Card. 
 
 to his infinite horror, a poniard buried up to the very 
 hilt in the old sailor's side. 
 
 "Master Jack, are you safe?" gasped the old man, 
 as he shook the water from his face. 
 
 And then he was about to sink again, when young 
 Jack made one vigorous strike to his side, and helped 
 to support him. 
 
 "Where is the pirate?" faltered Ben. 
 
 "Gone; but are you hurt, Ben?" 
 
 "No ; not much. Are you, my boy ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Thank God !" returned old Ben, fervently ; "but the 
 swab has done for me." 
 
 Young Jack by now had hold of the edge of the boat, 
 and somehow or other he contrived to scramble up 
 without releasing his hold of Ben Hawser. 
 
 And then he assisted his preserver up, too. 
 
 As soon as they were in the boat poor Ben sank back 
 exhausted. 
 
 Panting, gasping, sighing his brave old life away. 
 
 "My poor Ben, are you so badly hurt?" asked young 
 Jack, eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, dear boy, so badly," faltered the old man, 
 "that I shan't want much of the sort before before 
 I'm food for fishes." 
 
 "Don't, Ben, don't." 
 
 "Now, Master Jeck, don't you take on," said Ben, 
 growing fainter every moment and at every word ; 
 "this battered old hull has done its service, and I'm 
 content ; the lubberly shark has left his prodder stick- 
 ing in me. He struck deep, wither him! -precious 
 deep deep "
 
 The Pirate's Despair. 241 
 
 "Jack! Jack!" cried Mrs. Harkaway at this mo- 
 ment from the ship. 
 
 "All right, mother." 
 
 "Are you hurt, Jack?" 
 
 "No, ma'am," answered Ben, looking up with a 
 cheery smile, although his face and lips were livid ; 
 "our boy's right and tight enough, but I'm water- 
 logged." 
 
 "No, no, Ben ; I cannot part with you. Do not say 
 you are dying; you will get over it." 
 
 "No, my boy, I'm wanted above ; my time's up, and 
 I must depart. God bless you, Jack! Don't forget 
 Nero, and don't forget old Ben. Good-by, lad ; re- 
 member me to " 
 
 And even as he spoke the gallant old tar gave up 
 the ghost. 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" rang out Monastos. 
 
 Glancing towards the shore they saw the brigand 
 chief climb up the bank. 
 
 A moment he stood to shake the water from his gar- 
 ments, then he plunged into the forest and was lost to 
 sight. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 THE- PIRATE'S DESPAIR ONE LAST MOVE. 
 
 Monastos paused to reflect only when in the depths 
 of the forest. 
 
 Here he was safe from pursuit. 
 
 "I am alone now, and could I but find means of 
 reaching Athens, I should be safe ; my old comrades
 
 The Pirate's Despair. 
 
 and allies are still flourishing. Yes, I could escape but 
 for Paquita. How to get hold of her, that's the 
 puzzle." 
 
 He hurriedly matured a plan of action. 
 
 It was this. 
 
 In a creek on the coast of the island he had a sailing 
 boat whose existence the Harkaway party utterly ig- 
 nored. 
 
 This boat was ready to take to sea at a moment's 
 notice. 
 
 True, it would want some working single-handed ; 
 but this difficulty could be got over. 
 
 But his great trouble was to get Paquita. 
 
 Now, he was in league with a powerful tribe of brig- 
 ands who infested the country round about Athens, 
 and so ardently did his soul burn for revenge upon the 
 adventurous owners of the Westward Ho! that he 
 made up his mind to sacrifice the half of the treasure 
 remaining to him in bribing the Athens band to help 
 him to his dear vengeance. 
 
 "The bulk of my hard-earned store of wealth is 
 scattered to the winds with the carrion of my traitor 
 followers and the accursed Hakaways," mused the 
 king of the brigands ; "but I have yet a store of which 
 they never dreamed, a rich coffer that Spirillo himself 
 knew not of; with this I can buy the life of everyone 
 on that ship. I'll have them, too, if I spend my last 
 ducat in it." 
 
