e officers held a consultation and decided to get
the passengers safely to Nap Harbor, and aboard a schooner for St.
John's and then to return to Frenchman's Cove themselves and salve what
they could of the cargo of the ship, which was evidently of unusual
value. (Black Dennis Nolan had expected this.) They would get help in
Nap Harbor for the work of salvage, and would leave the four boats on
the beach, under a guard of five seamen and the third officer. They had
brought food from the ship, and so they ate a substantial meal while
they warmed themselves and discussed their plans. But Captain McTavish
neither ate nor drank, so bitterly did he feel the loss of his ship. He
feared that even the moderate sea now running would break her up within
forty-eight hours.

Black Dennis Nolan vanished in the darkness many times in the
furtherance of his task of gathering wood for the fires. At last, after
he had covertly inspected all the bags, bundles and dispatch boxes, he
disappeared in the surrounding gloom and did not reappear at all. Dick
Lynch, a man of about his own size, shape and coloring,--one of the six
who had taken cover on the hillside--the firelight in his stead,
carrying a fragment of broken spar. The change was not noticed by the
men from the wreck.

Dry, warmly clothed, and inwardly fortified with food and drink, the
ship's company set off for Nap Harbor, carrying as much as they could of
their portable possessions, and led by four of the honest fishermen of
Chance Along. They left behind them the third mate, a sturdy youth armed
with two pistols and a fowling-piece, and five sailors armed with
cutlasses and pistols--and enough dry and liquid provisions to last the
guard for several days. They climbed the steep and twisty path that
connected the beach with the edge of the barren, and soon their lanterns
were lost in the fog. The third mate and his men brewed another generous
supply of rum punch, heaped more wood on the fire and lit their pipes.
By the time each had emptied his tin mug for the third time all felt
inexpressibly sleepy. Mr. Darling, the commander of the guard, counted
his men with a waving forefinger, and an expression of owlish gravity on
his round face. Then, "Daniel Berry, you'll stand the first trick," said
he. "Keep a sharp look-out and report anything unusual. Silas Nixon will
relieve you at eight bells of the middle watch."

So Daniel Berry got unsteadily to his feet and stumbled away from