Charles was in command of the
Zephyr. With the help of the spy-glass, they were able to form a very
correct idea of the state of feeling on board the boats. There was a
great deal of quarreling in both; and, after they had been out half an
hour, a regular fight occurred in the Zephyr.

About five o'clock they returned to the island, and before dark it began
to rain. All the evening a great fire blazed on the island; but the
frail tents of the Rovers must have been entirely inadequate to protect
them from the severity of the weather.

At nine o'clock the Zephyrs, who had spent the evening in the hall, went
home, leaving Uncle Ben, who had been deputed by Captain Sedley to watch
the Rovers, still gazing through his night-glass at the camp-fires on
the island. Soon after, discordant cries were wafted over the waters,
and it was plain to the veteran that there was "trouble in the camp."
The sounds seemed to indicate that a fight was in progress. After a
time, however, all was quiet again, and the old sailor sought his bed.

During the night it cleared off, and Tuesday was a bright, pleasant day.
It was found in the morning that one of the tents had been moved away
from the other. About nine o'clock all the Rovers gathered on the beach;
but they were divided into two parties, and there seemed to be a violent
dispute between them. One of the parties, as they attempted to get into
the Zephyr, was assaulted by the other, and a fight ensued, in which
neither gained a victory. Then a parley, and each party took one of the
boats and pulled away from the island. It was observed that Charles was
no longer the coxswain. He seemed to have lost the favor of his
companions, and several of them were seen to kick and strike him.

The boats went in different directions--the Zephyr pulling towards
Rippleton. When her crew observed the party who were watching them from
the shore, they commenced cheering lustily, and the coxswain, out of
bravado, steered towards them.

"Who is he?" asked Frank.

"It is Barney Ropes," replied Tony. "He is as big a rascal as there is
out of jail."

"Here they come."

"Suppose we give them a volley of stones," suggested Fred Harper.

"No!" said Frank, firmly.

The boat was pulling parallel with the shore, and not more than ten
rods from it. The Rovers yelled, and indulged freely in coarse and
abusive language, as they approached. Charles Hardy, with averted face,
was pulling the forward oar; but not