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gone in to show himself to the missus; she wouldn't like to have him too much chipped. . . . Wonderful is the love of woman. She sat up a bit later to-night with her fancy-sewing to see what might turn up. I told her at tea-time she had better go in early and shut her stateroom door, because if any of the Dagos chanced to come aboard, I couldn't be responsible for the language of my crowd. We are supposed to keep clear of profanity this trip, she being a niece of Mr. Perkins of Bristol, our owner, and a Methodist. But, hang it all, there's reason in all things. You can't have a ship like a chapel-though she would. Oh, bless you, she would, even when we're beating off these picaroons."

I was sitting on the afterhatch, and leaning my head on my

arms.

"Feel bad? Do you? Handled you like a bag of shakings. Well, the boys got their monkey up, hammering the Dagos. Here you, Mike, go look along the deck, for a double-barreled pistol. Move yourself a bit. Feel along under the spars."

There was something authoritative and knowing in his personality; boyishly elated and full of business.

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We must put the ship to rights. You don't think they'd come back for another taste? The blessed old deck's afloat. That's my little dodge, boiling water for these Dagos, if they come. So I got the cook to fire up, and we put the suction-hose of the fire pump into the boiler, and we filled the coppers and the kettles. Not a bad notion, eh? But ten times as much wouldn't have been enough, and the hose burst at the third stroke, so that only one boat got anything to speak of. But Lord, she dropped out of the ruck as if she'd been swept with langridge. Squealed like a litter of pigs, didn't they?"

What I had taken for blood had been the water from the burst hose. I must say I was relieved. My new friend bubbled any amount of joyous information into me before I quite got my wind back. He rubbed his hands and clapped me on the shoulder. But his heart was kind, and he became concerned at my collapsed state. "I say, you don't think my chaps broke some of your ribs, do you? Let me feel.”

And then I managed to tell him something of Seraphina that he would listen to.

"What, what?" he said. "Oh, heavens and earth! there's your girl. Of course. . . . Hey, bo'sun, rig a whip and chair on the yardarm to take a lady on board. Bear a hand. A lady! yes, a lady. Confound it, don't lose your wits, man. Look over the starboard rail, and you will see a lady alongside with a Dago in a small boat. Let the Dago come on board, too; the gentleman here says he's a good sort. Now, do you understand?”

He talked to me a good deal more; told me that they had made a prisoner-" a tall, comical chap; wears his hair like an old aunt of mine, a bunch of curls flapping on each side of his face ”—and then said that he must go and report to Captain Williams, who had gone into his wife's stateroom. The name struck me. I said: "Is this ship the Lion?"

'Aye, aye. That's her. She is," several seamen answered together, casting curious glances from their work.

"Tell your captain my name is Kemp," I shouted after Sebright with what strength of lung I had.

What luck! Williams was the jolly little ship's captain I was to have dined with on the day of execution on Kingston Point— the day I had been kidnaped. It seemed ages ago. I wanted to get to the side to look after Seraphina, but I simply couldn't remember how to stand. I sat on the hatch, looking at the seamen.

They were clearing the ropes, collecting the lamps, picking up knives, handspikes, crowbars, swabbing the decks with squashy flaps. A bare-footed, barearmed fellow, holding a bundle of brasshilted cutlasses under his arm, had lost himself in the contemplation of my person.

"Where are you bound to?" I inquired at large, and everybody showed a friendly alacrity in answer.

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(6 Havana." Havana, sir." "Havana's our next port. Aye,

Havana."

The deck rang with modulations of the name.

I heard a loud, "Alas," sighed out behind nie. A distracted, stricken voice repeated twice in Spanish, "Oh, my greatness; oh, my greatness." Then, shiveringly, in a tone of profound selfcommunion, "I have a greatly parched throat," it said. Harshly jovial voices answered:

"Stow your lingo and come before the captain. Step along."

A prisoner, conducted aft, stalked reluctantly into the light between two short, bustling sailors. Disheveled black hair like a damaged peruke, mournful, yellow face, enormous stag's eyes straining down on me. I recognized Manuel-del-Popolo. At the same moment he sprang back, shrieking, This is a miracle of the devil-of the devil."

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The sailors fell to tugging at his arms savagely, asking, “What's come to you?" and, after a short struggle that shook his tatters and his raven locks tempestuously like a gust of wind, he submitted to be walked up; repeating:

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'Is it you, señor? Is it you? Is it you?"

