th the horrible vapour
that arose came a wild, piteous clamour from the imprisoned slaves
below.

"Guess yew're right, curse you!" said the American, in an angry snarl.
"Drop it, boys; they're too many for us this time. We're done, and it's
of no use to be ugly."

"Hurray!" shouted Mark's little party, as they drove the crew below in
the forecastle; and after a guard was set, Tom Fillot came back to his
officer, who stood talking to the American, while that worthy lit
himself a cigar.

"This is some dollars out o' my pocket, mister," he said. "Guess I wish
that thar nigger had been drowned afore you brought him here. What air
yew going to dew now?"

That was a question Mark was not prepared to answer, with two prizes on
his hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

"A LAST RESOURCE."

But Mark Vandean soon began to show the American slaving skipper what he
meant to "dew now," and that in times of emergency he did not mean to
talk much. For turning to Tom Fillot, he gave his orders respecting the
slaver's crew.

"Keep them below in the forecastle," he said; "and place the second
black over them as guard."

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried Tom, and he proceeded to plant Taters on guard over
the hatch, armed with a drawn cutlass, to the black's intense
satisfaction.

"Here, I say, mister," cried the skipper, "yew ain't going to put a
nigger as sentry over a crew o' white men, air yew?"

"I have done it," said Mark, sharply.

"What! going to keep them free American citizens prisoners below like a
pack o' niggers?"

"Why not?" said Mark. "Do you think I'm going to let you and your men
hatch up a scheme to retake this schooner?"

The man laughed.

"Guess yew're a sharp one, squaire. Wall, what are you going to do with
me?"

"Take you aboard my ship, sir."

"And hang me at the yardarm, squaire?" said the skipper, with a grin.

"Not if you behave yourself," said Mark; "but I warn you not to try any
tricks, sir, or matters may turn out unpleasantly. Here, Soup!"

He made a sign, and the great broad-shouldered black ran up to him
eagerly.

"Here, my lad," said Mark, signing to the man what to do; "draw your
cutlass and take this gentleman on board the other schooner. You'll
keep guard over him till I come."

Soup whipped out his cutlass, caught the American skipper by the arm,
and there was a tremendous yell.

"Say, mister, yew didn't tell him to kill me."

"No, no, Soup, you don't understand," cried Mark,