sed a voice as sweet as
herself, and clear and true as that of a nightingale, was induced to
"favour the company"--chiefly with pathetic or patriotic ditties and
hymns--while Eva thrilled her audience with terrible tales of slavery,
in many of which she had acted a part. Of course Dr Hayward lent his
aid, both with song and story; but, like a true leader, he devoted
himself chiefly to drawing out the powers of his companions, directing
or diverting the flow of conversation, and keeping order. He also
instituted what may be truly styled family worship at night, by
repeating from memory portions of the word of, God and engaging in
prayer just before retiring to rest. Bob Massey and Tomlin were induced
to help him in this, and never was a prayer put up from that hut in
which there was not an earnest petition that a ship might be sent for
their deliverance.

"But a ship is long, long o' comin'," said Slag to Jarring as he
accompanied the latter part of the way to the beacon-fire one night when
it was Black Ned's turn to watch.

"A ship'll come, Joe, when God sees fit to send it," said Ned.

Slag glanced at his comrade in surprise, the reply was so very unlike
Ned's usual style of speech that he felt uncertain whether it was
uttered in earnest.

"The only thing I feel an awful longin' for now, at times, is a bit o'
'baccy," continued Ned.

"So does I, Ned, an' I sometimes think Dr Hayward has got the advantage
of us there, for he never smoked, so he says, an' in coorse it stands to
reason that he can't have no longin' for a thing he don't want--an' he
seems as jolly an' happy as the best of us without it!"

"Ay, jollier and happier!" replied Ned, shortly.

"But, I say, Ned, don't ye ever feel a longin' for grog? Ye used to be
raither fond of it."

"No--not now, Joe. It's the best thing as ever happened to me, bein'
cast on this here island--wi' Dr Hayward to give a feller a word of
advice."

Slag, who felt a sort of self-righteous superiority over his comrade,
inasmuch as _he_ had never given way to drink, said, "You should be
thankful for that, Ned."

"I _am_ thankful," returned the other in a tone that induced Slag to say
no more.

It was a very dark night, and cold, so that Black Ned involuntarily
shuddered as he approached the beacon-fire alone--Joe having left him--
and commenced to heap on fuel. Then rain began to fall heavily. There
was no shelter, and the watchman was soon drenched to the skin.