ty were not only untrue, but
diametrically opposed to the truth.

There was old Bill before their faces, stripped to the shirt,--to the
"buff,"--surrounded by a circle of short, squat women, dark-skinned,
with black hair, and eyes sparkling in the moonlight, who were torturing
him with tongue and touch,--who pinched and spat upon him,--who looked
altogether like a band of infernal Furies collected around some innocent
victim that had fallen among them, and giving full play to their
fiendish instincts!

Although they were witnesses to the subsequent rescue of Bill by the
black sheik,--and the momentary release of the old sailor from his
tormentors,--it did not increase their confidence in the crew who
occupied the encampment.

From the way in which the old salt appeared to be treated, they could
tell that he was regarded by the hosts into whose hands he had fallen,
not as a guest, but simply as a "piece of goods,"--just like any other
waif of the wreck that had been washed on that inhospitable shore.

In whispers the three mids made known their thoughts to one another.
Harry Blount no longer doubted the truth of Colin's statements; and
O'Connor had become equally converted from his incredulity. The conduct
of the women towards the unfortunate castaway--which all three
witnessed--told like the tongue of a trumpet. It was cruel beyond
question. What, when exercised, must be that of their men?

To think of leaving their old comrade in such keeping was not a pleasant
reflection. It was like their abandoning him upon the sand-spit,--to the
threatening engulfment of the tide. Even worse: for the angry breakers
seemed less spiteful than the hags who surrounded him in the Arab camp.

Still, what could the boys do? Three midshipmen,--armed only with their
tiny dirks,--what chance would they have among so many? There were
scores of these sinewy sons of the Desert,--without counting the
shrewish women,--each armed with gun and scimitar, any one of whom ought
to have been more than a match for a "mid." It would have been sheer
folly to have attempted a rescue. Despair only could have sanctioned
such a course.

In a whispered consultation it was determined otherwise. The old sailor
must be abandoned to his fate, just as he had been left upon the
sand-spit. His youthful companions could only breathe a prayer in his
behalf, and express a hope that, as upon the latter occasion, some
providential chance should turn up in his favo