nswer, which was scarcely strange, seeing that it was
the dead pilot, Hans, to whom they talked in the misty dawn, whose body
Martin had lashed thus to deceive them. So they fired at the pilot, who
took no notice, and then began to clamber on board the ship. Presently
all the men were out of the first boat--that with the sail set on
it--except two, the steersman and the captain, whom, from his dress and
demeanour, Foy took to be the one-eyed Spaniard, Ramiro, although of
this he was too far off to make sure. It was certain, however, that this
man did not mean to board the _Swallow_, for of a sudden he put his boat
about, and the wind catching the sail soon drew him clear of her.

"That fellow is cunning," said Foy to Martin and Martha below, "and I
was a fool to light the tarred canvas, for he has seen the smoke drawing
up the hatchway."

"And having had enough fire for one night, thinks that he will leave his
mates to quench it," added Martin.

"The second boat is coming alongside," went on Foy, "and surely the mine
should spring."

"Scarcely time yet," answered Martin, "the matches were set for six
minutes."

Then followed a silence in which the three of them watched and listened
with beating hearts. In it they heard a voice call out that the
steersman was dead, and the answering voice of the officer in the boat,
whom Foy had been right in supposing to be Ramiro, warning them to
beware of treachery. Now suddenly arose a shout of "A mine! a mine!" for
they had found one of the lighted fuses.

"They are running for their boat," said Foy, "and the captain is sailing
farther off. Heavens! how they scream."

As the words passed his lips a tongue of flame shot to the very skies.
The island seemed to rock, a fierce rush of air struck Foy and shook him
from the tree. Then came a dreadful, thunderous sound, and lo! the sky
was darkened with fragments of wreck, limbs of men, a grey cloud of
salt and torn shreds of sail and cargo, which fell here, there, and
everywhere about and beyond them.

In five seconds it was over, and the three of them, shaken but unhurt,
were clinging to each other on the ground. Then as the dark pall of
smoke drifted southward Foy scrambled up his tree again. But now there
was little to be seen, for the _Swallow_ had vanished utterly, and for
many yards round where she lay the wreckage-strewn water was black as
ink with the stirred mud. The Spaniards had gone also, nothing of them
was left, sa