Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A TRIP BY WATER—BOAT, AHOY!—A COMPACT FOR MONEY—THE STOWAWAY
ON BOARD THE "WESTWARD HO!"—HIS VISION—IN THE HANDS OF THE
PHILISTINES.

Hunston had overheard every word uttered.

The full sense of his danger flashed across him.

He was watched, he felt sure.

"Not yet," said Hunston to himself, "not yet. Sooner than let them get hold of me, I'd lay my bones at the bottom of the sea."

With which intention he dropped into the water.

But he did not even touch the bottom, for before he had got far under, he struck out, and after taking a dozen strokes; under water, he came to the surface.

"That's another narrow squeak," he said to himself, as he took in a deep draught of air. "The last time I had to swim for it was in Cuba, and a narrow squeak it was too."

He had been rescued on that memorable occasion by his enemy, Jack Harkaway himself.

"Well, this squares that old account," he said, turning over on his back to float. "He saved me last time. He's the cause this time of my having to take this risk."

He began to look anxiously about him.

There was a boat at no great distance being rowed by two men, so Hunston thought of signalling them.

"Suppose they are some of those wretched Greeks, and recognise me?"

He gave it up.

But he could hardly keep himself afloat now.

What if they did recognise him?

Would they give him up?

Perhaps.

Well, at the worst they could only take his life for his misdeeds, and his life was in sore jeopardy now.

So he resolved to hail the men in the boat.

* * * * *

"Boat ahoy!"

"Hullo!"

"Man overboard!"

The signal of the sinking man caught the quick ears of the two men in the boat, and they pulled towards him double quick.

Hunston caught hold of the side of the boat.

"This arm. Catch under my armpit. There; thanks. I've hurt the other."

Barely rescued from the jaws of death, and yet all his coolness and presence of mind had come back to him.

In a trice he was lying at the bottom of the boat, panting and waiting to recover his breath to renew his thanks for their service.

"Why, mounseer, you speak English," said one of the sailors. Hunston nodded.

"I am English."

"So are we."

"I guessed as much," retorted Hunston, "by the way you pulled to help a poor devil. It was nearly all over with me."

"Just in time. Well, that's one to us, messmate."

"Yes, and you'll find that I'm able to reward you with something more solid than thanks."

"Get along; me and my mate here don't save lives at so much an 'ed."

"I believe you," said Hunston, "but I should be a villain if I did not do something handsome for you if I could."

"I tell you what, mate, you shall lug me and my mate out of the water."

"When you get the chance," laughed the other.

"Jes' so."

"How came you there, though?" demanded the former sailor, suddenly.

"It's a long story," said Hunston, taking breath, and thinking up a good plausible "whacker"; "so I'll tell you without all the details."

"Do."

"There's a very rich and powerful man in this place, who has a very lovely wife. Well, this lady—"

"Casts sheep's eyes at you."

"Ha, ha!"

"Well, that is about it," returned Hunston, laughingly. "It's no fault of mine. I'm sure I never encouraged her. But her husband is precious jealous, and the consequence is that he had got me out to sea in a boat with a gang of murderers—"

"The swabs!"

"Marlinspikes and grampuses!" cried the other.

"They were going to practise a curious trick upon me. It is an institution of their neighbours and masters, the Turks, and they call it the bowstring."

"D—n their fiddling," ejaculated one of the sailors; "I'd like to have 'em here just awhile. I'd bowstring 'em and show 'em what black eyes, and good old English fisticuffs mean."

"I don't think that they would care to be instructed in that," said Hunston.

"I'd, I'd—"

"Let the gentleman go on," said the other.

"Well, the fact is, I got out, jumped overboard and capsized the boat in my struggling, and some of them, I dare say, have gone to the bottom."

"Hurrah!" shouted one of the sailors.

"Hurrah!"

"I hope you finished off the lot of the swabs."

"I don't think that. But anyhow, I'd give a trifle if I could get clear out of this place."

"I can tell you how to do it"

"You can?"

"Yes."

"That's jolly."

"Easily done."

And then the sailor suggested bringing him aboard their ship and introducing him to the skipper.

Hunston listened and then shook his head.

"What," exclaimed the sailor, "won't do?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you; a blessed outcry would be raised, and the skipper would be forced to give me up to be tried."

"Well, they would not dare to play false."

"Not while there was a British man-o'-war in the harbour; but nothing short of that would prevent the villains doing any thing they liked with me. They would go through the mockery of a trial with me, and I should be condemned to death beforehand."

"The wampires."

"Wuss wuss, nor wampires, Joe," said the other sailor, wagging his head gravely.

"There is only one way to get out of this scrape," said Hunston.

"Out with it then."

"Why, earn forty pounds apiece and stow me away on board in the hold, anywhere, until you are out at sea," said the fugitive.

The two sailors looked hard at each other.

"Can't do it."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Unpossible."

"I'll tell you why not. Our skipper is the best commander afloat, on'y he won't have no nonsense. We daresn't do it, we daresn't."

"Right, Joe."

"Now, harkye, messmates," said Hunston. "I'm not the man to get any man to fail in his duty; I wouldn't insult you by mentioning it. But mark my words, your skipper would be the first man to approve of such an act."

They shook their heads.

"Not he."

"I know he would, if what you say of him is right; only, d'ye see, he'd think it his duty to give me up for a fair trial. Well, and what would be the result of that? Why, as soon as you had set sail, they'd just do what they liked with me, and you'd never hear of me again in this world, whereas if I was concealed unknown to the skipper, he'd only be too glad afterwards to have such a good action done on board his ship without his having failed in his duty."

They listened to this, and listening they were lost.

That night Hunston slept in the hold of a ship, the two sailors having contrived to smuggle him on board with the greatest secrecy.

