leeping man
had been standing, and the boys stood holding on there, paralysed for
the moment.

"Curse you if you hit me!" began a rough voice from out of the darkness;
but the speech was cut short by a sharp clicking, and the familiar voice
of the French captain arose, sharpened by rage and sounding fierce and
tigerish in spite of the peculiarity of his broken English, mingled with
words in his native tongue.

"Dog! _Canaille! Vite_ sleep-head fool! Anozaire vord I blow out you
brain and you are ovaire-board."

The sleeper growled something, which was again cut short by the French
skipper.

"Vat? How you know zat ze boy do not get on deck to take a boat and go
tell of my store _cachette_? To-morrow you are flog by all ze crew, and
zey sall sare all ze monnaies zat vould come to you."

Vince drew on the painter, and then pressed Mike's shoulder for him to
descend, while he began softly to cast off the rope.

Mike did his best to go down in silence, and Vince his to cast off
without making a sound; but the boat ground against the side, the
belaying pin rattled, and there was a rush from where the captain stood.

Mike was in the boat as the last turn was cast off from the belaying
pin; and then, without a moment's hesitation, Vince leaped down,
fortunately alighting beyond his companion upon one of the thwarts, and
then falling forward upon his hands just as there was a flash of light
and a loud report.

The thrust given by Mike and the impetus of Vince's leap sent the boat
out to where it was caught by the current; but, instead of its bearing
them away from the lugger, it seemed to keep them back for a few
moments, but only for the bows to be seized by an eddy just as there was
another flash, report, and simultaneously a dull thud, as of something
being hit. Then the shouting of orders, the appearance of a light, and
the hurrying of feet was more distant, as if the lugger had suddenly
been snatched away; but the two lads knew that they were in one of the
terrible rushing currents, and were being borne along at a tremendous
rate. Where? In what direction?

They could not tell, for the tide had turned.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE PERILS OF THE SCRAW.

In the hurry and confusion the boys crouched in the bottom of the boat
for some minutes, gazing at the lugger, and seeing lanthorn after
lanthorn dancing about. Then one descended like a glowworm apparently
on to the surface of the water, and they kn