too," panted Tom Fillot, as he banged down the square
covering. "Here, you Taters, sit down on this, will you?"

The black understood his sign, and squatted upon it, sitting upon his
heels with a grin of satisfaction.

While this struggle was going on, the freed slaves huddled together
helplessly, seeming more bent on getting out of the way of the
combatants than on joining in, though some of the men, warriors perhaps
in their own country before they had been crushed down by conquest,
imprisonment, and starvation, did once or twice evince a disposition to
seek some weapon and strike a blow. But they soon subsided into an
apathetic state, and watched.

"Hurt much, Tom Fillot?" said Mark, as soon as excitement would let him
speak.

"Well, sir, tidy--tidy. I was just thinking about some of our chaps
aboard the _Naughtylass_, growling and grumbling at her for being an
unlucky ship, and no fighting to be had. They wouldn't find fault if
they was out here, sir, eh?"

"No, Tom; we're getting our share of it. I wouldn't mind if Mr Howlett
was here to have his taste."

"My! how you can crow over him, sir, when we get back, eh?"

"Let's get back first, Tom."

"Oh, we'll do that, sir, never you fear. That ain't what I'm scared
about."

"Then what is?"

"Well, sir, I want to get back without killing anybody if I can, but
when they come these games with us and hit hard as they do, it's 'most
more than flesh and blood can bear to have a cutlash and not use it. I
know I shall make someone bleed with a cut finger 'fore I've done."

There was so much meaning in the sailor's words, and at the same time so
droll a look in his eyes, that Mark could not forbear a smile.

"If it's only a cut finger, Tom, I shan't mind," he said.

"That's right, sir. Well, I think you might start back now, and we'll
get sail on. Sooner we've got these two into port the better I shall
like it. I think I can manage, sir."

"But I've altered my plans," said Mark, thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir? What do you mean to do now?"

"I'll tell you. It seems to me madness, after this lesson in the
American's intentions, to divide my little crew. I want them
altogether, and we're weak enough then."

"Don't say you mean to give up the prize, sir," cried Tom Fillot,
appealingly.

"Not while I can lift a hand, Tom. We'll try another plan. I'll get
the skipper on board the other schooner. Then we'll have the crew down
in our forecastle."

"A