it
disappeared behind a hillock, beyond which he thought must be the ocean.

Now that he was left entirely to his own resources, Eric's curiosity
began to assert itself. Had he but known in what direction to go, and
felt equal to the task, his first business would certainly have been to
set forth in search of the scene of the wreck, if haply he might find
traces of other survivors besides himself.

But neither could he tell where to go, nor was he fit to walk any great
distance. For aught he knew, he might be miles from the beach where
the _Francis_ finally struck. Anyway, Evil-Eye was certain to be
there, hunting for more prizes, and he had no wish to encounter him.
So he proceeded to examine his strange surroundings.

The hut--for, despite its size, it was really nothing more than a
hut--was a very curious building. It had evidently been put together
by many hands, out of the wreckage of many ships, the builders
apparently being more proficient in ship-carpentry than in
house-joinery. Their labours had resulted, through an amazing
adaptation of knees, planking, stanchions, and bulk-heads, in a long,
low-ceilinged, but roomy building, something after the shape of a large
vessel's poop. For lighting and ventilation it depended upon a number
of port-holes irregularly put in. Running around two sides of the room
was a row of bunks, very much like those in a forecastle, the tier
being two high. Eric counted them. There were just thirty, and he
wondered if each had an occupant. If so, he must have slept in Ben's
last night, and where, then, had Ben himself slept?

Upon the walls of the other two sides of the room hung a great number
of weapons of various kinds--cutlasses, swords, muskets, dirks,
daggers, and pistols, a perfect armoury, all carefully burnished and
ready for use. They strongly excited Eric's curiosity, and he occupied
himself examining them one by one. One pair of pistols especially
attracted his attention. They were of the very latest make, and the
handles were beautifully inlaid with silver. He took one from the
wall, and aimed at one of the port-holes with it. As he did so a
thought flashed into his mind that gave him an electric thrill, and
sent the blood bounding wildly through his veins.

What if that port-hole were the repulsive countenance of Evil-Eye, and
they were alone together? Would he be able to resist the impulse to
give with his forefinger the slight pressure upon the fin