In less than two weeks no fewer than four hundred messages had been sent off.

“Surely,” thought our heroes, “one will be found.”

But Antonio when appealed to only answered—

“If it is God’s will, dearie, your plan will be successful.”

. . . . . .

The open water near to which the Zingara was anchored on the sandbank, or rather bank of clay, was the constant resort of birds of every description, and strange fishes too. More than one whale with calves had come to bask in the sunshine here, and sharks were very common.

Shoals of porpoises too would suddenly appear, splashing and dashing, and making the water boil with the motion their gambols excited. They even emitted a kind of cooing sound, but finally they disappeared as suddenly as they had come.

Barclay, with the weed-cutting boat, had forced his way into this strange open lake several times, and marvelled to find that the water was at least ten degrees warmer in the centre than it was around the ship. He marvelled more one day when all around him, right in the midst of the lake, the water began to bubble. At the same time deep submarine muffled thunders could be heard, and a strong sulphureous gas filled all the air around.

This spot had, no doubt, been at one time an oceanic volcano, and it might burst out at any time.

. . . . . .

One day while fishing with deep-sea lines in this open lake, Barclay saw the balloon slowly ascend from the ship, with Antonio alone on board.

It passed over the boat, and the captain waved his handkerchief and looked down. He was answered by a heartfelt lusty cheer, for there was not a man now in the boat who did not love and revere their weird wee captain.

Barclay continued to fish, while Teenie, who seemed to be in a peculiarly happy frame of mind to-day, lolled back among the cushions, and sung sweet little songs to the crew, accompanying herself on the mandoline.

This was certainly idyllic, and the day was glorious. Not too hot either, for fleecy little cloudlets shaded them from the fiercer rays of sunshine.

Barclay was on good terms with himself, for he had hauled in some lordly cod and other edible fishes, with which the sea here literally swarmed.

Fishing was continued for at least two hours. Teenie had ceased to sing and play, and the mandoline lay quietly on her breast, while with head thrown back and rosy parted lips, she had fallen fast asleep.

A beautiful child never looks more beautiful than in the innocence of healthful slumber.

Barclay was looking at her, and he suddenly made a discovery. It was this: he loved this little fisher lass. Only a boy’s love, we may grant, but it had raised a heaven in his heart that never was there before.

He could not help wondering to himself if, when older, she would retain her soft and marvellous beauty, and if she would continue to love him as he knew she did now. I cannot explain this, but tell you for a fact, that Barclay would rather have died with Teenie now, than live to see her grow up and, mayhap, confer her affections on another.

And still gazing on her, but turning his thoughts inwards, this strange boy began to pray. I wish every boy who reads my stories were like him, for he went to the Father with every trouble he had, no matter how trivial, and he never left without a feeling of hope and comfort.

To-day Barclay was still deep in thought, and the men were lying on their oars simply waiting for orders, when suddenly there came a bolt from the blue, as it were. High up in the air a shot seemed to have been fired that shook even the boat. One startled glance upwards revealed the terrible fact that the balloon had burst in mid air, and was all in rags and tatters, while with inconceivable swiftness downwards rushed the basket, with Antonio clinging to it.

The balloon must have been fully 1500 feet high in air when it burst, and it seemed that nothing could save poor Antonio.

No wonder that the men’s gaze was riveted to the swift-descending wreck.

Barclay clutched the side of the boat and held his breath as if spell-bound, while a strange kind of sickness, born perhaps of this new terror, came creeping over his heart.

Teenie had awoke, and was weeping low to herself.

For just a moment Barclay thought he was about to faint.

But when at last the wreck struck the sea with a sounding thud, all feeling of fear and sickness was banished as if by magic.

“Give way, lads; give way,” he cried. “We may at least save the body of our captain from the sharks.”

The men gave way with a will.

The wreck of the balloon had fallen within seventy yards of them.

It was a race between the boat and the horrid Squalidæ (sharks of different kinds) that infested the warm lake.

Antonio’s body was floating on its back, and he looked peaceful and asleep.

