im
that I am here."

The first lieutenant and officers started back in astonishment, and so
did Captain Toplift and the pirates. The first lieutenant hardly knew
whether to consider it as a pretence on my part or not, and was
undecided how to act, when Captain Toplift said, "I do not know
whether the gentleman is as he says, but this is certain, and all the
men can prove it as well as myself, that he did swim on board, as he
said, to escape from the Indians, and that he has never joined the
crew. They offered to make him captain in my stead, and he positively
refused it."

"Yes," said all the pirates; "that's true enough."

"Well, Sir," replied the first lieutenant, "I will certainly carry
your message."

"To make all certain," replied I, "I will write my name on a slip of
paper for you to take in to the captain. He knows my signature."

I did so, and the first lieutenant took the paper, and went into the
cabin. In a minute he returned, and requested me to follow him. I did
so, and in another minute I was in the arms of my brother. For some
time we neither of us could speak. At last Philip said, "That you are
alive and well, let me thank Heaven. I have considered you as dead,
and so have others; and to find you on board of a pirate--on board of
a vessel which I have been riddling with shot, any one of which might
have caused your death. Thank God I was ignorant that you were on
board, or I never could have done my duty. I will not ask how you came
on board of this vessel, for that must be the end of your narrative,
which I must have from the time that you first left Rio, and
afterwards in detail the whole from the time that you left the Coast."

"Then they received my letters from Rio?"

"Yes, after imagining you were dead, they were rejoiced by those
letters; but I will not anticipate my story, nor will I now ask for
yours; it is sufficient at present that you are alive, my dear
Alexander, and once more in my arms."

"Let me ask one question," replied I.

"I know what it will be. She was in good health, but suffering much in
mind from having no account of you. Her father and others have
reasoned with her, and painted the impossibility of your being in
existence, as the xebeque you sailed in had never been heard of. She
still adheres in the opinion that you are alive, and will not abandon
the hope of seeing you again; but hope deferred has paled her cheek
even more pale than it usually is, and she evidently