along the river, and a
picket-boat from a flagship, with other boats, approached as near as
they could to the burning ship. Was there anybody on board? It seemed
not--so far, at least, as could be seen.

But suddenly a cry of horror went up from the crowd. A man had suddenly
made his appearance on the deck. He rushed about like a hunted fox,
trying to elude its pursuers; then, finding it impossible, flung
himself, with a strange cry that long haunted Paul's ears, into the
river.

Paul knew that the man was Zuker. The picket-boat tried to reach him,
but could not. The fire had enveloped the sides of the old ship, and
shot out tongues of flame from every porthole. For the space of a minute
Zuker's figure was seen silhouetted in flame against the darkness. Then
the waters closed over him, and he was seen no more.

"That--that was Zuker. I'm sure of it," Paul whispered to Harry, when he
could speak.

"I thought it looked like him, too," said Harry, in an awestruck
whisper. "What could he be doing on that ship?"

"Up to no good, I'm afraid; but good or ill, his work is ended now."

Zuker had at last come to his death by the element from which Paul's
father had saved him so long ago.

"Yes; I don't think he'll trouble anybody again," answered Harry, as he
slipped his arm, with a shudder, through Paul's.

The flames from the middle of the ship were now leaping fifty feet into
the air. The river manuals played upon it, but made little or no
impression. It seemed to hiss back contempt and defiance as the water
fell.

The excitement of the spectators grew, for a new and terrible source of
danger had revealed itself. The chains by which the old ship was moored
were beginning to give way. If that happened, she might drift, a mass of
flame, against any one of the warships lying in her path.

"I say, Paul, this business may get father into a mess," Harry
whispered.

Paul had forgotten, for the time, Mr. Moncrief's connection with the
Government dockyard. Harry's words reminded him. A dread fear took
possession of him. Perhaps the fire had all been designed--perhaps it
was the work of an incendiary, and that incendiary Mr. Moncrief's
enemy--Zuker. So long as the fire was limited to the old wooden ship it
would not much matter, but if it once got from its moorings, it was
impossible to say where the mischief would end.

"Oh, you needn't worry about your father, Harry," Paul answered, putting
on his most cheerful voice