them, Mr Jones?" said the captain, as his warrant officer
reached the deck to report himself.

"No, sir," said the boatswain, sadly; "but I heard a sound, and one of
my men heard it too."

"A sound? What sound?"

"Like a faint cry of distress, sir."

"Yes; and what did you make of that?"

The boatswain was silent a moment.

"The harbour here swarms with sharks, sir, and the cry sounded to me
like that of a man being drawn under water."

"No, no; no, no; not so bad as that," said the captain, rather
excitedly. "They've got to shore, and we will have them back to-morrow.
The people will give them up either by threats or bribes."

"I hope so, sir," said the boatswain, coldly. And, then, as he went
below, "Poor lad! I'd have given a year of my life rather than it
should have happened. This pressing is like a curse to the service."

By this time the officer in the last boat had reported himself, the
crews were dismissed, the watch set, and all was silence and darkness
again.

About dawn the captain, after an uneasy night, came on deck, glass in
hand, to search the shore, and try to make out some sign of the
fugitives; but just as he had focussed his glass, he caught sight of
some one doing the very same thing, and going softly to the bows he
found that the officer busy with the glass was Bosun Jones, who rose and
saluted his superior.

"See anything, Mr Jones?" the captain said.

"No, sir; only the regular number of canoes drawn up on the beach."

"Have you thought any more about what you said you heard last night?"

"Yes, sir, a great deal."

"But you don't think the poor lad met such a fate as you hinted at?"

"Yes, sir, I do," said the boatswain sternly; "and I feel as if I had
helped to bring him to such a death."

"Mr Jones," said the captain, haughtily, "you merely did your duty as a
warrant officer in the king's service. If that unfortunate boy met such
a disastrous fate, it was in an attempt to desert."

The captain closed his glass with a loud snap, and walked away, while
Bosun Jones stood with his brow knit and his lips compressed, gazing
straight before him as the sun rose and shed a flood of light over the
glorious prospect.

But to the bluff petty officer everything seemed sad and gloomy, and he
went below seeing nothing but the frank, manly features of young Don
Lavington, as he muttered to himself,--

"Not a chance of escape. Poor boy! Poor boy!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.