he
lugged out his illuminated missal and pored over its contents. Captain
Brand occupied himself with opening the loop of the silk rope which fell
from the ceiling, and securing the end firmly on the stout cleat at the
wall.

So passed the time until a noise beneath the room of a voice in anger,
and a body bumped and dragged along, once more attracted the attention
of those in the saloon.

"Oh ho! is that you, Master Gibbs?" exclaimed Captain Brand, in a
cheerful voice. "You have risen early; but stop that profane language,
my friend, or you will never see daylight again!"

The maimed ruffian only muttered, "Your friend, eh? blindfolded and
manacled!" And then, apparently abashed by the cool, commanding tone of
his superior, he held his peace.

"Well, you are quiet, my lad. Now we'll see if we can't hoist you up
here in the saloon."

"Thank ye, sir!" said Gibbs, aloud; and then he muttered to himself,
"Let me jest get one grip of ye, and I'll show ye how quiet I'll be."

"Do you think we shall need assistance, my son?" whispered the padre
into the ear of his patron.

"_Diavolo!_ No. I never wanted help in these little affairs, except in
the case of that violent Yankee whaler, who gave us much trouble, you
know, and we were obliged to call Pedillo," replied the captain, in the
same low tone. Then, raising his voice, he said,

"Hark ye, Master Gibbs! Babette will lift you off the stones, and the
padre and I will raise you up to the room here. You don't weigh so much
as you did before you had your leg hacked off with a hand-saw--ho! and I
dare say you are as light now as a dried stockfish! Up with him, Baba!
There--steady! all right--here you are!"

Saying this, Captain Brand, with the assistance of the stout negress and
the padre, raised the once burly ruffian, with a vigorous hoist that
made him groan, to the floor of the saloon, where they laid him out at
full length on his back.

"Wait a moment, my hearty, till the hatch is raised, and then we will
raise you. Unpleasant position, no doubt," continued Captain Brand, as
the trap came up and was secured by a spring; "but then, you know, you
_would_ have that pin of yours cut off, and somehow you have been so
careless as to dispose of the nice leg you had the other day, made out
of the spruce fore-top-mast of the 'Centipede'--a very tough bit of a
spar it was."

Here Master Gibbs grated his teeth and grinned hideously.

The captain smiled like a demon, and,