 But he reckoned without his host again. 
 
 A footstep was heard, and Petrus stood before him. 
 
 Monastos started again as one in a dream upon be- 
 holding the half-witted Englishman.
 
 The Pirate's Despair. 245 
 
 How could he have escaped the explosion,? 
 
 However, the first surprise over, Monastos made 
 himself easy about Petrus. 
 
 The wretched outcast alone was too contemptible an 
 object to occasion a moment's fear. 
 
 "Petrus !" exclaimed the brigand chief, "why did 
 you attack me with Harkaway's gang? But you have 
 repented, I expect, and have now come to ask pardon 
 and give me your help." 
 
 Petrus made no reply. 
 
 With folded arms he stood contemplating the Greek 
 pirate, while his face wore a stolid look that defied the 
 keenest observer to read what was passing in his mind. 
 
 "Speak !" said the Greek, "and tell me how you es- 
 caped from the rest?" 
 
 "What rest?" demanded Petrus. 
 
 "The rest of our comrades," answered the brigand, 
 "and with our accursed enemies." 
 
 "The English?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "They are no enemies of mine." 
 
 "I see," answered the king, with a bitter smile, "be- 
 ing your countrymen. I ask your pardon." 
 
 "It is 'too late." 
 
 The king laughed boisterously at this, yet in spite 
 of himself there was a strange sound in the outcast's 
 voice which jarred upon his ear. 
 
 "Oho ! Master Petrus," said he, "so you didn't like 
 to see so many Englishmen blown to the devil. But 
 now answer me why you drew your sword on me, and 
 speak truly, or your life shall answer for it." 
 
 Petrus stared sternly into the brigand's eyes, and
 
 244 The Pirate's Despair. 
 
 Monastos, for the first time in his life, felt under a 
 species of magnetic influence. 
 
 Petrus advanced as if to strike the chief. 
 
 "Ha! you dare " 
 
 "No, not yet; first know that the Englishmen and 
 Americans all escaped." 
 
 "All?" 
 
 "All." 
 
 A change came over the brigand's face; it was a 
 desperate blow to him, and already his punishment was 
 beginning to be sore indeed. 
 
 His brain was fired with a rush of confused thoughts 
 which could not take shape. 
 
 "Where is Paquita?" he asked; "where is my daugh- 
 ter? Do you know?" 
 
 "Yes ; I know where Paquita is now at this mo- 
 ment." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Lost to you." 
 
 "Lost? Cudgel your addled brain for a moment, 
 idiot, and answer if you can. Where is she?" 
 
 "You will never see her again." 
 
 "Never?" 
 
 The brigand stared in agony. 
 
 "The terrors of what he has witnessed have driven 
 away what little wit remained to him," said Monastos, 
 wonderingly. 
 
 Petrus shook his head. 
 
 "No," he said, in the same emotionless strain ; "I am 
 just recovering; I am shaking off an incubus that has 
 been pressing upon my poor brain for a lifetime,"
 
 The Pirate's Despair. 245 
 
 Monastos felt a strange sensation of uneasiness 
 stealing over him. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he said. 
 
 "I mean that you have, by your own hand, hastened 
 the end for which I so long have sighed " 
 
 The chief of the pirates interrupted him with a cry 
 of impatience. 
 
 "Silence your ravings," he said, imperiously, "and 
 begone ! And, mark you, bring back my daughter 
 within three hours to this spot, or you shall suffer. I'll 
 have you bastinadoed for hours until you shall cry 
 aloud for death to end your sufferings!" 
 
 Petrus smiled. 
 
 "Beware, monster, for now my revenge is near." 
 
 Monastos was goaded beyond endurance at this; he 
 rushed at the outcast with uplifted hand, but ere he 
 could strike Petrus caught him dexterously by one 
 wrist, and gave it a twist that caused the brigand to 
 spin round with a half -uttered cry of pain. 
 
