Tis a row aboard a Frenchman t' win'ard, sir," said Josiah. "'Tis a
skipper beatin' a 'prentice. They does it a wonderful lot."

Five minutes passed without a sign of the skipper. Then he came forward
on a run. His feet rang on the deck. There was no concealment.

"I've trussed up the watchman!" he chortled.

Archie and Josiah clambered aboard.

CHAPTER XVII

_In Which Bill o' Burnt Bay Finds Himself in Jail and
Archie Armstrong Discovers That Reality is Not as
Diverting as Romance_

To be sure, Bill o' Burnt Bay had overcome the watchman! He had
blundered upon him in the cabin. Being observed before he could
withdraw, he had leaped upon this functionary with resistless
impetuosity--had overpowered him, gagged him, trussed him like a
turkey cock and rolled him into his bunk. The waters roundabout gave
no sign of having been apprised of the capture. No cry of surprise
rang out--no call for help--no hullabaloo of pursuit. The lights of
the old town twinkled in the foggy night in undisturbed serenity.

The night was thick, and the wind swept furiously up from the sea. It
would be a dead beat to windward to make the open--a sharp beat
through a rock-strewn channel in a rising gale.

"Now we got her," Skipper Bill laughed, "what'll we do with her?"

Archie and Josiah laughed, too: a hearty explosion.

"We can never beat out in this wind," said Bill; "an' we couldn't
handle her if we did--not in a gale o' wind like this. All along," he
chuckled, "I been 'lowin' for a fair wind an' good weather."

They heard the rattle and creak of oars approaching; to which, in a
few minutes, the voices of two men added a poignant interest. The
rowers rested on their oars, as though looking about; then the oars
splashed the water again, and the dory shot towards the _Heavenly
Home_. Bill o' Burnt Bay and his fellow pirates lay flat on the deck.
The boat hung off the stern of the schooner.

"Jean!"

The hail was in French. It was not answered, you may be sure, from the
_Heavenly Home_.

"Jean!"

"He's not aboard," spoke up the other man.

"He must be aboard. His dory's tied to the rail. Jean! Jean Morot!"

"Come--let's be off to the _Voyageur_. He's asleep." A pair of oars
fell in the water.

"Come--take your oars. It's too rough to lie here. And it's late
enough."

"But----"

"Take your oars!" with an oath.

The Newfoundlanders breathed easier when they heard the splash and
creak and rattle rec