he same
kind.'"

"Is this true, Brown? Did you know my father before meeting him here;
and did he really render you some service?"

"Yes, indeed, miss; I have sailed in one o' your father's wessels, an'
once I was washed overboard by a heavy sea, and he flung over a lifebuoy
arter me, and jumped into the water himself to keep me afloat till a
boat picked us up, for I couldn't swim. Now, look 'ere, miss, if you'll
consent to sail under my orders for a short spell, you'll have a better
chance o' doin' your father a sarvice than by returnin' to that nest o'
pirates. Moreover, you'll have to make up your mind pretty quick, for
we've lost too much time already."

"Go on, Brown, I will trust you," said Hester, placing her hand in that
of the seaman, who, without another word, led her swiftly into the bush.

Now, all this, and a great deal more was afterwards related by Hester
herself to her friends; but at the time all that was known to Sally--the
only witness of the exploit--was that Hester Sommers had been carried
off in the manner related by an apparently friendly British sailor.
This she told soon after to Peter the Great, and this was the substance
of the communication which Peter the Great, with glaring eyes and bated
breath, made to George Foster, who received it with feelings and
expressions that varied amazingly as the narrative proceeded.

"Is that all?" he asked, when the negro at length came to a decided
stop.

"Das all--an' it's enuff too! 'Pears to me you's not so much cut up
about dis leetle business as I 'spected you would be."

"I am anxious, of course, about Hester," returned the middy; "but at the
same time greatly relieved, first, to know that she is in the hands of a
respectable British sailor; and, second, that she is _not_ in the hands
of these bloodthirsty piratical Moors. But what about her father?
Nothing more, I suppose, is known about his fate?"

"Not'ing, on'y it's as sure as if we did know it. If his carcass isn't
on de hooks by dis time it'll soon be."

As the negro spoke the midshipman started up with flashing eyes,
exclaimed angrily, "It shall _never_ be," and ran out of the bower.

Entering the house, he went straight to Ben-Ahmed's private chamber,
which he entered boldly, without even knocking at the door.

The Moor was seated cross-legs on a mat, solacing himself, as usual,
with a pipe. He was not a little surprised, and at first was inclined
to be angry, at the abrupt