s, as I had heard,
locked in his cabin. Who was there to go quietly at night and fasten
their doors? No one more likely than the lad who had the run of the
cabins and saloon.

"No, I won't believe it," I thought the next moment. "Nic Walters
couldn't be such a miserable scoundrel as that."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

What was I to do?

The answer came readily enough. Join your friends.

But how? They were prisoners below in the cabins, and with guards set
at the companion and over the sky-lights.

There appeared to be no way but to go up aloft higher, crawl along some
stay, and then lower myself down, and to creep through the sky-light.

"And be dragged back long before I could get down, even if I could get
down at all," I said to myself bitterly.

That would not do; there must be some other way.

"Join the mutineers," something seemed to suggest, and wait till there
was a chance of leaving them and giving information to the authorities,
or another ship.

I couldn't do that, and even if I had felt disposed, Walters would have
taken care that I was not trusted. He would have been too jealous.
Feeling rested, I now began to creep up step by step so as to reach the
mizzen-top, where I hoped I could remain unseen. It was ticklish work,
for the men on guard by the sky-light were a very little distance away;
but moving by slow degrees I climbed up at last, and lay down in
comparative safety, not having been heard.

I had hardly reached my hiding-place, when I heard one of the men below
me say--

"Here they come," and directly after I could see ascend to the
poop-deck, by the light of three lanterns the men carried, a party of
about fourteen, one of whom was Jarette, another Nic Walters, and the
rest were sailors, with the two rough fellows, Dumlow and Blane, firmly
bound with stout line, in their midst.

They were pushed and dragged up to the foot of the mizzen-mast, where
Jarette seated himself in one of the deck chairs, and Walters, with a
pistol in his hand and another in his belt, stood by the Frenchman's
side, resting one foot upon the seat of the chair, as if on terms of the
greatest intimacy with its occupant.

"Bring 'em forward," said Jarette, and the two men were thrust to the
front, Dumlow growling like some strange animal, and Blane trying to
strike at his guards with his elbows.

"Steady there," shouted Jarette.

"Steady it is," growled Dumlow. "Look here, you Jarette, if you'll just
have