It was saved only just in time.

One of the black men brought the whole weight of a cannibal’s battle-axe club and his own immense strength to bear upon a hammer-headed shark that had sprung from the depths to seize what he took for his lawful prize, and next moment the hideous creature floated dead on the surface of the water.

CHAPTER VIII

STRANGE ADVENTURES—SECRETS OF THE SEA

At Sister Leona’s request there were jars of hot water placed at the feet and both sides of the chest.

In half-an-hour she nodded and smiled to Barclay, and the boy knew there was hope. The pulse had begun to beat once more, though feebly, and the breathing was perceptible, but very feeble.

Even Teenie dried her eyes now.

“Keep the ship as quiet as possible,” whispered Leona. “Everything now depends on sleep.”

“And you do not think he will die?”

“Quite the contrary; though it is a case of brain concussion, it is slight, and I can give you the assurance that all will be well in a week.”

Two hours afterwards Antonio, to the delight of his watchers, opened his eyes and began to speak feebly. He evidently did not know where he was, however, or what had occurred.

He held out a feeble hand to Davie.

“O José, José, my own, my best of brothers,” he said, “to see you once again, dearie! But how white your hair is, and how wan your face. Ah! won’t mother be glad to meet us again. ‘Carissima’ we used to call her, José, and ‘Carissima’ she still shall be.”

But now Sister Leona laid a finger on his lips.

This recalled him somewhat from his wanderings.

“Drink this and sleep,” she said.

He did as told, and presently went off again into a dreamless sleep, without either twitching or movement of a muscle.

After concussion of the brain there is sometimes fierce reaction.

In Antonio’s case there was none.

After severe concussion, the patient is seldom, if ever, the same man again. But to draw to a conclusion this story of Antonio’s accident, the captain was his old self again in two weeks’ time, and in three weeks his lady doctor, Sister Leona, permitted him once more to play and sing.

. . . . . .

The weed patches in this Sea of Sargasso are constantly shifting, except in the very centre, where the gulf-weeds are packed and piled in such masses, that no earthly power could ever force a passage through them.

Here, too, they probably fill the sea to its bottom, and packed thus, will in all probability become in time great coal islands, that may supply fuel for future generations.

Barclay had resumed his explorations far in through the weedy ocean. Sometimes he found a lane of water leading in a tortuous manner through the dark brown meadows. Then if a little breeze was blowing favourable for return as well as advance, a sail would be set, and explorations carried further over the ocean of weeds. But he did not forget that at any moment these canals might close up behind him, and render his passage back to the ship difficult, if not impossible.

He invariably took little Teenie with him on his expeditions.

Indeed, to tell the truth, little Teenie was just a wee bit self-willed, and refused to be left behind.

I could not name to you half the strange things—flotsam and jetsam—that Barclay found during his daring explorations. There were casks innumerable, the remains of boats and derelicts, that soon must sink owing to the load of shell-fish and lime-deposit attached to them; trees uncountable; boxes also, and once a bottle. This was found floating in a lane of water, intact, for its cork was closely sealed, and the top wrapped round with canvas. It was, moreover, encased with several bands of tarry rope, destined, no doubt, to act as buffers against the rocks.

These buffers were covered with no deposit, nor did any shells adhere to them; even bivalves will not cling to a tarry substance.

Barclay could not wait till he got on board, but broke the bottle open. Strange, indeed, was the document enclosed, and it proved that the bottle must have floated about for thirty years and over.

Yes, strange and sad was the missive.

“On fire. Nothing can save us. All boats destroyed. Sinking fast. We commend our souls——”

The message broke off abruptly here. There had been no more time. The brave fellows had thrown the bottle into the sea, and now—

On a heaped-up bank of seaweed one day Barclay found quite a quantity of birds’ nests, those of a large species of gull, plentiful enough in this Sea of Sargasso.

