s an ominous silence on deck succeeding his words, then a murmur
of voices and the banging down of a hatch. Next came a loud splash, and
Mark dashed to the cabin window to look-out for that which he felt sure
he would see. And there it was--the body of a man floating slowly by,
and then on backward in the schooner's wake, the body of one of the
blacks, with wild upturned eyes set in death, and, as it seemed to Mark,
a look of horror and appeal in the stern, staring face, gazing
heavenward, as if asking why such things should be.

A low, deep sigh made the young officer start and look round from the
dead figure which fascinated him, to see the big black, whose face was
working, and he looked hard now at the young officer, and pointed back
at the cabin door, as if asking to be led on deck to avenge his
fellow-countryman who had passed before them, another victim to the
hated slaving--a black bar across a grand nation's fair fame.

"Yes," said Mark, slowly, as he looked at the negro, and met his
appealing eyes, and spoke as if the man could comprehend every word, "we
will punish them for this. The wretches deserve no mercy at our hands."

The great black could hardly grasp a word, but he smiled, as if a great
satisfaction had filled his breast. For the tones in which the boy
officer spoke and his manner were sufficient to make him stand back
against the bulkhead with his arms folded, as if waiting for his
superior's orders, and patiently watching as Mark called what may be
dubbed a council of war.

The difficulty was to propose a plan of action, but Tom Fillot said
cheerily:

"Don't know that there's much difficulty about it, sir. Them Yankees
have shown us the way. All we've got to do is to follow their lead.
Why not?"

"'Cause they'll take jolly good care we don't, messmate," said Dick
Bannock, wagging his head. "We've guv 'em a lesson in taking care of
prisoners, and take my word on it, Tom Fillot, they've larnt it by
heart."

"Hark!" cried Tom Fillot; "they're a-lowering down the boat."

For the chirruping of the little wheels of the falls sounded familiarly
on their ears.

"It's to go to the other schooner," cried Mark, excitedly. "They'll
take Dance and Grote prisoners too. Do you think you could reach the
tow-rope, Tom?"

The sailor looked out from the little window and upward.

"No, sir," he said, despondently. "Too high up, and that chap's waiting
to give me one on the head."

"Yes; that