It had been a difficult task for them, and indeed the sailors well earned the money which he gave them.

Not a soul on board the ship, with the exception of the two sailors, had the least idea of his presence there.

They contrived to make him up a very snug hiding-place behind some barrels of sugar and salt pork.

And here they brought him food turn and turn about.

And so he chuckled to himself by day and night at the way in which he had defeated his enemies, and escaped from Greek justice.

* * * * *

For three days and three nights he lay snug and quiet.

This was the most prudent course.

But long before the third night was over, Hunston had grown weary and heartsick of this close confinement.

He had a sharp attack of the blues.

He got drink from the sailors and drank heavily to kill dull care, and this defeated its own end.

He fell off into a heavy sleep and dreamt all sorts of terrible things.

He thought that without knowing it he had fallen into the power of the Harkaways again; that in flying from them he had suddenly, when he thought himself miles away from them and from imminent danger, fallen into their arms.

And so went his alarming dream, when his worst enemies were assembled in judgment over him. Jack Harkaway, Harvey, and Jefferson, together, being his judges, the latter places were suddenly taken by three visitors from the other world.

These were Harry Girdwood, young Jack, and oh, horror! Robert Emmerson, his murdered friend.

His three visitors.

And these three threatened and put him to tortures unimaginable, until he raved, stormed, and wept by turns; and then, broken in body and in spirit, he prostrated himself before them and begged them to kill him, and in this horrible phase of his vision he groaned so loudly that he awoke, to find the perspiration pouring off him in a regular bath.

He was quivering like one suddenly stricken with ague.

Not an inch of his body was free from this fearful palsy.

"Oh, what would I give for the light now!" he thought; "will they never come?"

Yes.

What was that?

Merciful powers! his prayer seemed to be answered.

He saw the faint glimmering of a light

Yes, it was coming this way.

What a relief!

He drew a long, long sigh.

The light stopped suddenly.

Then it was shaded from the part of the hold in which he was hiding.

What could it mean?

Silence was around him.

He stretched forward to ascertain the cause of the light, and there he saw that which froze the very marrow in his bones with fright.

The light was all reflected upon a young, handsome face which he knew but too well—so real, so vivid, so lifelike.

The face, too, with the deathly hue of the grave upon it.

It was young Jack's face, but looking to Hunston's frightened eyes pale as death.

Hunston stared; his optics dilated and appeared ready to start from their sockets.

He gasped, made an effort to articulate, and then his senses forsook him, and he became unconscious.

CHAPTER XL.

HUNSTON'S PERIL—BLACK VISIONS—A DREAM OF VENGEANCE—AN
UNKNOWN DANGER TO THE "WESTWARD HO!"

An explanation of the foregoing is scarcely necessary, we believe.

You bear in mind, of course, that Hunston was utterly ignorant of the miraculous escape of his destined victims—young Jack and Harry Girdwood.

You must bear in mind, too, that although you, friend reader, may give a shrewd guess at the truth, Hunston had not the remotest notion of where he was.

This said, you may perhaps understand the fearful effect of this waking vision upon the guilty wretch.

Bear in mind that he had been lurking in a close and stifling hold, into which no single ray of sunlight penetrated, for three whole days—three long nights.

Unwelcome conscience tapped and would not be deceived.

A man with the guilt of Hunston upon his mind could not afford to be alone—nay, nor in the dark either.

* * * * *

When he recovered consciousness, his first sensations were of burning in the throat, and opening his eyes, he found himself being cared tenderly for by one of the sailors who had brought him there.

"Come, come, I say, mister," said the honest tar, who had had a bit of a fright on finding Hunston's condition, "this won't do, you know."

"I am better now," murmured Hunston, faintly.

"You are a little, precious little. You will have to come on deck now, and chance what the skipper says about the job."

"Yes, yes; I will," said Hunston, waking up.

"He can't kill us."

"Nor eat me," said the stowaway, with a sickly smile.

"Not he."

"Any thing is better than remaining longer here. I believe I should die if I did."

"Then up you come at once, as sure as my name's Jack Tiller."

"Tell me, my friend," Hunston said; "whither are we bound?"

"For the Red Sea."

"Pheugh! A long cruise?"

"Well, yes."

"And then we are going further yet, and to travel on until we touch the coast of Australy."

"The deuce!"

"That's it, sir."

"What's the name of the vessel?"

The sailor laughed.

"What makes you grin?"

"Why, I was wondering, messmate, why you never asked that before."

"My thoughts were too full of getting away."

"Ah, of course."

"What is her name?"

"The 'Westward Ho!' She was formerly the 'Seamew,' and the owner rechristened her."

"What's his name?"

"The skipper's? Why, captain John Willoughby."

"The owner's?"

"Mr. Jack Harkaway."

Had a thunderbolt dropped down in the hold between them, Hunston could not have been more astonished.

"What?"

His tone startled the sailor.

He saw it, and he did his utmost to calm himself.

"Who did you say?"

"Who?" echoed the sailor. "Why, who but Mr. Jack Harkaway? He's well known enough. Surely you don't mean for to go for to say as you never heard of him?"

"I—I think I have heard the name," muttered Hunston.

"Think! Well, so do I, unless you've been shut up in solitary confinement for the last fifteen years. Blow me tight, but the man that hadn't heard of Mr. Jack Harkaway, would be a living curiosity."

"Jack Harkaway the owner of this ship!" Hunston murmured, like one in a dream, and relapsed into silence once more.

No wonder that he had seen that vision.

No wonder that the spirit of the murdered boy, young Jack, should hover about the vessel where his destroyer was hiding—in which his father, mother, and all that he held dear in life were journeying.

The situation grew graver than ever.

It was truly an alarming plight, and the more he thought it over, the more desperate did he become.

