dered
as he stood naked at the water's edge. He could not fail to identify
the creature. Something besides the _Bertha Hamilton_ had been shut in
the lagoon by the rising reef.

"And I venture to say that that shark is mighty hungry, too--unless he
found poor Sanders," muttered the shivering Drew.

He then waded into the water.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE BATTLE IN THE FORECASTLE

Making as little disturbance as possible, Drew sank to his armpits in
the pellucid waters, and then began to swim. He believed the shark had
started briskly for some other point in the lagoon; but he knew the
eyes of the creature were sharp.

All about him, as the young man moved through the water, there were
millions of tiny organisms that would betray his presence, as they had
the shark's, at the first ripple. These minute infusorians would glow
with the pale gleam of phosphorescence if the water were ruffled.
Therefore, he had to swim carefully and slowly, when each second his
nerves cried out for rapid, panic-stricken action.

He came at last to the schooner's stern without mishap. He could see
her tall hull and taller spars above him. There was no light in the
after part of the vessel; nor was there even a riding light. The
mutineers whom Ditty had left aboard had evidently thrown off all
discipline.

Finding no line hanging from the rail aft, Drew swam around the
schooner to her bows. Here was the anchor chain, and up this he
clambered nimbly to the rail.

Cautiously he raised his head above the rail and looked about him.
There was a light in the forecastle, but most of the deck was in deep
shadow. Very slowly he pulled himself inboard and dropped down in the
bows. Then, on hands and knees and avoiding any spot of light, he
crept noiselessly toward the forecastle and looked in.

By the light of the lamp swinging in its gimbals, he could see five men
seated on the floor with their hands tied behind them. At a little
distance two other men were seated, both with revolvers thrust in their
belts.

The nearest of the guards was talking at the moment, and Drew easily
heard what was said.

"You're a bloomin' fool, I tell you, Trent," he was saying to one of
the prisoners. "Ditty has got the old man dead to rights. The
after-guard hain't got the ghost of a chance. You'd better pitch in an
take your luck along with the rest of us."

"You're a lot of bloody murderers," growled the one addressed, "and
you'll swing for