He felt a little compunction in taking them away, but it seemed a necessity, although Barclay was certainly not one of those self-conceited saints who believe that every creature and thing in this world was made for man’s use. Says some poet—Pope, I think, though I cannot be sure, for a man’s memory plays him queer tricks at times, and causes him, in cold blood, to murder the best of quotations—

One night, however, Barclay got belated, and finding he could not reach the Zingara that night, determined to lie where he was.

The sun had gone down so suddenly, that though the ship was but five miles off, and they could see her great lantern a-swing at the masthead, they would not dare to fight the weeds at night.

But Barclay’s plan suited romantic wee Teenie very much indeed.

She clapped her hands first with delight, then growing serious all of a sudden, she put her hand on Barclay’s arm, and leaning confidingly towards him—

“Of course,” she asked, “no wobbley-wobbley beasts will come up to kill us?”

“You are perfectly safe, Teenie dear.”

“Well,” she added, “I’ll say my prayers and make sure.”

Off came every cap, and no one spoke till Teenie got up from off her knees and once more seated herself among the cushions.

It was an ideal tropical night. The stars were all out, and shining with ineffable clearness. A gentle breeze blew over the great brown sea in a kind of gentle whisper, and far away on the western horizon great white clouds had banked up, behind which the summer lightning or “fire flaughts” played incessantly.

For a long time Barclay and Teenie sat side by side talking low together about the dear old times, as the child called them, and all their fishing adventures and wild escapades in the woods and on the hills and moors.

But she heaved a deep sigh at last.

“Oh dear me!” she said, “I suppose all these happy days will never return.”

“They may, little pet.”

“Well,” said Teenie, “Sister Leona prays every night, and I’m just going to do the same. She says God is sure to hear us some day. Do you think, Barclay, that God ever comes to this ugly brown sea?”

“Oh yes; all the beautiful birds are His, and we are all His, and He loves us.”

“Ah!” she cried, “of course the birds are His, but not the ugly sharks. They belong to the bad man. Oh, I know nicely they do.”

“And now, Teenie, are you not going to tune your mandoline and sing a little to us?”

“Yes, do, missie,” said one of the men, reloading his pipe.

Simple little songs they were, sweet and clear; many were lullabies, that almost sent the men to sleep.

But bedtime came at last. A sentry was set, and the men lay down.

Barclay tucked Teenie up on the after-seat of the boat, bade her good-night, kissed her by order, then curled up himself at the bottom of the boat.

Nor did he or she awake until the sun glared red across the Sargasso Sea, encrimsoning even the dark brown weedy billows—a scene of such beauty, that it could not be depicted even by the aid of the best of magic-lanterns.

Teenie awoke happy and smiling, and looked down at Barclay.

“Poor boy!” she said, “all alone all the long, long night.”

He drew water for her in a pannikin, and she performed a little salt-water toilet, such as the mermaids do. Barclay followed suit, and both felt refreshed.

Then a fire of wood was made on an iron plate in the bottom of the boat, and fish were fried and coffee made.

Barclay never went away on an ocean picnic of this kind without taking every necessary of camplife with him, so no wonder Teenie delighted to accompany him.

All felt like giants refreshed now, and the battle with the weeds was recommenced.

In less than three hours they were safe alongside the Zingara.

But something strange was soon going to happen, though they could not yet tell what it might be.

Anyhow, the glass fell lower than ever it had done since they entered the Sea of Sargasso.

That night the centre of the lake appeared wonderfully agitated, and a dark cloud lay close over it.

The wind—quite a breeze for this great ocean backwater—was blowing from the ship towards the submarine volcano—for it was nothing less—so that those on board the Zingara were but little inconvenienced by sulphureous fumes.

But all night long the lightning played incessantly in the dark cloud that hovered over the ocean-covered crater, and low muttering thunder was heard, while every now and then the ship was shaken fore and aft.

With the single exception perhaps of Teenie herself, no one lay down to sleep till far into the short hours of morning. But tired and weary now, our heroes stretched themselves on deck at last, and were soon forgetful of all around them.

Day was breaking when they awoke and staggered to their feet.

Their first glances were turned towards the submarine volcano.

All was peaceful and still.

The dark cloud was there no longer.

