mand and gave his orders. "Now, you climb
to the top of that rock and see if you can make out the course we ought
to take; and I'll climb that one yonder."

"All right, Mr Mark, sir!" cried the little sailor, starting off.

"And mind, we come back to this spot directly."

"Right, sir! we will."

"Then, off!"

Mark slowly and painfully scaled the side of a steep sloped ravine, and
when he reached the top, with the perspiration running down his cheeks,
he looked round, to see trees, rocks, and the beautiful cone of the
volcano.

That was something; and he reasoned that if he turned his back to the
mountain and walked straight down and onward, though he would not be
able to join his party he would reach the shore.

But no sooner had he arrived at this comforting assurance that he would
have nothing to fear from starvation than all his hopes were dashed to
the ground, as he realised the fact that, as soon as he descended from
the giddy height at which he stood, he would lose sight of the mountain
and have no guide; while to go straight on among the mighty moss-covered
rocks, which were pitched helter-skelter all over the place, was as
impossible as to go through the jungle without a gang of men with
bill-hooks to hack a way among the dense undergrowth.

Right, left, and before him he could see nothing that would suggest his
having passed along there; and with his heart sinking he slowly climbed
down part of the way, then reached a mossy stone which gave way beneath
his feet and fell, while he followed, slipping down twenty feet, rolling
another twenty; dropping sometimes into a thorny tangle of brambles, and
dragging himself out, tattered, bleeding, and terribly out of temper, to
walk slowly back to the spot from whence he and Billy Widgeon had
started.

"How thirsty I am!" he said to himself; and then he listened.

All was horribly silent, and he called in a startled way, to be answered
by a faint "Ahoy!"

"This way, Billy!"

There was again silence as Mark threw himself wearily on a mass of
ferns; but after a time the rustling of boughs and breaking of twigs
could be heard, and at last from apparently a long way off came Billy's
voice again:

"Mr Mark, ahoy!"

"Ahoy! This way!"

Another pause, with the rustling of leaves and twigs continued, and
Billy's voice again:

"Ahoy, my lad! Where are you?"

"Here!"

There was a low muttering as if Billy were talking to himself, and then
another shout.