"Jack Tiller," said he.

"Your honour."

"I'll stay where I am."

"Oh, very good," replied the tar; "mum's the word. I thought your berth wasn't over cheerful."

Jack Tiller gave a hoist at his slacks, and with something between a sigh and a grunt, he wheeled round and went on deck.

* * * * *

"If I could only see my way out of this, I should like better than any thing to fire the ship," said Hunston, to himself; "fire it and watch it close by, chuckling at them while they roasted. What a glorious return it would be for them. By the powers, it is about the only thing I could do to wipe them all off at once, all, all! Jack, Harvey, Emily, that Yankee braggart—curse him!"

And Hunston sat brooding in the black and evil-smelling hold day after day.

The only companion of his solitude being his own dark thoughts, his vicious resolves for vengeance.

"It is my own cursed ill-luck," he would say to himself again and again, "to be beholden to this Harkaway for my life. Why, even now, he has saved me again, saved me in spite of himself. That's the merry side of the question."

Merry as it was, it never made him smile.

One dreadful thought filled his poor mind.

One fearful fancy took such complete possession of him, that day and night he was brooding on it.

"Once let me see a clear landing," he would mutter to himself, "once let me see my way straight to get ashore in a safe place, and then I'll make the 'Westward Ho!' too hot to hold them. Too hot—ah, yes, a precious deal too hot to hold them, that I would; for I would make up such a blaze as they would never be able to extinguish."

And so he began devoting himself to the arrangements for this villainous purpose.

What is more, he got all his plans mapped out, all ready for the execution of this most diabolical deed.

Little did the happy passengers in the "Westward Ho!" dream of the fatal danger threatening them.

They would not have enjoyed so many sweet slumbers, could they have had the faintest inkling of the truth—if they had suspected that near them was the villain Hunston, following them with a deadly purpose of revenge, which seemed to have increased year by year ever since the schooldays of Jack Harkaway.

CHAPTER XLI.

YOUNG JACK'S CONFIDENCES—HOW TWO INNOCENT CONSPIRATORS
REPENTED—A CHANCE SHOT STRIKES HOME.

"Harry," said young Jack, as they walked up and down the deck arm in arm, "I must tell you something that has been upon my mind for days past."

Harry Girdwood turned round. Young Jack's serious manner impressed him.

"What is it, Jack?"

"I know you'll laugh," began Jack.

"Do you, Jack?" returned Harry Girdwood, promptly; "that being the case, tell me at once. I like to laugh, as you know."

"Well, Harry, it hasn't made me laugh. I was lolling half drowsily over the hatchway there, the other evening, when I suppose I dropped off asleep, and I dreamt of Hunston. I dreamt that I was going through all that ugly scene again, and while in the thick of the dream, something woke me."

"Yes."

"What do you think it was?"

"Can't say."

"Hunston's voice, moaning, groaning with pain apparently."

Harry Girdwood opened his eyes in wonder at this singular speech.

"What are you talking about?"

"Nonsense, rubbish; is it not? So I thought since. But you know that sort of dream when you wake up with the vivid effect of your vision so strongly upon you, that the dream-drama appears to continue after you're awake?"

"Yes."

"Well, that is exactly what happened to me. I heard Hunston when I was awake."

There was something strangely impressive in his manner as he said this, which caught Harry Girdwood's attention in spite of himself.

"Fancy," he said, with an assumption of indifference which he was far from feeling; "fancy, my dear Jack."

"Of course," answered young Jack; "but very strange."

"Not exactly strange, either, every thing considered, after all we have gone through. Why, Jack, you will hardly believe me when I tell you that I scarcely sleep without dreaming of Hunston. And what is there wonderful in that, after all that has taken place? It was enough to shake the strongest nerves, to startle the bravest man that ever lived."

"You allude to the attempted execution of ourselves?" said young Jack.

"Yes; and in spite of that brave brigand girl's assurances, there was great danger when we stood upon the brink of our grave with a firing party aiming at us."

"I felt a good deal of confidence in her," said Jack, "but I couldn't help thinking that an accident in her calculations might happen very easily."

"That's true. Supposing one of the bullets had been left in?"

"Why, then one of us would have been food for worms by now, unless the wolves or bears had rooted us up out of our graves and made dinner off us; but I haven't told you all about my vision yet, Harry."

"Did you dream again?"

"No."

"What more have you, then, to tell? Out with it. What else was it?"

"The moans I heard grew more distinct while I listened, and I followed the sounds—"

"In your sleep?"

"No, awake. I followed the sounds to the hold."

"Well?"

"They were plainer heard there. I pushed my way over the barrels and boxes, and nosed down in all the corners with my bull's eye lantern, when suddenly I heard a half-suppressed cry, a violent gasp rather, as if someone had too suddenly found himself on the edge of a precipice, or had seen a ghost."

"Well, well."

"Well, at that very moment a hand was placed upon my arm."

"Yes."

"I started back and drew my dirk, and then I found my self attacking—"

"Mole?"

"No. Joe Basalt."

Harry Girdwood burst out laughing at this.

"So it was Joe Basalt that was hiding and having a lark with you all the while?"

"I didn't say so," replied young Jack, thoughtfully.

"Why, then, what, in the name of all that's wonderful, do you think it could have been?"

"I don't know, but Joe Basalt chaffed me. He swore I was walking in my sleep; but I have come back upon my old opinion since I have thought the job over."

"You mean that you actually believe there is someone concealed in the hold?"

"Is—or was. Now, you watch Joe Basalt, Harry, and see if there is not some thing very strange in his manner."

"I will, if you like, but—good-morning, Tiller."

This was to Jack Tiller, who came up to them touching his forelock.

