eck on himself, and he swore that he would either
make the half-caste yield or else kill him. And he did his best to keep
his word.

Nearly a month passed, and then, at Frewen's suggestion, all the
officers waited on the captain and begged him to release the unfortunate
man; otherwise there was every prospect of the crew mutinying.

"Is he willing to turn to again?" he asked.

"Not as boatsteerer," replied Frewen.

"Then he shall stay where he is," was the savage retort.

Five or six days later Frewen went to Cheyne, who was now confined in
the 'tween decks, and implored him to give in.

"Very well, sir. To please you I will give in. But I mean to desert the
first chance."

"So do I. I am sick of this condition of things. There are three other
men besides yourself in irons now."

"Who are they, sir?"

"Willis, Hunt, and Freeman." (The two latter belonged to his own boat,
and had been ironed because they had refused to eat some bad beef.
Frewen himself had told Keller that it was uneatable, and again angry
words passed between them.)

Cheyne was released and resumed his old place in Frewen's boat, and the
officer then sounded the rest of his men, and found they were eager
to leave the ship. So he made his plans, and he and Cheyne quietly got
together a small supply of provisions and a second breaker of water.

They waited till the ship was well among the Friendly Group, and Upolu
Island was three hundred miles to the north, and then were given the
needed opportunity--when the mate's boat was destroyed by the big bull
whale, which was then struck by Cheyne.

"Boys," shouted Frewen to his crew, as the boat tore through the water,
"I'm not going to kill this whale awhile. He'll give us a long run, and
is taking us dead to windward, away from the ship. But before it gets
dark I'll give him a bomb."

He successfully carried out his intention. Just as darkness was coming
on he hauled up on his line and fired a bomb into the mighty creature;
it killed it in a few seconds. Then they lay alongside of the floating
carcase, spelled half an hour, had something to eat, and then Cheyne,
who had a sense of humour, wrote the scrawl to Keller and tied it round
the whift pole.

"Now, lads," cried Frewen, "up sail! It is a fine dark night, and we
should be forty or fifty miles away by daylight."

And so, whilst the _Casilda_ burnt flare after flare throughout the
night, the adventurers were slipping through the water mer