t moment he knew why; a pleasant breeze was
blowing off shore, hot but powerful enough to be acted upon, and in
those brief moments he knew that the vessel must have sailed.

He had little time for thought. He was suddenly lifted from the deck,
and he began to struggle wildly, striking out with his fists, but all in
vain.

"Over with him!" cried the Yankee skipper, and a cry escaped from Mark's
lips as he felt himself swung out over the side of the schooner, to
fall, he expected, splash into the sea. He had time to think all this,
for thought flies fast in emergencies, but his fall was partly upon
someone below, partly upon the thwart of a boat, and a deep groan came
from close to his ear as he looked up and saw the lanthorn resting on
the schooner's bulwark, and several faces staring down.

"My compliments to your skipper," said a mocking voice, "if you ever
ketch him, and tell him he's welkim to my boat. I'll take a glass o'
liquor with him if ever he comes our way.--Now then, shove off, you
there forward. If you stop another minute, I'll send a pig o' ballast
through your bottom."

This was said with a savage snarl, and as Mark struggled up into a
sitting position, he felt the boat begin to move.

"Here, ahoy, below there! You'd best lay your head to the north," came
the voice again, as the light was suddenly hidden or put out. "Your
skipper made signals when the wind rose, and we answered 'em for you.
Get your oars out sharp, or you won't overtake them this year."

Then all was silence and darkness save where the movement of an oar
sculling over the stern made the water flash and gleam with
phosphorescence, and raised up ripples of pale lambent, golden light.

"Who's that?" said Mark, in a whisper.

"On'y me, sir," replied a familiar voice, in company with a smothered
groan.

"Tom Fillot?"

"Ay, ay, sir," came back dismally. "I've got us out o' reach o' that
pig o' ballast."

"But, Tom," cried Mark, excitedly, "what does it mean? Where's Mr
Russell?"

"Somewheres underneath you, sir. I think you're a-sitting on him."

"There's someone lying here," cried Mark.

"Yes, sir, several someuns," said Tom Fillot. "Oh, my poor head!"

"But you don't tell me what it all means," cried Mark, angrily.

"Didn't know as it wanted no telling on, sir. Thought you knowed."

"But I know nothing. I was roused up, dragged out of the cabin, and
thrown down into the boat."

"Yes, sir; so was we, and not