One of his shoulders was bare from neck to elbow; at every step one of his knees and part of a lean thigh protruded their nakedness through a large rent; a strip of grimy, blood-stained linen, torn right down to the waist, dangled solemnly in front of his legs. There was a horrible raw patch amongst the roots of his hair just above his temple; there was blood in his nostrils, the stamp of excessive anguish on his features, a sort of guarded despair in his eye. His voice sank while he said again, twice:

"Is it you? Is it you?" And then, for the last time, “Is it you?" he repeated in a whisper.

The seamen formed a wide ring, and, looking at me, he talked to himself confidentially.

"Escaped-the Inglez! Then thou art doomed, Domingo. Domingo, thou art doomed. Dom . . . Señor!"

The change of tone, his effort to extend his hands towards me, surprised us all. I looked away.

"Hold hard! Hold him, mate!"

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Señor, condescend to behold my downfall. I am led here to the slaughter, señor! To the slaughter, señor! Pity! Grace! Mercy! And only a short while ago behold. Slaughter . . I ... Manuel. Manuel. Señor, I am universally admired-with a parched throat, señor. I could compose a song that would make a priest weep. . . . A greatly parched throat, señor," he added piteously.

I could not help turning my head. I had not been used half as hard as he. It was enough to look at him to believe in the dryness of his throat. Under the matted mass of his hair, he was grinning in

amiable agony, and his globular eyes yearned upon me with a motionless and glassy luster.

"You have not forgotten me, señor? Forget Manuel! Impossible! Manuel, señor. For the love of God. Manuel. Manuel-del-Popolo. I did sing, deign to remember. I offered you my fidelity, señor. As you are a caballero, I charge you to remember. Save me, señor. Speak to those men. sake of your honor, señor."

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For the His voice was extraordinarily harsh-not his own. Apparently, he believed that he was going to be cut to pieces there and then by the sailors. He seemed to read it in their faces, shuddering and shrinking whenever he raised his eyes. But all these faces gaped with good-natured wonder, except the faces of his two guardians, and these expressed a state of conscientious worry. They were ridiculously anxious to suppress his sudden contortions, as one would some gross indecency. In the scuffle they hissed and swore under their breath. They were scandalized and made unhappy by his behavior.

"Are you ready down there?" roared the bo'sun in the waist. "Olla raight! Olla raight! Waita a leetle," I heard Castro's voice coming, as if from under the ship. I said coldly a few words about the certain punishment awaiting a pirate in Havana, and got on to my feet stiffly. But Manuel was too terrified to understand what I meant. He attempted to snatch at me with his imprisoned hands, and got for his pains a severe jerking, which made his head roll about his shoulders weirdly.

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Pity, señor!" he screamed. And then, with low fervor, "Don't go away. Listen! I am profound. Perhaps the señor did not know that? Mercy! I am a man of intrigue. A politico. You have escaped, and I rejoice at it." . . . He bared his fangs, and frothed like a mad dog. "Señor, I am made happy because of the love I bore you from the first-and Domingo, who let you slip out of the Casa, is doomed. He is doomed. Thou art doomed, Domingo! But the excessive affection for your noble person inspires my intellect with a salutary combination. Wait, señor! A moment! An instant! A combination! . .

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He gasped as though his heart had burst. The seamen, openmouthed, were slowly narrowing their circle.

"Can't he gabble!" remarked someone patiently.

His eyes were starting out of his head. He spoke with fearful

rapidity.

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. There's no refuge from the anger of the Juez but the grave-the grave-the grave! . . . Ha! ha! Go into thy grave, Domingo. But you, señor-listen to my supplications-where will you go? To Havana. The Juez is there, and I call the malediction of the priests on my head if you, too, are not doomed. Life! Liberty! Señor, let me go, and I shall run-I shall ride, señorI shall throw myself at the feet of the Juez, and say

I shall

say I killed you. I am greatly trusted by the reason of my superior intelligence. I shall say, 'Domingo let him go-but he is dead. Think of him no more-of that Inglez who escaped-from Domingo. Do not look for him. I, your own Manuel, have killed him.' Give me my life for yours, señor. I shall swear I had killed you with this right hand! Ah!"

He hung on my lips breathless, with a face so distorted that, though it might have been death alone he hated, he looked, indeed, as if impatient to set to and tear me to pieces with his long teeth. Men clutching at straws must have faces thus convulsed by an eager and despairing hope. His silence removed the spell-the spell of his incredible loquacity. I heard the boatswain's hoarse

tones:

"Hold on well, ma'am. Right! Walk away steady with that whip!"

I ran limping forward.

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arms.

High enough," he rumbled; and I received Seraphina into my

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