"Good-morning, Master Jack—morning, Master Harry. We've got a fishing party on, gentlemen, and thought as you might like to jine us."

"Who's going?"

"Me and Sam Mason, Tommy Shipwright and Bill Adams, Joe Basalt and old Higgy—only that lot among the common folk," added he, with a grin.

"And who among the superior class?" asked young Jack, laughingly.

"Mr. Mole."

"What, Mr. Mole! Why, what on earth is he going for?"

"That's exactly the p'int of it, young gentlemen,"

"How so?"

"We're going a-fishing with something new-fangled which Mr. Mole has inwented."

The two boys looked at each other and grinned.

"Larks are on, Jack," said Harry Girdwood. "I'm in it, for one."

"And I too."

"That's your sort," cried Joe Basalt. "Mr. Harvey's going, too, and Mr. Jefferson; now I go to Mr. Harkaway and ask his consent."

And Joe left them singing—

"Avast!" cries Jack, "do you suppose
I ain't a man my dooty knows?
For liberty afore we goes
To ax the skipper I propose."

And the well-disciplined sailor went to Harkaway's cabin and broached the question.

"All right, Basalt," said Harkaway; "only look sharp after the young gentlemen; you know what boys they are to get into mischief."

"All right, your honour; trust me."

"I do, Joe Basalt," responded Harkaway; "I do, for I know that there was never a straighter or truer man ever trod a deck than you are."

"Come, I say, your honour," remonstrated Joe Basalt, modestly, "draw it mild."

"No deceit about you, I know it; nothing underhand about Joe Basalt."

A sudden thought flashed through the sailor's head, and it brought up a very unpleasant reminder.

With it came a flush to his bronzed face.

He touched his forelock respectfully to Harkaway and ran up stairs.

As he went he muttered to himself—

"I felt like a miserable swab!" he muttered; "a d—d, deceitful son of a sea-cook—that's what you are, Joe Basalt, I wish I'd never had nothing to do with that precious stowaway."

CHAPTER XLII.

SHARK-FISHING—BILLY LONGBOW'S YARNS—TELL THAT TO THE MARINES—A
NOVEL BAIT—HOW MR. MOLE HAD THE LAUGH HIS OWN WAY.

The fishing expedition consisted of two boat-loads.

To wit, the pinnace and the cutter.

In the former were Jefferson, Dick Harvey and four sailors.

In the cutter were young Jack, Harry Girdwood, Mr. Mole, Joe Basalt, Sam Mason, and Jack Tiller.

"Now Jack," said Mr. Mole, settling himself comfortably at the rudder lines; "and you too, my dear Harry, you know, of course, we are going shark-fishing. You understand what that is?"

"I know what a shark is, if you mean that," answered young Jack.

"Rather," said Harry, with a shudder at old recollections "we had a white one after us once."

"A white shark!" said Mr. Mole, beaming upon the boat's crew generally. "Squalus Carcharias, the worst of the family."

"They aren't got no families, axing your pardon, Mr. Mole, sir," said Joe Basalt, "for they eats their own mothers and fathers and children likewise."

"Why, Bill Longbow told me a yarn once, your honour," said Sam Mason, "about a white shark. I mean," he added, nodding at Mr. Mole respectfully, "a squally cockylorium—a blessed rum name for a shark—as devoured all his family for dinner, supped off a Sunday school out for a pleasure-trip in a steamboat, and was a-goin' to wind up with a meal off his own blessed self, when his dexter fin stuck in his swaller, and he brought hisself up ag'in."

A general laugh greeted this sally.

So boisterous was their mirth, that it caught the occupants of the other boat.

"That's Sam Mason at one of his Billy Longbow's yarns," cried a sailor in the pinnace.

"So you had a white shark after you in the water," said Mr. Mole. "Rather unpleasant that."

"It was indeed unpleasant at such close quarters," said Harry Girdwood.

"Very close?" demanded Mr. Mole.

"Not further off than—"

"Than that squally cockylorium is from you now, your honour," cried Sam Mason, pointing behind Mole.

The old gentleman looked quickly behind them, and there, paddling about the stern, was a monstrous white shark.

Mr. Mole slid off his seat to the bottom of the boat with wonderful celerity.

"Don't like the look of him?" said young Jack.

"Ho! I'll tackle him presently, but I—I slipped down," said Mr. Mole.

"So I see, sir."

"And I mean to show you some novel sport in the way of shark-fishing," said the old gentleman.

"You?"

"Yes."

He had brought a large hamper with him, which he now proceeded to unpack, the occupants of the boat looking on with great interest in the business.

"Billy Longbow told me a yarn once," said the irrepressible Sam Mason, "about a wooden-legged nigger."

Mr. Mole looked up.

"What?"

"A wooden-legged nigger," said Sam Mason, touching his forelock respectfully at Mole. "No offence, your honour, to your legs."

"Oh, no."

"Go on, Sam," said young Jack, laughing; "out with Billy Longbow's yarn."

"This nigger was stumping along the banks of the Nile one day, when who should he meet but a blessed big crockydile about a hundred feet long."

"Oh!"

"Draw it mild, Sam."

"Well, that's what Billy Longbow said—a hundred feet long."

"Oh, damme!" cried Joe Basalt, "make it ninety-nine, Sam, for decency sake."

"I won't give in half a foot," persisted Sam. "Well, when Snowball sees Muster Crockydile so near as there was no getting out of the way, he says—'You jist wait a bit, Massa Crock, I'll gib yar suffin to sniff at.' An' so, without more ado, he unscrews one of his wooden legs, and walks into the animal's jaws."

"Oh, oh, oh!"

A general groan of incredulity.

"Absurd," said Mr. Mole, without looking up from his task of watching, in case the shark should again show itself.

