ietly out of his hole, from
forward of the mast, and moving aft as if indifferent to the danger,
by stepping lightly from thwart to thwart, until he reached the
stern-sheets.

"It is your turn, little Jack," said Spike, as if in a sort of
sorrowful submission to a necessity that knew no law, "we cannot spare
you the room."

"I have expected this, and am ready. Let me have my own way, and I
will cause you no trouble. Poor Biddy has taught me how to die. Before
I go, however, Stephen Spike, I must leave you this letter. It is
written by myself, and addressed to you. When I am gone, read it, and
think well of what it contains. And now, may a merciful God pardon the
sins of both, through love for his Divine Son. I forgive you, Stephen;
and should you live to escape from those who are now bent on hunting
you to the death, let this day cause you no grief on my account. Give
me but a moment of time, and I will cause you no trouble."

Jack now stood upon the seat of the stern-sheets, balancing himself
with one foot on the stern of the boat. He waited until the yawl had
risen to the summit of a wave, when he looked eagerly for the
man-of-war's cutter. At that moment she was lost to view in the trough
of the sea. Instead of springing overboard, as all expected, he asked
another instant of delay. The yawl sunk into the trough itself, and
rose on the succeeding billow. Then he saw the cutter, and Wallace and
Mulford standing in its bows. He waved his hat to them, and sprang
high into the air, with the intent to make himself seen; when he came
down, the boat had shot her length away from the place, leaving him to
buffet with the waves. Jack now managed admirably, swimming lightly
and easily, but keeping his eyes on the crests of the waves, with a
view to meet the cutter. Spike now saw this well planned project to
avoid death, and regretted his own remissness in not making sure of
Jack. Everybody in the yawl was eagerly looking after the form of
Tier.

"There he is on the comb of that sea, rolling over like a keg!" cried
the boatswain.

"He's through it," answered Spike, "and swimming with great strength
and coolness."

Several of the men started up involuntarily and simultaneously to
look, hitting their shoulders and bodies together. Distrust was at its
most painful height; and bull-dogs do not spring at the ox's muzzle
more fiercely than those six men throttled each other. Oaths, curses,
and appeals for help, succeeded; ea