The breeze itself had almost died away, but a heavy swell, greater than any they had yet experienced, was rolling in from the far-off blue sea, which told them plainly that a violent storm or tornado must have been raging in the south.

The ship rose and fell and rolled, and the disagreeable motion altogether reminded them of the doldrums of the equator.

Wonders really never cease on this mysterious sea.

Barclay went to the masthead, nay, he even shinned up to the very truck itself to look around him.

The discoveries he made were interesting.

First and foremost, the lake of open and weedless water had increased to double its size; secondly, the derelict “ship of the dead,” which they had formerly visited, had drifted much nearer to them; thirdly, a broad lane of water stretched from the open sea as far as eye could reach into the ocean of weeds to the west; last and not least, adown this canal, borne along by the light wind, and wheeling round and round in the current, was another derelict.

“Still another secret of the sea,” said Barclay.

“True,” replied Davie Drake; adding, “Do you remember Longfellow’s poem? how

CHAPTER IX

AT THE DERELICT AGAIN

But the hook-end of the rope-ladder was pitched on board, and caught on.

The men held it till Barclay clambered up to the top of the bulwark.

He stood there for a moment holding on to a portion of the slimy rigging which still remained, for indeed a wondrous sight lay before him on the deck below.

The whole of it was covered with the nests of sea-birds, built chiefly with dried seaweed, and lined with rags. These rags told a tale—they were undoubtedly the tattered remains of dead men’s clothes, and must have been torn from the bodies of sailors that lay dead in derelicts not so ancient as this. Some of the rags were red, others blue.

But every nest was filled with beautiful eggs. Blue or green they were, and prettily streaked and blotched with black.

Save the birds—and they were in myriads, their screaming and noise being deafening—there was no living creature on board. Shells of molluscs, bivalves, and small crabs, however, lay about plentifully, and even the bones of fishes, nor was the odour that rose from the deck at all captivating to the nasal organs.

It is always sad, and at most times sinful, to harry or rob the nests of birds, but in this case Barclay considered it a case of necessity, so with but few scruples of conscience the boat was loaded with eggs.

There were one or two skeletons on the deck, the green bones of which told a sad tale of suffering. Inside the ribs birds had built their nests. Down below there was absolutely nothing to give a clue to the name of the ship or to elucidate the mystery. When told of this, Antonio believed that she had been hurriedly deserted at sea, and afterwards had floated into the Sargasso Sea; that the men who had died on board had probably been sick, and thus were left behind to die in lonesome misery.

The eggs were put in salt, and formed an excellent and wholesome addition to the now waning contents of the larder.

. . . . . .

When morning at length broke red across the brown sea, it was found that something strange had happened during the night, for there were no signs of the derelict, and all the birds had dispersed.

“No doubt,” said Antonio to Barclay, “the shaking of the ship by your men trampling about as they gathered the eggs had opened an old leak, kept shut before, perhaps, by weeds, and a rotten plank or two. She would then rapidly go down and sink.”

. . . . . .

A time came at last when death seemed but a measurable distance off—death by starvation.

Already Antonio had found it necessary to place all hands on a diminished allowance with the exception of Teenie and Sister Leona, though the latter could scarcely be prevailed upon to acquiesce in the arrangement.

“Ah, but, dear sister,” said Antonio, “our men may soon fall sick. We depend upon you to nurse them. You must not let yourself sink.”

The coals were nearly all used up by this time.

There was still arrowroot left, biscuits, the eggs, and some tinned meat, but nothing else, with the exception of preserved coffee, sugar, and tea, and a few pieces of pork.

I must except tobacco, however. Old hardy sailors, reader, may smoke, but the weed invariably weakens the hearts of boys who use it.

. . . . . .

Food was eked out now with everything it was possible to get of an edible kind. Fish were caught daily; sometimes more than could be used, for scarcely would they retain their freshness for four hours.

Seaweed was considered a delicacy both fore and aft. So too were the succulent little brown crabs and different species of molluscs. Many of the latter were eaten raw to save fire.

