t right," said Bill, with his pen hovering over the
paper. "Be careful, Ned."

"We'll say 'killed myself instead,'" said the old man. "A boy wouldn't
use such a big word as that p'raps."

Bill bent over his work, and, apparently paying great attention to his
friends' entreaties not to write it too well, slowly wrote the letter.

"How's this?" he inquired, sitting back in his seat.

"'Deer captin i take my pen in hand for the larst time to innform you
that i am no more suner than heat the 'orrible stuff what you kail meet
i have drownded miself it is a moor easy death than starvin' i 'ave left
my clasp nife to bill an' my silver wotch to it is 'ard too dee so young
tommie brown.'"

"Splendid!" said Ned, as the reader finished and looked inquiringly
round.

"I put in that bit about the knife and the watch to make it seem real,"
said Bill, with modest pride; "but, if you like, I'll leave 'em to you
instead, Ned."

"I don't want 'em," said the old man generously.

"Put your cloes on," said Bill, turning to the whimpering Tommy.

"I'm _not_ going down that fore 'old," said Tommy desperately. "You may
as well know now as later on--I won't go."

"Cookie," said Bill calmly, "just 'and me them cloes, will you? Now,
Tommy."

"I tell you I'm not going to," said Tommy.

"An' that little bit o' rope, cookie," said Bill; "it's just down by
your 'and. Now, Tommy."

The youngest member of the crew looked from his clothes to the rope, and
from the rope back to his clothes again.

"How 'm I goin' to be fed?" he demanded sullenly, as he began to dress.

"You'll have a stone bottle o' water to take down with you an' some
biskits," replied Bill, "an' of a night-time we'll hand you down some o'
that meat you're so fond of. Hide 'em behind the cargo, an' if you hear
anybody take the hatch off in the daytime, nip behind it yourself."

"An' what about fresh air?" demanded the sacrifice.

"You'll 'ave fresh air of a night when the hatch is took off," said
Bill. "Don't you worry, I've thought of everything."

The arrangements being concluded, they waited until Simpson relieved
the mate at the helm, and then trooped up on deck, half pushing and half
leading their reluctant victim.

"It's just as if he was going on a picnic," said old Ned, as the boy
stood unwillingly on the deck, with a stone bottle in one hand and some
biscuits wrapped up in an old newspaper in the other.

"Lend a 'and, Bill. Easy does it."

Noiselessly