half wild with longing, and one day he told me that he had had
a lot of napoleons sent to him to help him to escape, and that the first
fine day we were allowed out for exercise upon the moor we would make a
dash for liberty."

"You should have done it when you were out fishing," said Rodd.

"Oh no. The fishing had been stopped for a long time--ever since the
first attempts had been made to escape."

"Oh, I see," said Rodd.

"And at last the day came," continued Morny, "and we made our attempt,
but only to find that we were very closely guarded, and that soldiers
were on the look-out in all directions; and in the attempt my father and
I became separated, and I should have been taken if it had not been
that--"

"Look here," cried Rodd, springing up, "there's Joe Cross signalling to
me from the maintop. He can see something. I say, that happened
luckily for you, young fellow, for you were just getting on to dangerous
ground."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

LAND HO!

"What is it, Joe?" cried Rodd.

"Easy, sir!" said the man softly. "Not too loud," he continued, from
where he was seated upon the cross-trees. "I don't want to give the
skipper a false alarm, else he won't believe me next time."

"What about?"

"Easy, my lad! Just in a whisper like. I aren't sure, but to you I
says, Land ho!"

"Whereabouts, Joe?" cried Rodd excitedly.

"Ah!" cried Morny, springing up. "Land!" And he faced round to gaze
towards the brig that was sailing very slowly after them some three
hundred yards away--sailing, but doing little more than forge her way
through the water.

"Nay, not that way, sir," said Joe softly, "but doo east. You can't see
anything from down there, Mr Rodd, sir. I can't even make certain with
the glass."

"Hold hard, Joe! I am coming up," cried Rodd. "All right, sir; but you
will be disappointed when you do."

"I won't be long, Morny," said Rodd eagerly.

"No; be quick," whispered Morny excitedly. "I want for my father to
know. He is so anxious about the brig."

Rodd gave him a quick jerk of the head as he went on climbing the
ratlines as quickly as he could, forgetting all about the heat and the
silvery glare of the piercing sunshine.

He was not long mounting to the sailor's side, seating himself on the
opposite side of the mast.

"Now then," he cried, as he shuffled into his place; "let me look."

"All right, sir. Ketch hold," replied the sailor stolidly. "You'll do
it; your ey