"A fact, sir," said Sam Mason. "Well, he holds up his wooden leg perpendicular and the greedy crock comes on with a snap, but the wooden leg was a trifle more than he could get over; there it stuck and propped his great ugly maws wide open; out crawls Snowball, a kind of sorter modern Jonah, none the worse for it."

"Bravo, Sam!"

"Ho! it is quite true, for it's Billy Longbow's version of it," said the modest Sam.

"And is that all?"

"Not quite. He squatted down upon his stump, and prodded the crock in the eye with the other wooden leg until he caved in."

"Oh, oh, oh! Sam, Sam!" they cried in a chorus.

By the time the laugh had subsided, Mr. Mole was ready with his novel fishing-apparatus. Novel, indeed.

He took a soda water bottle, filled with gunpowder and tightly corked, and through the cork was a twisted wire that was attached to the line.

The other end of the line was a small square box, which was furnished with four handles, similar to that of a barrel organ.

One of these handles was to pay out line, another was for winding in.

"And the other two?" demanded Harry Girdwood.

"Simple enough," said Mr. Mole; "this box is a battery, and in my line is a conductor that goes through the cork into the powder. When I feel a tug, a turn or two of my handle here sends a spark into the powder, and our friend the Squalus Carcharias gets a good deal more than he has time to digest."

"I begin to see."

"Really, it is a very great plan, Mr. Mole."

"Now for the pork."

"Pork!"

"Yes."

He had provided himself with a large morsel of fat in a flat strip, and this he proceeded to tie round the soda water bottle with twine.

When this was done, he put out about thirty feet of his telegraphic line, and then hurled his novel bait out to sea.

They looked eagerly out in the direction, and saw the great sea-monster dive swiftly after it.

Then its huge carcase was clearly perceived in the limpid water turning over.

Mole waited a moment.

The line tightened.

"Now for it."

He gave two of his handles several vicious twists.

There was a shock, and a kind of water spout not far off.

Mole chuckled quietly, and wound in his line.

"Do you think it has succeeded?" demanded young Jack, anxiously.

"Do I think, do I know? Of course it has."

They watched the place eagerly, and in the space of a few minutes the carcase of the huge white shark, completely rent asunder, rose to the surface of the water, and floated about.

"Damme!" ejaculated Joe Basalt, "if that ain't the queerest fishing I ever come nigh."

"And ain't Mr. Mole the best fisherman you ever see?"

"That he is."

"Let's give him a cheer; hip, hip, hip!"

"Hurrah!"

And they towed the vanquished shark alongside the "Westward Ho!" while Isaac Mole became the hero of the day.

CHAPTER XLIII.

MORE DEEDS OF DARING—HOW JEFFERSON SHOWED UP IN AN EMERGENCY—SINGLE
COMBAT AND ITS RESULT—MR. MOLE TO THE FORE WITH A FRESH FEAT ON
THE LONGBOW.

"They've got a bite in the cutter," said Parry.

They had, and it seemed to be a strong one. They had got a Tartar.

A big fish was hooked, and dragging their boat through the water at a furious rate.

"We must go and lend them a hand," said young Jack.

They laid down to their work, and were soon upon the scene of the strife.

Aye, strife is the correct expression.

Strife it was.

A steam tug could not have dragged them along at a better pace, or have made resistance more hopeless.

"Pull hard."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Lay down to it, my lads," cried old Mole, excitedly; "look how they are flying through the water."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"I remember Billy Longbow once," began Mason.

"Hang Billy Longbow now!" said Joe Basalt.

"Yes, let's bag this fish first and then—"

"Ain't Mr. Mole got another of his soda water bottles?"

"Lots of bait," replied Mr. Mole; "but the tackle isn't up to the mark."

"Now he's slackening."

"Yes—he's getting blown."

"Now he rises."

So he did.

As they spoke, the flight of the cutter was checked, and a huge shark rose to the surface of the water for air.

A couple of fowling pieces gave him a warm greeting, but without appearing to damage him much.

The pinnace now pulled sharply round, and young Jack, standing up on the head of the boat, held the harpoon ready for use when they should be within reach.

The moment was soon found.

The harpoon flew from his grasp whizzing through the air, and struck the quarry.

Tough as his hide was, the harpoon would not be denied admission.

The shark snorted as it was struck, and dived down, down, until the line grew taut.

Had there been but a single line to hold the voracious monster in check, it would have been but little use, so violent was the struggle, and so desperately sudden was the strain.

But the two lines worked well together now.

Much as the shark objected to their company, he had no choice but to cruise about within the comparatively narrow limits of his tether.

"Beast!" said Dick Harvey, snapping a pistol as it rose once more to the surface. "You take a thundering lot of killing."

"This must be settled," said Jefferson.

"How?"

"I'll show you," returned the Yankee, promptly.

He drew his bowie, and watching the shark intently for a moment, he sprang over the boat's side into the sea.

A cry of horror arose from one and all.

What could this mean?

Suicide—the maddest suicide that ever man had contemplated.

Nothing could save him now.

Nothing.

"Jefferson!" ejaculated Harvey.

"Hush!" cried one of the sailors, with suppressed excitement; "don't worrit. Let him have the same chance as the shark at any rate."

It wanted a bold fellow to do such a deed as this, but Jefferson was a bold fellow, few bolder.

He was no braggart; but his self-confidence was amazing, and it brought him through many and many a desperate strait.

Would it bring him through this present affair?

Doubtful—sadly doubtful, indeed.

The wounded shark caught sight of the intrepid American, and all heedless of its hurts, dived after him.

The spectators held their breaths.

Jefferson rose to the surface in an instant, drew a long breath, and then down he plunged again.

Barely was he under when up came the shark snorting, puffing, and blowing.