 "Thunder and furies !" ejaculated the Greek, "your 
 life shall answer for that." 
 
 "Oh, no," responded Petrus, coolly; "not my life 
 nor yours, either." 
 
 Monastos had by this time drawn his sword, and he 
 made a desperate cut at Petrus ; the latter parried it 
 coolly enough, and retreated a step on guard. 
 
 Monastos followed him up quickly, and put in an- 
 other powerful stroke, with the same result as before. 
 
 The brigand king was cunning of fence, and he soon 
 perceived, to his no little surprise, that he had before 
 him an adversary worthy of his sword. 
 
 So he feinted, and endeavored to draw the other
 
 The Pirate's Despair. 
 
 out ; but the Englishman observed the same tactics, al- 
 ways acting strongly upon the defensive. 
 
 Ten minutes' foiling left the Englishman untouched, 
 and with the same provoking coolness, the same com- 
 posed exterior as before. 
 
 "He has carte and tierce at his fingers' ends," said 
 the Greek to himself; "whoever would have suspected 
 it? He is dangerous and must be destroyed." 
 
 His reflections were brusquely interrupted; a dex- 
 terous twist nearly sent his sword flying from his 
 grasp. 
 
 "Ha!" 
 
 Monastos quickly recovered himself, and sprang 
 back a pace or two, on guard ; but he need have had no 
 iear. 
 
 The outcast did not seek to follow up the advan- 
 tage thus gained; he only remained as before upon 
 the defensive. 
 
 "I must end this," said the king of the brigands, 
 with suppressed passion; and so saying he made a 
 desperate onslaught. 
 
 A terrific downstroke was caught by the English- 
 man close up to his sword hilt, and the blade was shiv- 
 ered to atoms ; at the same time the violence of the 
 stroke brought him down upon one knee. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" cried the brigand chief in triumph; "at 
 last !" 
 
 As the word was dying away on his lips, Petrus 
 had shot in under his sword arm, and seized him in a 
 deathly clutch; one hand gripped the right wrist, the 
 other was upon his neck. 
 
 As the fingers closed upon the wrist it seemed as
 
 The Pirate's Despair. 247 
 
 though a steel vise were being screwed down tighter 
 and tighter; the sinews were pressed benumbed, un- 
 der that terrible hand, and the sword fell to the earth. 
 
 The snakelike fingers twined around the brigand's 
 neckcloth and he fell. 
 
 Once upon the ground a fearful struggle ensued; 
 but the strength of the Greek availed him not. 
 
 The outcast used no jerks profited by no knowl- 
 edge of wrestling but he bore his enemy to earth by 
 sheer force; and, having him there, he held him 
 pinned him, as one might pin a noxious reptile. 
 
 And marvelous to relate, the Englishman preserved 
 throughout the struggle his same stolid look. 
 
 The desperate fight even had not appeared to spend 
 his breath. 
 
 "Curse you!" gasped the panting brigand, "the 
 chance is yours. But ere you strike, tell me, is my 
 daughter safe?" 
 
 Petrus stared into his face in a cold, expressionless 
 way. 
 
 "I do not mean to kill you," he said. "You must 
 live live long long long !" 
 
 Involuntarily Monastos shuddered and closed his 
 eyes. 
 
 His life was preserved him, and yet he felt that 
 those icy tones, and that fixed, corpselike stare meant 
 something to which even death was preferable. 
 
 While Petrus knelt upon his prostrate adversary, he 
 drew from his pocket a thick knotted rope in which 
 a slip noose had been run. 
 
 Holding this between his teeth he placed both hands
 
 248 The Pirate's Despair. 
 
 upon the prostrate Greek, whom, with a sudden jerk, 
 he dragged over on his face. 
 
 The pirate and murderer, Monastos, struggled des- 
 perately, but the outcast held him beneath his knee 
 while he dragged back his arms with a wrench that 
 seemed to force the joints from their sockets. 
 
 The rope was now brought into use. 
 
 The noose was slipped over the brigand's wrists and 
 tightened until the cord cut into his flesh. 
 
