th their
illuminator.

Five minutes later all was dark and still again.

"Showed them we were pretty well prepared for them," said Poole, at
last.

"Yes," replied Fitz. "Think they'll come again?"

"No," said the skipper, who was standing by in the darkness. "We shall
keep watch, of course, but I don't think we shall see any more of them
to-night. There, you two go below and sleep as hard as ever you can.
I'll have you roused if anything occurs."

"Honour bright, father?"

"Yes, and extra polished too," replied the skipper.

"Come on, then, Burnett," whispered Poole, gripping his companion by the
arm. "I don't think that I ever felt so sleepy in my life."

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

FITZ HAS A DREAM.

The middy did not say much, but a very short time later he proved that
he shared his companion's feelings, both lads sleeping with all their
might, and trying to make up for a great deal of exertion connected with
their disturbed existence of the past few days.

It is generally conceded by the thoughtful over such matters, that
dreams come after the more solid portion of a person's sleep, that they
are connected with a time when the rested brain is preparing to become
active once again, and set to work in its daily routine of thought.

This may be the rule, but it is said that there is no rule without an
exception. Fitz Burnett's slumber in his hot, stuffy berth was one of
these exceptions, and rather a remarkable one too, for almost directly
after dropping off he began to dream in the most outrageous manner, that
proving for him a sort of Arabian Night which had somehow been blown
across on the equatorial winds to Central America. The whole of his
dream was vivid in the extreme while it was in progress, and if it could
have been transcribed then, no doubt it would have proved to be of the
most intense interest; but unfortunately it had to be recalled the next
morning when its clearness was muddled, the sharpness of its features
blurred.

Two or three times over he tried to dismiss it from his mind altogether,
for it worried him; but it absolutely refused to be got rid of, and kept
coming back with the utmost persistency, making him feel bound to drag
it back and try to set it in order, though this proved very difficult.
It was some time before he could get hold of the thread at all, and at
the first pull he found that he drew up several threads, tangled and
knotted up in the most inextricable confusio