ch man endeavoring, in his frenzied
efforts, to throw all the others overboard, as the only means of
saving himself. Plunge succeeded plunge; and when that combat of
demons ended, no one remained of them all but the boatswain. Spike had
taken no share in the struggle, looking on in grim satisfaction, as
the Father of Lies may be supposed to regard all human strife, hoping
good to himself, let the result be what it might to others. Of the
five men who thus went overboard, not one escaped. They drowned each
other by continuing their maddened conflict in an element unsuited to
their natures.

Not so with Jack Tier. His leap had been seen, and a dozen eyes in the
cutter watched for his person, as that boat came foaming down before
the wind. A shout of "There he is!" from Mulford succeeded; and the
little fellow was caught by the hair, secured, and then hauled into
the boat by the second lieutenant of the Poughkeepsie and our young
mate.

Others in the cutter had noted the incident of the hellish fight. The
fact was communicated to Wallace, and Mulford said, "That yawl will
outsail this loaded cutter, with only two men in it."

"Then it is time to try what virtue there is in lead," answered
Wallace. "Marines, come forward, and give the rascal a volley."

The volley was fired; one ball passed through the head of the
boatswain, killing him dead on the spot. Another went through the
body of Spike. The captain fell in the stern-sheets, and the boat
instantly broached to.

The water that came on board apprised Spike fully of the state in
which he was now placed, and by a desperate effort, he clutched the
tiller, and got the yawl again before the wind. This could not last,
however. Little by little, his hold relaxed, until his hand
relinquished its grasp altogether, and the wounded man sunk into the
bottom of the stern-sheets, unable to raise even his head. Again the
boat broached-to. Every sea now sent its water aboard, and the yawl
would soon have filled, had not the cutter come glancing down past it,
and rounding-to under its lee, secured the prize.

[_To be continued._

THE LAND OF DREAMS.

BY WILLIAM C. BRYANT.

A mighty realm is the Land of Dreams,
With steeps that hang in the twilight sky,
And weltering oceans and trailing streams
That gleam where the dusky valleys lie.

But over its shadowy border flow
Sweet rays from the world of endless morn,
And the nearer mounta