 The other end of the rope was used to make fast his 
 ankles. 
 
 This done, he rolled the helpless Greek over again, 
 and he saw to his satisfaction that already the torture 
 was telling. 
 
 The brigand had bitten the turf in his agony to stifle 
 his groans. 
 
 Petrus smiled. 
 
 "This is as it should be," he said, with a hollow 
 laugh. "Now, listen to me, Monastos, monarch of the 
 isle, while I wring your soul with terror." 
 
 "Madman, you may make me drain the cup of humil- 
 iation at being defeated by such a miserable wretch as 
 you, but it is beyond your power to make me fear." 
 
 "Wait," said the Englishman, nodding his head 
 gravely. 
 
 "I may wait till the crack of doom," returned Mon- 
 astos boldly, "and yet not fear you." 
 
 "You will want patience more than I have shown, 
 and I have been patient, as you know, for all these 
 years. Why, I lived upon hope." 
 
 "Hope?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 The Pirate's Despair, 249 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "Of seeing this day this is balm to my bruised 
 heart. It cannot bring her back to life, but it is solace 
 to know you suffer. Every instant of agony you pass 
 through is an hour of pleasure for me." 
 
 An awful dread crept over the brigand as he lis- 
 tened. 
 
 Till now he thought that his abject slave had turned 
 upon him when in adversity, or perhaps because he 
 
 knew that he was doomed with the rest to be blown to 
 \ 
 
 atoms; but now he saw that he was suffering for the 
 crimes of many years past. 
 
 He saw that the wretched outcast, the miserable slave 
 who had been the sport and butt of the band, through- 
 out had been living upon the hope of the day of deadly 
 vengeance. 
 
 The reckoning was at hand, and in an agony of fear, 
 which he would have died before admitting, he awaited 
 to learn the nature of the punishment to which his once 
 slave, now master, doomed him. 
 
 "Since when have you conceived this hatred for 
 me?" asked Monastos. 
 
 "Since her death," answered the Englishman. 
 
 "Hers? Whose?" 
 
 "My murdered wife's," returned the outcast. "Ah! 
 you. can't provoke me into killing you. I have prac- 
 ticed self-control under the bitterest conditions." 
 
 The captured brigand closed his eyes, and as he lay 
 thus, in the power of the injured Englishman, an 
 awful fear possessed him. 
 
 "Tell me," Monastos faltered, hoarsely, "your venge- 
 ance is upon my my innocent child "
 
 250 The Pirate's Despair. 
 
 And here he broke down. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed the outcast. 
 
 "Beast !" cried the wretched captive, writhing until 
 the blood trickled from the parts of his limbs where 
 the cruel bonds cut into his flesh. "Monster ! devil ! a 
 child an angel like her, my Paqnita !" 
 
 The ineffable tenderness with which he breathed 
 that name brought a reply from Petrus. 
 
 "I must, in spite of myself," he said, "ease your 
 mind upon that head. Paquita is safe." 
 
 "And shall be protected?" demanded the king of the 
 brigands, eagerly. 
 
 "And shall be protected," responded the other, 
 gravely. 
 
 "Good ! good !" said the prisoner ; "now you may do 
 with me as you will." 
 
 Petrus eyed him with a grim smile of satisfaction. 
 
 "Ay, make yourself happy on that score, that your 
 wretchedness may be the more complete when I have 
 said what remains to be told." 
 
 Monastos was silent. 
 
 What new terror could this dreadful being have in 
 store for him? 
 
 "You love Paquita?" 
 
 "More than my life!" cried the pirate. "She is my 
 only child." 
 
 "No!" thundered the Englishman. "Paquita is no 
 child of yours ; the girl you have been so tenderly car- 
 ing for these long years is " 
 
 He paused. 
 
 "Whose?" 
 
 "Mine."
 
 The Pirate's Despair. 251 
 
 "Liar and slave !" the captive brigand shouted. 
 
