t his breakfast.

A little before twelve o'clock the door again opened, and the surly
jailer entered bearing a halter, and accompanied by six stout men. The
irons were now removed from Bumpus's wrists, and his arms pinioned
behind his back. Being almost stupified with amazement at his position,
he submitted without a struggle.

"I say, friends," he at last exclaimed, "would any amount of oaths took
before a maginstrate convince ye that I'm not a pirate, but a true-blue
seaman?"

"If you were to swear from this time till doomsday it would make no
difference. You admit that you were one of the _Foam's_ crew. We now
know that the _Foam_ and the _Avenger_ are the same schooner. Birds of
a feather flock together. A pirate would swear anything to save his
life. Come, time's up."

Bumpus bent his head for a minute. The truth forced itself upon him now
in all its dread reality. But no unmanly terrors filled his breast at
that moment. The fear of man or of violent death was a sensation which
the seaman never knew. The feeling of the huge injustice that was about
to be done filled him with generous indignation; the blood rushed to his
temples, and, with a bound like a tiger, he leaped out of the jailer's
grasp, hurling him to the ground in the act.

With the strength almost of a Samson he wrestled with his cords for a
few seconds; but they were new and strong. He failed to burst them. In
another moment he was overpowered by the six men who guarded him. True
to his principles, he did his utmost to escape. Strong in the faith
that while there is life there is hope, he did not cease to struggle,
like a chained giant, until he was placed under the limb of the fatal
tree which had been selected, and round which an immense crowd of
natives and white settlers had gathered.

During the previous night the widow Stuart had striven to save the man
whom she knew to be honest, for Gascoyne had explained to her all about
his being engaged in his service. But those to whom she appealed, even
on her knees, were immovable. They considered the proof of the man's
guilt quite conclusive, and regarded the widow's intercession as the
mere weakness of a tender-hearted woman.

On the following morning, and again beside the fatal tree itself, the
widow pled for the man's life with all her powers of eloquence, but in
vain. When all hope appeared to have passed away, she could not stand
to witness so horrible a murder. She fled t