the island, and a few minutes later she was made
out to be an out-rigger canoe with two persons on board. Her
construction was of so primitive a character that Gaunt naturally
expected to find that the persons on board her were natives who had
possibly been blown off the land, and, failing to make their own island
again, had perhaps been wandering aimlessly about the ocean for many
days. What was his surprise, then, when he observed one of the
individuals rise in the canoe and lift something to his shoulder, the
movement being followed by a flash, a little puff of smoke, and the
faint report of a gun. Keeping his glass fixed upon the canoe, Gaunt
next observed that the individual who had fired the gun was
gesticulating violently, the gesticulations being such as to convey the
idea of rejoicing rather than an effort to attract attention. A few
minutes later the raft was so close to the canoe that the engineer,
almost doubting the evidence of his senses, was able to identify the two
persons in the canoe as none other than Captain Blyth and young Manners.
At the proper moment the raft was rounded-to, the canoe shot alongside,
and Captain Blyth, closely followed by young Manners with the canoe's
painter in his hand, sprang upon the deck of the raft and gave Gaunt a
hearty hand-grasp.

"My _dear_ fellow!" he exclaimed, "how _are_ you? And you, too,
Nicholls, my lad--I did not expect to see _you_ here! How are you, my
good fellow? Well, Mr Gaunt," he continued, "this is the happiest day
I have known since the mutiny. I am heartily glad to meet you once
more, sir, and to see you looking so well. And how"--with a slight
shade of hesitation--"how are the rest of your party?"

"All perfectly well, thank you; and as happy as can reasonably be
expected under the circumstances," answered Gaunt. "But where on earth
have you come from?" he continued; "and how did you manage to effect
your escape from the _Flying Cloud_?"

"We have come from a bit of an island away yonder, one hundred miles or
so to the eastward of the spot where we _now_ are. And we did not
_escape_ from the _Flying Cloud_ at all, sir--John Blyth is not the sort
of man to voluntarily desert his ship as long as she will hang together
or float with him--no; we were simply shoved ashore by those scoundrels
of mutineers, and left to shift for ourselves as best we might. And a
precious poor shift it would have been, I can tell you, but for Ned,
who--fine fe