For on fire their very lives depended. Without it water could not be condensed.

With Archie and our younger heroes, the captain one day went round the ship below and above.

“You see, lads,” he said, “the coals won’t last a very long time, and water we must have.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I think with economy we may be able to live six months longer.”

“Oh, sir, the coals won’t last six weeks.”

“True, mate, true, but we’ll burn the bulkheads and every timber or spar below we can spare, though we make a shell of the ship.”

“Won’t there be danger of her floating too lightly then and rolling under?”

“No, I shall look out for that. I shall load up with sand ballast dredged from below.”

“Well thought of!”

“Ah, lad! danger and misadventure make one wondrous wise.”

. . . . . .

For the first time since their imprisonment the great diving lift was swung overboard, and Barclay, who, it must be owned, was chief favourite with Antonio, descended in it to the sea’s dark depths.

These dark depths, however, were speedily illuminated by electric light.

Not only so, but a flash-light was turned on, and directed through the great glass window away into the blackness of darkness beyond. The effect was magical.

Not only could they see the sandy bottom clearly, and make out that it was covered white with the débris of shells that had sunk from aloft, but the strange light attracted towards it small fishes in shoals, of every conceivable kind or class.

Not only these, but huge sharks and zygænas, or hammer-headed sharks. They came close against the glass, and might have smashed it had not Antonio been prepared to repel these ungainly and terrible would-be boarders. He had placed sharp strong wires near the sides, and when a shark came too near he touched a button, and though the shock was not enough to kill, it was sufficient to make the monsters fly.

They stopped down for a whole hour on the first day to study natural history.

But on the second day they saw a strange sight under the rays of the great flash-light; several enormous sharks were about, and one received a shock.

Unable to imagine what had hurt him, instead of darting away off into the darkness, he turned with all the fury of a tiger on another shark near him.

The combat raged for a quarter of an hour, and was fearful in the extreme, though but dimly seen by those in the lift, owing to the combatants having stirred up the bottom.

This murkiness cleared away at last, and then one of the sharks could be seen lying dead at the bottom of the sea.

The lift was hoisted up.

“Pity we couldn’t get the dead shark, sir,” said Barclay musingly.

“We have only got to wait a few hours and watch; as gases form in the dead monster, he will float to the surface.”

And this was precisely what occurred.

A boat was lowered and the liver secured. The amount of oil extracted was enormous, and would serve as fuel. It was carefully bottled, as a sailor called it, in an air-tight tank.

But many more sharks were taken in the following way.

The lift was lowered, and the flash-light turned on. Then after giving time for these operations, hooks baited with pieces of pork were lowered.

These were almost immediately seized by some powerful tiger of the sea, and soon after he was drawn up, and in-board.

The struggles of such monsters as these were fearful to witness; the snap-snapping of the jaws, and the lashing of the tail, were things to see and hear and remember for ever and a day.

One of the blacks, however, usually settled the business with his battle-axe or cannibal club.

Then the shark was opened, and the liver extracted.

But this was not all, for shark is good to eat, though I never cared much for it myself.

Many sharks were thus caught. And so too were gigantic conger eels, that really looked like sea-serpents. Cod also, and halibut. So that on the whole, Antonio found now he could once more put the crew on full allowance.

But living on fish and seaweed, without bread or vegetables, Antonio knew, would not do for any lengthened period.

Indeed, in about a month’s time several of the hands began to sicken, and one night poor seaman Hodder died somewhat suddenly.

He had been a general favourite with every one on board. His song was always the cheeriest, his laugh the merriest, and his sad death cast a gloom over all the ship.

But when two other men died in spite of Sister Leona’s nursing and attention, things began to look serious.

Antonio blamed the shark diet, and gave orders that no more should be used.

Then Barclay in his weed-plough went in search of succulent weeds. He brought on board a quantity of delicious dulse, and small oysters that he had found clinging to the roots of the seaweed stalks.

And so the plague was stayed—for a time at all events.

They had now sufficient oil to act as fuel for months.

. . . . . .