There was a momentary pause just then.

Then its huge tail lashed the water into foam and it rolled over, the water surrounding it being crimsoned with its life blood.

"That's another gone coon," said Sam Mason exultingly.

As he spoke, Jefferson shot up to the boat's side, where half a dozen eager hands dragged him in.

"Phew!" he said, shaking the water from his face and head, "that beast has cost me my knife and my cutlass."

He had sheathed them both in the shark before the ugly beast was done with.

The spectators gave him a cheer.

"That's sharp work, Jack," said Harry Girdwood.

"Sharp, indeed."

"It wants a quick hand and a sharp eye."

"And it has got it, too, there," said Isaac Mole, enthusiastically; "the smartest performance I've seen for many a long day."

Jefferson nodded and smiled at the speaker.

"Thank'ee, Mr. Mole," said he; "such praise is indeed gratifying coming from you, the real hero of the day."

Mr. Mole was radiant with smiles at this.

"Jefferson," said the old gentleman, in his most condescending and patronising manner, "you remind me of myself in my best days."

The boat's crew generally laughed at this.

But Mr. Mole was not at all abashed.

"Really, Mr. Mole," said Jefferson, "you flatter."

"Not I," protested Mr. Mole; "I rarely remember doing a neater thing myself."

"Indeed!"

"Truly."

"Is it possible?"

"What magnanimity!"

"Humility itself," ejaculated another.

The exaggeration of their expressions of wonderment as well as admiration did not at all upset Mr. Mole's moral equilibrium.

He had a very large swallow for admiration, and he pleased to take it all as his legitimate due.

"The only thing which can at all compare to Mr. Jefferson's gallant deed was an adventure that I will tell you of," said he, modestly. "I was on a whaling expedition up north——"

"Whaling?"

"You!"

"Yes, yes, I, Jack. What is there surprising in that?"

"Nothing, sir," responded young Jack; "only I was not aware you had ever done any thing in that line."

"Now, how can you expect to know all my past career, my dear boy?"

"Of course, sir."

"Whaling, I repeat. We were chasing an enormous spermaceti whale. I was carrying the harpoon and tackle, and as we got within range I let fly at him with all my force. Now, perhaps I ought not to say it, but there were not many men who could approach me in handling the harpoon. I spitted the animal clean through the middle."

"Dear me!"

"No sooner did he feel himself struck than he sounded. Out went the line, but hang me if I could pay out fast enough, for he jerked me clean off my perch into the water."

"Dreadful!"

"Shocking!"

Mr. Mole smiled grimly.

"Not so bad as it sounds, after all," he said. "It startled me a bit, as you may suppose."

"It would, of course," said Dick, tipping the wink to Jefferson.

"But I had got back my presence of mind in half a crack, so I hauled in my line until I found myself on the whale's back. There I stuck on like grim death, jobbing and stabbing away with one hand, while I held on to the hilt of the harpoon with the other. I had only a dirk or short sword with me, but it was quite long enough for the whale."

"No doubt, no doubt," exclaimed Dick.

"In a few minutes I had jobbed all the go out of him, and he floated on the top of the water dead as a bloater, with me on the top, rather blown with being so long under water, but with that excepted, not much the worse for it."

"Wonderful!"

"Marvellous!"

"A miracle!"

Such were the mildest tributes of admiration which Mr. Mole's fanciful reminiscence drew forth.

"You must have shipped a good lot of water, your honour," said Jack Tiller.

"That I did."

"More water than your honour has ever took since."

Mr. Mole half smelt a lurking sarcasm in this, but the honest tar's face showed no signs of slyness.

The only evidence of it being a dig at Mr. Mole's well-known weakness for strong waters was to be found in the merry twinkling of the listeners' eyes.

"I remember something that happened to Billy Longbow—" began Sam Mason.

"Avast, Sam!" interrupted Jack Tiller; "Billy Longbow ain't in it with Mr. Mole at a yarn."

CHAPTER XLIV.

HUNSTON'S TRIALS IN THE HOLD OF THE "WESTWARD HO!"—THE SHINE
WITH HIS PROTECTORS—A STRANGE REVELATION—TROUBLES.

Hunston was, meanwhile, getting into a very bad state of mind.

The mechanical arm was resuming its invidious advance—its mysterious yet none the less terrible attack.

"I feel that I am going off the hooks," he would mutter to himself, grimly, from time to time. "I shall put my old enemy Jack Harkaway to the trouble of burying me after all.

"Well, one good turn deserves another. I buried his brat, he shall bury me. Only he won't get as much for doing for me as I did for his son."

He little dreamt that both young Jack and Harry Girdwood were upon that ship.

He had seen young Jack once, and then his fears were so excited that they obtained a complete mastery over his cooler judgment.

He took him for his own apparition.

* * * * *

Joe Basalt and Jack Tiller felt unhappy.

They had long learnt to repent of their slyness in concealing the stowaway on board the "Westward Ho!"

Honest Joe Basalt and rough-and-ready Jack Tiller consulted daily over the dilemma into which they had fallen.

"Hark ye, Jack," said his pal Basalt, "we've bin an' made hasses of ourselves in getting that chap aboard, but our dooty is clear now."

"What's that?"

"To go and make a clean breast of it to the skipper."

"But the cove himself seemed so particular avarse to that."

"Cos why? Ain't he bin telling lies by the pint measure? He's been humbugging of us," persisted Basalt.

"Let's go and talk reasonable to him, then," said Tiller, "for this must come to an end. Damme, if I don't feel as if I'd been an' done a hanging job at the very least."

They went to the hold and found Hunston.

The appearance of the wretched stowaway was by this time something dreadful.

"We have come to the conclusion, mister," said Joe Basalt, "that there is nothing for it but to let the skipper know all."

