carry a kedge out in that direction."

"As you please," I said. "It may be right, but it may be the wrong
way."

"It is my way, at all events," was the petulant reply.

It was necessary to get the long-boat into the water to carry out the
kedge. Before this could be done, she had to be cleared of all sorts of
articles stowed in her. It took us some time. The fate of their
companions had thrown a damp over the spirits of the men, and they did
not work with their ordinary activity. I could not help looking out
seaward now and then, thinking that heavier rollers might be coming in,
when our position would be truly dangerous. Where we were all this time
we could not ascertain,--whether we were on a sandbank at a distance
from the coast, or on the coast itself. In either case the danger was
great. At last we got a kedge out right astern, and the crew manned the
capstan. They worked away for some time. It seemed to me that the
anchor was coming home. I was sure of it indeed, for not an inch did
the vessel move. I meantime had got hold of the hand-lead, and hove it
ahead. There was ample water there, at all events, for the brig to
float. I then ran with it aft and dropped it over the taffrail. The
water was evidently much shallower at that end of the ship. We had been
working away all that time, therefore, to haul her still faster on to
the bank. I was determined not to stand this any longer.

"Perhaps, Mr Kydd, you will try the depth of the water astern as well
as ahead," I said; "and it strikes me that if we were to attempt to haul
her off the other way, we might have a better chance of success."

"Leave that to me," he answered in the same tone as before.

"Round with the pauls, my lads," he sung out. "We will soon have her
afloat."

"I am not going to step another foot round the capstan without I know
that we are trying to haul off the right way," said Barker, who
overheard what I had said.

This remark made the mate furious. The men followed Barker's example.
Mr Kydd swore and stamped about the deck, declaring that there was a
mutiny.

"No mutiny, sir," answered old Barker; "but our lives are worth as much
to us as yours is to you."

"Take that then!" cried the mate, rushing forward toward the old man and
striking him a blow which brought him to the deck. "Who is going to
oppose me now?"

I thought the boatswain was killed, for he lay motionless. The crew,
indignant at the way one they