ou can turn to and roll out beef and water
breakers; it'll look more shipshape--like as if we were getting ready
for the boat voyage."

And he was back again in a moment, cooking the new log. Goddedaal's was
then carefully destroyed, and a hunt began for the ship's papers. Of
all the agonies of that breathless morning, this was perhaps the most
poignant. Here and there the two men searched, cursing, cannoning
together, streaming with heat, freezing with terror. News was bawled
down to them that the ship was indeed a man-of-war, that she was close
up, that she was lowering a boat; and still they sought in vain. By what
accident they missed the iron box with the money and accounts, is hard
to fancy; but they did. And the vital documents were found at last in
the pocket of Trent's shore-going coat, where he had left them when last
he came on board.

Wicks smiled for the first time that morning. "None too soon," said
he. "And now for it! Take these others for me; I'm afraid I'll get them
mixed if I keep both."

"What are they?" Carthew asked.

"They're the Kirkup and Currency Lass papers," he replied. "Pray God we
need 'em again!"

"Boat's inside the lagoon, sir," hailed down Mac, who sat by the
skylight doing sentry while the others worked.

"Time we were on deck, then, Mr. Goddedaal," said Wicks.

As they turned to leave the cabin, the canary burst into piercing song.

"My God!" cried Carthew, with a gulp, "we can't leave that wretched bird
to starve. It was poor Goddedaal's."

"Bring the bally thing along!" cried the captain.

And they went on deck.

An ugly brute of a modern man-of-war lay just without the reef, now
quite inert, now giving a flap or two with her propeller. Nearer hand,
and just within, a big white boat came skimming to the stroke of many
oars, her ensign blowing at the stern.

"One word more," said Wicks, after he had taken in the scene. "Mac,
you've been in China ports? All right; then you can speak for yourself.
The rest of you I kept on board all the time we were in Hongkong, hoping
you would desert; but you fooled me and stuck to the brig. That'll make
your lying come easier."

The boat was now close at hand; a boy in the stern sheets was the
only officer, and a poor one plainly, for the men were talking as they
pulled.

"Thank God, they've only sent a kind of a middy!" ejaculated Wicks.
"Here you, Hardy, stand for'ard! I'll have no deck hands on my
quarter-deck," he cried, and