Hunston pricked up his ears at this.

"Do what?" he exclaimed, violently. "Split upon me, would ye?"

"That's a rum word to use," said Joe Basalt. "You are precious feverish, and if you only was to see our skipper and let him know what you told us when we picked you out of the water, he would help you—"

"To a halter," muttered the castaway.

"Did you speak?"

"No, Tiller, not I: I was only saying that he wouldn't care to see me, so drop it."

"We can't"

"Can't," repeated Joe Basalt.

"Then listen to me," exclaimed Hunston, starting up with new energy; "if you tell a word about me to anyone it will be a breach of faith and I shall resent it."

"Resent! How?"

"Easily."

"Well, if you means threatening me. I may as well tell you I ain't afeared of no man, and when you gets round and pulls up your strength again, I shall be happy to have half an hour with you quiet and comfortable, and my pal, Jack Tiller, shall stand by and see fair play."

And honest Joe rolled up his shirt sleeves showing to the villain Hunston a pair of powerful and brawny arms.

"I don't mean that," said Hunston.

"But I do."

"And so do I," added Jack Tiller.

"I mean to say that if you betray me to Harkaway or to any of the party, I shall make a point of letting them know that you kept me snug here so long because you were well paid for it, and it may not please your master, perhaps, to learn that you are doing a little passenger traffic upon your own account; and what's better, sticking to the money you make over it."

This staggered the two sailors not a little.

"You lying, black-hearted swab," ejaculated Tiller, when he had got his breath. "Would you dare?"

Hunston curled his lip contemptuously.

"Dare!"

"Why, you sneaking, lying Judas," cried Basalt.

"Lying!" echoed Hunston; "is it not true?"

"No."

"Not true that I paid you for saving me and bringing me here?"

"Yes; but—"

"But—but—but pickles. The tale I shall tell will speak for itself."

"Then, damme, you shall try it on now," ejaculated the exasperated Joe Basalt, moving towards the companion ladder.

But before he could get any further, Hunston sprang before him, knife in hand.

"Hold!"

"Stand aside," cried Joe.

"When you have sworn not to utter a word; but not till then—not till then."

The two sailors stared at each other in surprise at this outburst.

"Well, Joe," exclaimed his comrade, "did you ever see such a black-hearted villain?"

"Not I. But put of the way with you, swab, or, damme, I'll make small biscuit of you."

So saying, he ran at Hunston, and knocked the knife out of his hand.

Hunston endeavoured to close with him.

But the temporary strength with which his fury had invested him vanished suddenly, and he fell to the ground, a dull, heavy load.

They ran to raise him.

To their dismay they discovered that he was breathless—lifeless.

"He's dead!"

"Is he? Then, by the Lord Harry, we must go and fetch the doctor, or we shall get into an awful mess. Stay here, Joe, awhile. I'll go up and see for the doctor."

"Stop a bit," said Joe Basalt, feeling the stowaway's chest. "He's not dead yet. I can feel something moving here. Yes, it's beating."

"He's only fainting, then."

"Yes."

"Quite enough, top. I'll go up and let them know, before he can go on again about it."

Up he ran.

Joe Basalt used his best exertions to bring the swooning man round.

* * * * *

Tiller found Harkaway on deck.

"Might I have half a word with your honour?"

"A dozen, if you like, Tiller," said old Jack, turning from the party of daring fishermen, who had been relating their deeds of daring with the sharks, and was quite elated with the narrations which they had been giving.

Jack Tiller hummed and ha'd, and looked uneasy, and so he pulled his forelock and spluttered out—

"Please, sir, I've been and gone on like a darned bad lot, your honour."

"Tiller!"

"Yes, your honour, I have. I've been and let a berth here on board, and stuck to the money—leastways, that's what the passenger himself says, though, the Lord help me, I hadn't the least idea of doing such a thing; not I. I took a poor drowning wretch in, and I put him below in the hold to keep him snug, and—"

Here Harkaway interrupted him with a cry of wonder and astonishment.

"What, Tiller, you mean to say you have a stowaway on board the 'Westward Ho?'"

"Yes, your honour," responded the frightened mariner.

"You have done very wrong, Jack Tiller," said Harkaway, "very wrong indeed."

"I know I have, though Lord help me if I thought of wronging any man. The poor devil in gratitude, offered me money, and I took it; and now I feel as if I had been robbing your honour, that's all. But I'll be glad to hand over the money, and so will my pal, Joe Basalt."

"Joe!"

"Yes."

"Is he in it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You surprise me."

"Devil a bit do I wonder at that, sir. We're a thieving, dishonest lot, sir, little as I thought it, sir."

Old Jack smiled at this.

"Well, well," he said, after a moment's reflection, "we'll go deeper into that question when we have seen your stowaway."

"This way, sir," said the worthy Tiller.

Old Jack followed him down below.

On reaching the hold, he found Joe Basalt kneeling up in a corner over the wretched stowaway, who was still in a deep swoon.

"How is he?" asked Tiller. "Any better yet?"

"No."

"Fainted again?"

"Yes—hush! don't make a row."

"Here's the governor, Joe," said Jack Tiller.

Joe Basalt turned round with a start, and hung his head abashed.

"It's all right, Joe," said Harkaway, "Don't worry any more about it; only you were wrong to conceal it from me, that's all. And now let us look at the patient. He is ill, Jack Tiller tells me."

"Yes, your honour."

"Turn your lantern upon his face."

The sailor opened his bull's-eye.

As its glare flashed upon the half swooning man, he opened his eyes.

The recognition was mutual—yes, and instantaneous.

The stowaway glared fiercely upwards, and uttered but one word—

"Harkaway!"

"Hunston!"

CHAPTER XLV.