 "Ho ! ho !" laughed the Englishman quietly ; "I will 
 convince you in spite of yourself. When you held me 
 at your mercy, eleven twelve thirteen years ago I 
 have almost lost count it pleased you to condemn me 
 for some freak of resistance to your commands, to slay 
 my own child. Do you remember?" 
 
 "Perdition seize you !" yelled Monastos, as, with 
 herculean force, he burst his bonds. 
 
 But it was of little use. Petrus again had his heavy 
 foot on the brigand's breast, holding him down with 
 a giant's power. 
 
 "No," he cried, pointing a sword at his breast ; "you 
 escape not thus !" 
 
 And once again he proceeded to bind him more se- 
 curely. The Englishman continued : 
 
 "I thought that as you showed some fondness for 
 your own babe, which was of the same age, you might 
 have spared mine. But no ; you ordered me to kill my 
 child under pain of death to myself and wife. I fled to 
 where the two children lay yours and mine. Your 
 assassins followed close upon my heels, and I, inspired 
 by the very terror you had called Up, seized your child 
 in my arms, intending to have life for life if your 
 cruel commands should be obeyed. Your murderers 
 entered, and seeing your child in my arms, thought it 
 was mine that I had taken it to protect it. They 
 dragged it from me and butchered the innocent babe 
 before my eyes." 
 
 A hollow groan from his prisoner recalled him to 
 himself, and he looked up with a fiendish smile.
 
 252 The Pirate's Despair. 
 
 "You lie!" cried Monastos, "you lie foully lie; it 
 was your child they killed." 
 
 "No ! no ! You know that I speak the truth ; you 
 feel that now my vengeance began ere my sufferings 
 had reached their climax. You feel that the child you 
 nurtured and had so carefully tended was mine." 
 
 The brigand chief was silent a while. 
 
 "Slave, if what you state is true, does Paquita know 
 of it ?" he demanded, presently. 
 
 "Yes; she knows now how you were steeped to the 
 very soul in blood; that you slew her mother, she 
 knows all this, and loathes you. I have taught her to 
 shudder at the very mention of your name." 
 
 The color fled from the captive's cheek. 
 
 His bloodless lips quivered, and he trembled with 
 the unutterable anguish he endured. 
 
 "Why, now," exclaimed the outcast, "this is prime. 
 This is something like vengeance, and it was worth 
 waiting for ay, waiting for even for a lifetime. It is 
 a feast fit for the gods, I swear !" 
 
 And then, as the prisoner groaned and bit his lips in 
 the bitterness of his anguish, his master threw up his 
 legs and danced in a wild, savage manner around him. 
 
 "You have defeated your own object," said Monas- 
 tos, in a strangely altered voice. 
 
 "Indeed? How?" 
 
 "I have nothing left to care for in life. I want to 
 die." 
 
 "Not so much as you will," replied the Englishman, 
 promptly ; "there is to come a time when day and 
 night you shall pray for death, and yet you shall live. 
 I will see that you live live live for my own special
 
 The Pirate's Despair. 253 
 
 enjoyment; my life is henceforth devoted to you. My 
 child shall leave the island with our new friends. I 
 shall remain here. You will try to starve. I shall not 
 allow it. I shall force your mouth open and thrust 
 food down your throat. For you must live to make my 
 vengeance complete." 
 
 Who shall describe the depth of bitterness that fell 
 upon the wretched brigand? 
 
 What pen shall describe the unutterable despair that 
 filled the pirate's heart? 
 
 "You see this stone," said Petrus, pointing to a large 
 bowlder beside the prisoner ; "that is to be the founda- 
 tion stone of the kennel that I am going to build for 
 you. You are to labor in it, too." 
 
 Then he dragged the prisoner over and forced him 
 to kneel. 
 
 The stone in question he lifted and placed in the 
 prisoner's hands, which were fastened, as we have said, 
 by the wrist, behind his back. 
 
 If he let it fall its weight would crush his legs. 
 
 "Now, move!" said his master; "shuffle forward on 
 your knees, quicker!" 
 
