tons--and Diaz was the only
white man on board except Brabant and Danvers.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon. A native seaman struck eight bells
and Brabant came on deck. Pedro was standing aft beside the helmsman.

"We're going along at a jolly good pace, are we not----" began Danvers.
Then his voice failed him suddenly, and his face turned white as he saw
that Brabant was looking at him with the deadliest hatred in his eyes.

"What is the matter with you, Brabant? Why do you----"

Brabant raised his hand, and Pedro came and stood beside him, and then
two of the wild-looking crew suddenly sprang upon Danvers, seized him by
the arms, and handcuffed him.

"Away with him below," said Brabant, turning on his heel and walking
aft.

Too utterly astounded to offer any resistance, Danvers was hurried along
the deck to the main hatch and made to descend. The hold was empty, but
an armed native was there awaiting the prisoner.

Diaz followed him below.

"You are to make no noise, nor speak to the sentry," he said, with a
sullen savageness; "if you do I shall put on the hatches."

Danvers was no coward, but his heart sank within him. "Is this a joke,
or has Captain Brabant gone mad?"

The Chileno looked at him with blazing eyes, and half raised his hand as
if to strike. Then, without a word, he turned away and went on deck.

Brabant was seated on the skylight with an outspread chart before him.

"Keep her S.S.W., Pedro. We are steering for Hunter's Island. Set the
squaresail."

*****

For five days the _Loelia_ steered steadily before the trade wind, till
one morning there lay before her a huge, treeless cone, whose barren,
rugged sides rose blackly from the sea.

Not a vestige of vegetation was visible anywhere from the cutter, and
from the summit of the cone, and from long, gaping fissures in the
sides, ascended thin, wavering clouds of dull, sulphurous smoke. Here
and there were small bays, whose shores showed narrow beaches of black
sand, upon which the surf thundered and clamoured unceasingly. Not even
a wandering sea-bird was to be seen, and the only sound that disturbed
the dread silence of the place was the roar of the breakers mingling
with the muffled groanings and heavings of the still struggling and
mighty forces of Nature in the heart of the island--forces which,
ninety-five years before, had found a vent and destroyed every living
thing, man and beast, in one dreadful outburst of flame, whose