e vanished, as I felt the swish of the tide round my
ankles. It would soon be up to my knees--

It _was_ up to my knees--it was creeping past them--and it was making
that hollow song in the caves behind me that had seemed so kind to me
that very morning, the song it had made to Calypso ... that far-off
night under the moon.

I turned my eyes over the sea--I could move _them,_ at all events; how
gloriously it was shining out there! And here was I, helpless, with arms
extended, as one crucified. I closed my eyes in anguish, and let my body
relax; perhaps I dozed, or perhaps I fainted--but, suddenly, what was
that that had aroused me, summoned me back to life? It seemed a short,
sharp sound--then another, and then another--surely it was the sound of
firing! I opened my eyes and looked out to sea, and then I gave a great
cry:

"Calypso! Calypso!" I cried. "Calypso!"--and it seemed as though a
giant's strength were in me--that I could rend the rocks apart. I made a
mighty effort, and, whether or not my relaxing had made a readjustment
of my position, I found that for some reason I could move forward again,
and, with one desperate wriggle, I had my head through the narrow space.
To wrench my shoulders and legs after it was comparatively easy, and, in
a moment, I was safe on the outer side, where, as I had surmised, the
aperture did widen out again. Within a few moments, I was on the edge of
the sea, had dived, and was swimming madly toward--

But let me tell what I had seen, as I hung there, so helpless, in that
crevice in the rocks.

CHAPTER XVII

_Action._

I had seen, close in shore, a two-masted schooner under full sail
sweeping by, as if pursued, and three negroes kneeling on deck, with
levelled rifles. As I looked, a shot rang out, from my right, where I
could not see, and one of the negroes rolled over. Another shot, and the
negro next him fell sprawling with his arms over the bulwark.

At that moment, two other negroes emerged from the cabin hatchway, half
dragging and half carrying a woman. She was struggling bravely, but in
vain. The negroes--evidently acting under orders of a white man, who
stood over them with a revolver--were dragging her toward the mainmast.
Her head was bare, her hair in disorder, and one shoulder from which her
dress had been torn in the struggle, gleamed white in the sunlight. Yet
her eyes were flashing splendid scornful fires at her captors; and her
laughter of defiance cam