GOOD FOR EVIL—AN UNEXPECTED STROKE OF LUCK FOR HUNSTON.

Harkaway, the noble and generous, and Hunston, the villain from boyhood to manhood, together—face to face!

After all these changes and trials and vicissitudes.

After all these acts of villainy, treachery, and cruelty upon the part of the miserable wretch Hunston. After so many acts of daring upon the part of our dashing hero, Jack Harkaway.

Not a word was spoken for some moments.

This strange encounter literally deprived them of the power of utterance.

It was unexpected to both of them.

Startling—appalling was it to Hunston upon regaining consciousness, to find himself face to face with the man of all others he dreaded and hated most.

Need we say why?

No.

The reader has not, of course, forgotten that Hunston was ignorant of the two boys' preservation. Little did he dream that those two destined victims had, by little less than a miracle, escaped his vengeance.

Bitter, indeed, therefore, were his feelings now, for he fully believed that young Jack was in his grave in the Greek mountains.

Under any ordinary circumstances he would have felt tolerably easy, for well as he knew what an ugly customer was Jack Harkaway in a tussle, he was also aware that Jack would not take advantage of an enemy's powerless condition, no matter how deep were the wrongs inflicted.

The murder of Harkaway's boy, Hunston knew well, was a crime which Harkaway would never look over.

His fate was sealed.

So deeply was he convinced of this that he would have laid violent hands upon himself if he had had the power.

But the crowning crime of self-murder he was powerless to commit.

"So, Hunston," said Harkaway, sternly, "we meet face to face once more."

Hunston was silent.

What could he say?

"What new villainy brought you here?" said Harkaway. "What fresh act of devilry had you in contemplation when you got on board my vessel?"

Hunston gave him a sickly and scornful smile.

"Do you suppose that I knew where I was?"

"Yes."

Hunston stared.

"Then all I have to say is, that you haven't improved in wit or wisdom with increasing years. Why, the merest chance brought me here. I am not guilty of gratitude as a rule, you will say."

"True."

"You haven't the satisfaction of saying it," retorted Hunston, quickly; "I have said it for you. But the two men who hid me here had no idea who I was. Being hard pressed on shore—where you made it too hot to hold me—I took to the water, and when I was nearly sinking, I hailed their boat. They took me in and—"

"And you returned the compliment."

"How?"

"By taking them in," said Harkaway.

"They hid me away here to do me a service. I made my tale good to them. As my time, I feel, is nearly up in this world, I don't want to do them any wrong."

Harkaway listened in some astonishment.

The wretch's allusion to his approaching end thrilled Harkaway strangely.

"Do you feel so ill?" he asked.

Hunston smiled sardonically at this.

"Nearly all over," was his reply. "Laugh away—laugh away!"

"Hush, miserable man, hush!" exclaimed Harkaway. "You have known me nearly all my life; you knew me as a schoolboy and as a man."

"Yes."

"And no one has better reason than you to know that Jack Harkaway does not fight with helpless enemies, still less does he rejoice over the sufferings of the worst foe he ever had."

Hunston looked up.

A faint gleam of hope appeared in this.

But no; it was impossible.

Too well he knew that his life was forfeited.

But while he was ruminating thus, Harkaway had sent one of the men up on deck to fetch the doctor.

In the course of two or three minutes the man returned, accompanied by the ship's surgeon.

"A stowaway on board the 'Westward Ho!'" said the doctor, as he entered the hold; "I should sooner have expected to find one on board a man-of-war."

"Examine him, please, doctor," said Harkaway anxiously, "and let us know how he is."

The doctor made no reply, but proceeded without any fuss or demonstration to feel the sick man's pulse.

"Very low," he said; "in a bad way. We must get him up out of this place, for it is enough to choke a black."

He was tended as carefully as if he had been one of their best friends, instead of the bitterest, the most treacherous of their enemies; and, strange to relate, Jack Harkaway appeared not a little concerned about the villain's welfare.

"Do you think that there is any danger?" he asked.

"Immediate, do you mean, sir?" said the doctor.

"Yes."

"Humph! I can scarcely say. Not exactly immediate, perhaps, if care be taken."

"You think he will live?"

"Unless the fever which has set in should take an unfavourable turn. He is constitutionally strong."

"I know that."

The doctor looked at Harkaway in some surprise.

"You are a bit of a doctor, Mr. Harkaway?"

Jack smiled.

"A very small bit," he answered; "only I have known this man nearly all my life."

"Indeed!"

The doctor's manner invited confidence, and it was quite clear that his curiosity had been awakened.

Harkaway thought it over quickly and quietly, and he came to the conclusion that he could not do better than let the doctor participate in the secret.

"You are surprised that an old acquaintance of mine should be here on board my ship, lurking and skulking as a stowaway?"

"Well," answered Doctor Anderson, in a constrained manner, "if I confess the honest plain truth, I am."

"It is simple enough; the man did not know that he was on my vessel, or it would be about the last vessel in the world he would have chosen for refuge."

"Refuge?"

"Yes; refuge is the word. Now I am the worst man in the world at half confidences. Tell me, are you a good man to keep a secret, doctor?"

"I am."

"Then I may tell you something that will rather startle you."

"You will?"

"Yes. That poor wretch you have the charge of is the worst enemy that I have. It is my old schoolfellow, Hunston."

"Hunston!"

"Yes. You remember the name, I perceive."

"I do. But is it possible that the villain has the audacity to venture here?"

"No; that is just what he would not do. He took to the water, being hardly pressed by his enemies."

"Why, if your men knew who it was, they would tear him piecemeal."

"Exactly; and that's what I wanted to speak of to you, doctor. We must take every care not to let them know."

"Really, you are as careful of him as though he were a cherished friend."