, and fancied I heard some one coming behind us. Face
round, and if any one tries to rush us let 'em have it--both barrels.
Those big shot of yours may check them, and I'll hold my bullet in
reserve."

Fitz made no answer, but breathed harder as he stood ready with his
fingers on the triggers.

"Fancy," said Poole at last. "Now then."

"Are you going to shout?"

"No; I've got the dad's pipe," and applying the little silver whistle to
his lips he made it give forth one little shrill chirrup, and then
waited, while the stillness seemed to Fitz more awful than before, and
his heart sank lower with the dread lest the men were dead, the boat
gone, and his project completely at an end. _Chirrup_!

Another what seemed to be a painfully long pause, and then _Chirrup_!
once again.

The pause seemed even longer than before to the listeners, but the
interval was short indeed before from out of the mist in front came a
low hoarse "What cheer, oh!" followed by a sneeze and a grunt. "Teals?"
cried Poole.

"Ay, ay! Two on us," came back. "Shall we pull ashore?"

"Yes; come on."

"Right. That you, Mr Poole?"

"Yes! Look sharp!"

There was a loud rustling, apparently about a hundred yards away,
followed by the scraping of an oar over the side of the boat, and then
the sound of paddling coming nearer and nearer, till the dimly-seen
forms appeared out of the mist, and the boat grated against the side of
the rough pier. "How goes it, sir?" said one of the men. "All right so
far," replied Poole. "But how is it with you two?"

"Offle, sir."

"What do you mean?"

"Heads so swelled up with skeeters that we can't wear our hats. We've
finished the grub, and to-morrow morning we was a-going to toss whether
I should eat him or him should eat I."

"No nonsense," said Poole.

"No, sir; there arn't been none," said the speaker, in a low growl.
"This 'ere's been the roughest job I was ever on. We'd have given
anything to come and jine our mates so as to get a shot. Anybody lost
the number of his mess?"

"No," said Poole. "No one even hurt."

"'Cept us, sir, and we've each of us got ten hundred million wounds."

"Wounds?"

"Yes, sir; skeeters. Trunks as big as elephants. They'd have sucked
poor Jem here quite dry, only he did as I did, made it up with water,
and there was plenty of that.--But you've come to fetch us, haven't
you?"

"No; only to set you on the alert."

"On the which, sir? What ship's tha