he stranger, but he in vain
tried to say more.

"Though you are pretty well sun-burnt, you have an Englishman's face
sure enough, though you seem to have lost the use of your tongue."

"Long, long time no talk English," replied the man, who seemed to
understand pretty clearly what was said to him. We had too much to do,
however, to spend time in asking him questions.

Before night we had some spars lashed to the stump of the main-mast,
which enabled us to set a little after sail and bring the vessel to.

It was of the greatest importance not to run further eastward. Happily
the wind shifted, and getting the vessel's head round we steered for
Singapore. The gale, too, began to abate, and the sea to go down, so
that we were able to carry on our work with less difficulty than had
before been the case. The dangers in our course were numerous, but we
hoped, by constant vigilance, to avoid them.

CHAPTER THREE.

We had an anxious time of it as we made our way back to Singapore,
between islands innumerable and coral reefs below water, on which it was
often with difficulty we avoided running. The first mate was seldom off
the deck, and Crowfoot, the boatswain, showed that he did not boast
without justice of his seamanship.

It is on such occasions that a sailor has an opportunity of proving what
he is made of. The wind continued fair and the weather fine, or our
difficulties would have been greatly increased. The less I say of the
second mate the better. Uncle Jack did not trust him, and while it was
his watch on deck constantly sent me up, or made an excuse for running
up himself to see how matters were going on. He insisted also on taking
his share in attending on our poor captain, who remained in his berth
unable to move, and, as we feared, in a very precarious state. Blyth
and I assisted in nursing him, but the second mate, through whose
carelessness the brig had been dismasted and the captain injured,
refused to take the slightest trouble to help us--indeed, he kept out of
the cabin altogether. The young man we had rescued from the Malay prahu
gradually regained his recollection of English, but from the first he
showed an unwillingness to talk about himself, and I observed that he
kept aloof as much as possible from the crew. When I asked his name he
said it was Ned Light, that he had been wrecked somewhere to the
eastward, and, narrowly escaping with his life, had been taken prisoner
by the pirates