n deck!" cried the cook, now thoroughly alarmed by the uproar,
which always increased. He rushed up the ladder and Robert followed
him, to be blown completely off his feet when he reached the deck. But
he snatched at the woodwork, held fast, and regained an upright
position. The captain stood not far away, holding to a rope, but he
was so deeply engrossed in directing his men that he paid no attention
to Robert.

The youth cleared the mist and spray from his eyes and took a
comprehensive look. The aspect of sea and sky was enough to strike
almost any one with terror, but upon this occasion he was an
exception. He had never looked upon a wilder world, but in its very
wildness lay his hope. The icy spars from which he would slip to
plunge to his death in the chilling sea were gone, and so was far
Africa, and the slaver's hunt. He was not a seaman, his experience had
been with lakes, but one could reason from lakes to the universal
ocean, and he knew that the schooner was in a fight for life. And
involved in it was his fight for freedom.

The wind, cold as death, and sharp as a sword, blew out of the
northeast, and the schooner, heeled far over, was driving fast before
it, in spite of every effort of a capable captain and crew. The ship
rose and fell violently with the huge swells, and water that stung
like an icy sleet swept over her continually. Looking to the westward
Robert saw something that caused his heart to throb violently. It was
a dim low line, but he knew it to be land.

What land it was he had no idea, nor did he at the moment care, but
there lay freedom. Rows of breakers opening their strong teeth for the
ship might stretch between, but better the breakers than the slaver's
deck and the man hunt in the slimy African lagoons. For him the icy
wind was the breath of life, and he soon ceased to shiver. But he
became conscious of chattering teeth near him and he saw Miguel, his
face a reproduction of terror in all its aspects.

"We go!" shouted the Portuguese. "The storm drive the ship on the
breakers and she break to pieces, and all of us lost!"

Robert's fantastic spirit was again strong upon him.

"Then let us go!" he shouted back. "Better this clean, cold coast than
the fever swamps of Africa! Hold fast, Miguel, and we'll ride in
together!"

The superstitious awe of the Portuguese deepened, and he drew away
from Robert. In the moment of terrible storm and approaching death
this could be no mortal you