But the men began to get languid and lethargic again, always the first symptoms of that ocean scourge, the scurvy.

“Well, sister, can you account for it?” asked Antonio.

“It is want of work that makes the blood stagnant,” said Leona.

Antonio considered for a short time.

“What can we give them to do?” he remarked at last.

“Oh,” cried Barclay Stuart, “I know.”

“Well, dearie, let us hear your scheme. Quite a boy’s one, no doubt.”

Barclay smiled, and coloured a little.

“Anyhow,” he said boldly, “boy or not boy, here it goes.”

“The derelict, you know, that we first boarded is now much nearer to us, isn’t it?”

“Granted, dearie.”

“Well, those spars or lower masts of hers are as strong and good as ever.”

“True.”

“Then my plan is, to unship them and haul them on board here. They will do excellently well for main and mizen jury-masts, with fore and aft sails on them——”

Antonio would not let him say another word.

“Bravo!” he cried; “shake hands, my boy. You’re cleverer far than your stupid old captain, who never even thought of that. It shall be done.

“Heigh-ho! though,” he added, “it may be of little use in the long run; but if Heaven in its mercy would but send a gale and open up this terrible sea of weeds, then with our jury-masts and try-sails we might float away and get free.”

“Well, sir, I have hopes anyhow. Mind, the birds, you know, must be home long, long before now.”

. . . . . .

The very next day not one but two boats forced their way after terrible exertions to the derelict, and the work was commenced.

She had been a taller ship, this derelict, than the Zingara—much, so it was found that her masts cut from the main deck would be high enough to form jury-masts for the Zingara.

The work, however, was indeed hard and difficult in the extreme.

But from the very day the men began it, all signs of sickness departed.

Sister Leona was wise. It was the towing of the spars towards the Zingara through the awful tangle of weeds that was the most difficult task, and, indeed, two whole weeks passed by before the masts were fairly hoisted on board.

Then the work of stepping them commenced. At this every one on board worked with a will—excepting, of course, Teenie and Sister Leona, but even they assisted with their cheerful talk and encouraging smiles.

Pandoo proved almost as strong as either of the black men, and poor Johnnie Smart did his best, although bathed in perspiration. When fairly beaten out, Johnnie would sink on the deck, wipe his steaming face, and—just laugh.

This laugh of his, so droll and silent, never failed to make everybody else laugh.

“Down again, Johnnie?” a man would say.

“Down again,” Johnnie would reply, with his head in the air, and no more eye visible than a piggie’s.

But the work went merrily on, and in time the masts were stepped.

Then the rigging had to be got off the derelict, another difficult task.

This was shipped at last. Spars were now formed and fitted as booms.

Then sails had to be made and bent. Luckily there was a good deal of canvas on board, besides spare ropes and sheets, so that the sails were not long in being completed.

The Zingara now looked wonderfully well, and Antonio took a delight in getting everything into good working order. Although there was no need to do so, he exercised the men every day at setting and taking in sails.

This, at all events, had the effect of keeping the crew active, and holding sickness at bay.

But the weeds and shells had once more got the upper hand, and had taken entire possession of the water-line and a band of the hull some three feet wide. Below this all was copper, and to this only some mussels clung.

Well, a party with instruments not unlike strong Dutch hoes was now lowered daily to clear the parasite weeds and shells away.

An accident that this work led to was probably one of the saddest that had yet occurred.

CHAPTER X

“SAYS GRANNIE, ‘JOHNNIE,’ SHE SAYS, ‘YOU’RE GOIN’ HOME’”

“Well, Miss Teenie, I seed my old grannie like ’s plain ’s I see you afore me just now, and she says, ‘Johnnie,’ says she, ‘you’re goin’ home,’ and wi’ that the old lady just wanished, and I woked.”

He seemed so woe-begone, that Teenie could not help saying—

“Ah! but you know, Johnnie, dreams go by contraries.”

“Goes by contrairies, does ’ey now, missie? Well, the old lady never was that way. No, Miss Teenie, summat’s gone to ’appen. We’ll see.”