 And down came a rope's end upon the captive's 
 shoulders. 
 
 He shuffled slowly, painfully forward, and then he 
 let the stone fall. 
 
 "I'll not do it," he cried, resolutely. "I'll die first!" 
 
 "Oh, no, you shall not die," retorted Petrus, with a 
 smile ; "you shall live, I say. Crawl on now, or " 
 
 "Never !" 
 
 "Then I'll bring the Englishmen to see you." 
 
 "I care not."
 
 254 The Pirate's Despair. 
 
 "I'll make Paquita come and spurn the murderer of 
 her mother." 
 
 "No ! no ! no !" cried Monastos, imploringly, "not 
 that; I'll obey!" 
 
 "Crawl on, then." 
 
 And on he crawled, while his master, from time to 
 time, whipped him with the end of a rope as though 
 he had been one of the inferior animals. 
 
 Suddenly a familiar voice was heard, and glancing 
 up, Petrus saw the Harkaway party marching along 
 on the heights above. 
 
 Several of them had been silent witnesses of the 
 scene, and they revolted at the horrible thoughts it 
 conjured up. 
 
 They were not to say scrupulous, and' had Petrus 
 slain his cruel oppressor in cold blood, even after van- 
 quishing him, it would not have surprised them. 
 
 But this was a refinement of vengeance which hor- 
 rified them, and they began to murmur. 
 
 "Let no one come between me and my revenge," 
 said Petrus, sternly. "He, the murderer of my wife, 
 belongs to me; he is my lawful property. I claim no 
 other share of the plunder you will find here; take 
 all." 
 
 "He is right," said Jefferson, "quite right. We have 
 no jurisdiction here. This man has suffered no com- 
 mon wrongs. We may disapprove of the feelings 
 which inspire him, but we have no right to interfere." 
 
 "Before we go, Petrus," said Harkaway, "one word 
 I call you Petrus." 
 
 "I would be known by none other," returned the out- 
 cast. "It is a constant reminder to me of my duty.
 
 The Pirate's Despair. 255 
 
 They gave me the name of Petrus when I came here ; 
 let me be Petrus to my life's end. I feel it was fitting 
 that I should be renamed, for here I began a new life." 
 
 "I was about to say," resumed Jack Harkaway, "that 
 what money we take hence is not for ourselves. Our 
 crew and those of our party who are needy will be 
 provided for ; the residue will be disposed of in vari- 
 ous charities, and may the blood-stained gold carry no 
 taint with it. Paquita shall be protected by all." 
 
 "Amen!" 
 
 They passed on, leaving the Englishman and Greek 
 pirate, master and man victor and vanquished alone 
 together. 
 
 Two days later the Westward Ho! sailed from 
 Magic Island. 
 
 They were anxious to be gone from the scene of so 
 much strife and bloodshed, and had resolved to rub 
 off many ugly recollections by a change of scene. 
 
 The gallant vessel glided gracefully out of Fairy 
 Creek, and as they passed along the coast, young Jack 
 had assisted Monday and Harry Girdwood up on to 
 the poop to take a last look of the island. 
 
 "Look look there !" exclaimed Harry Girdwood, as 
 they glided along. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "There ! Don't you see there's the Englishman 
 he's whipping a man who is crawling along the 
 ground see ! It must be the pirate chief." 
 
 They looked and recognized the man who knelt. 
 
 They were not a hundred feet from the shore and 
 the group was visible enough.
 
 256 The Pirate's Despair. 
 
 Petrus, the outcast, whip in hand, stood over his 
 victim, the latter being harnessed to a low cart or 
 trolley laden with stones, and dragging it along over 
 the rugged, uneven ground with much difficulty. 
 
 At every step down came the whip, scourging the 
 wretched prisoner's back and shoulders. 
 
 Such was the last view they caught of the once pow- 
 erful chief of the pirates, as the Westward Ho! glided 
 through the waters. 
 
 This, too, was the last they saw of the Magic Island. 
 
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