And off walked Johnnie, sighing.

If dreams ever come true in any way, it depends, I believe, on mere coincidence. But this is strange enough sometimes to make people put faith in them.

Johnnie was soon after busily engaged with the rest of the squad clearing off the weeds and shells from the ship’s sides. They were slung overboard on the bights of ropes, in which they sat with their legs dangling down.

They were all working away right merrily, and Johnnie was perhaps the merriest of the lot.

He had almost forgotten his dream. He only once alluded to it, and that was to say—

“Well, maties, this all looks as if we would soon get clear and sail away for furrin counterees, which my grannie did say in my dream. Says she, ‘Johnnie,’ she says, ‘you’re goin’ home, you is.’”

“La!” said one sailor, “I’ve most forgotten wot home’s like.”

“But,” said another, “if ever we does get back to Britain’s shore, won’t we let ourselves spread, Bill, eh?”

“That will we, Jim, and not a little bit either. Ye can bet your ’at on that. And I say, Jim, wot cher think? I——”

He never finished his sentence, for a piercing shriek from Johnnie, who was next to him, drew attention to the poor lad. His rope had slackened, and he swung with his feet almost touching the water.

Bill Carry seized him just in time, and shouted for help from above.

Both he and the poor fat boy were almost immediately drawn up.

The blood was flowing like a fountain from Johnnie’s leg, which a shark had snapped off close above the knee.

Sister Leona came up, and with Antonio’s assistance quickly applied a tourniquet, and the bleeding was partially stopped.

Johnnie had fainted, and during the time he lay thus insensible, Sister Leona dressed the stump as neatly as a surgeon could have done.

It was not until after the unfortunate lad had been placed in a cot beneath the awning that he recovered semi-consciousness.

But wild, hot fever set in that night, and all throughout the long dark hours he raved and talked of home, of his sister, his mother, and grannie.

He seemed to doze off about daybreak, and slept heavily off and on till nearly sunset.

Poor Teenie hardly ever moved away from his side, moistening his lips with water, and keeping wet the cloth that had been laid upon his brow.

Sister Leona had entertained but little hopes of him from the beginning, but had not calculated upon the end being so close at hand.

It was nearing the brief gloaming that follows sunset in these latitudes when he opened his eyes.

“Are you better, dear Johnnie?”

“Which I’ll be better prisintly, dear Teenie,” was the reply.

“Which I’se a-goin’ home fast, missie.”

Teenie began to cry.

“Don’t ee, don’t ee,” said the poor boy faintly.

“It allus did make me feel queer like to see you cry, Teenie.”

“Johnnie, Johnnie, oh say you will not die.”

“Which death—comes—to us all,” he gasped.

He lay perfectly still for a minute, and Teenie put a little cordial to his lips.

“Say, Teenie?”

“Yes, Johnnie.”

“Ye won’t take on muchly, will ye?”

Teenie tried hard not to cry.

“There be a long letter in my ditty-box for them at ’ome. ’Taint finished. Teenie, you’ll finish her, and if ever ye gets away home to England’s shore, give this silver ring to Sissie.”

“Shall I run below, Johnnie, and bring Sister Leona? She may be——”

“No, no, no, Teenie. I wants nobbut you. Give me your hand like.

“I’m happy now,” he added.

Teenie spoke not.

She was awed into silence, for in the waning light she could see a change spread over the poor boy’s face.

He just held back his head, his face to the sky, and smiled in the old droll way, then——

When Leona came up a few minutes later she found Teenie sitting there, her face buried in the coverlet, and sobbing as if her heart would break.

She still held Johnnie’s hand.

But Johnnie had gone home.

. . . . . .

. . . . . .

Of all the burials that had taken place at sea, that of Johnnie Smart was the saddest by far.

As Sister Leona read the service, I am sure there was not a dry eye in the group abaft the binnacle, while both Teenie and Pandoo sobbed aloud.

But it was over at last.

The men were dismissed to their work, and Johnnie Smart, innocent, unselfish lad, will be seen no more, until that day