ion as suggested itself to him at the moment, and winding
up by saying,--

"Monsieur must not be surprised if he is challenged on entering the
harbour, that is almost certain to occur; and if it does he has only to
give the watch-word, and he will not be further interfered with."

"And what is the watch-word?" I asked.

"Simply `_Bateau-pecheur; Bastia_,'" he replied. "If you are challenged
give the pass-word, and lie upon your oars; that will show them that you
are one of us, and you will at once receive permission to proceed."

"Very well, I think I am pretty well primed now, and may venture to
start. Good-bye, Bob, old fellow. Keep a sharp lookout, and bear a
hand with your assistance if you see that I need any when returning.
And don't forget my letter to the skipper."

"All right, never fear; I'll remember everything. I only wish I could
have gone instead of you, Chester. If you succeed it will be no end of
a feather in your cap, but if you fail,"--he concluded the sentence with
a pantomimic gesture expressive of strangulation. "But there," he
added, "I've no fear of that; I never saw such a fellow as you for
pulling through; good-bye, old boy; ta-ta; `be sure you write.'"

And he wrung my hand heartily; with a gay laugh upon his lips, but
something very like a tear glittering in his eye, as the feeble rays of
the cabin lamp struggled through the skylight and fell upon his face.

I stepped into the heavy, clumsy, and slimy boat belonging to the
fishermen; and, shipping the oars, shoved off and gave way for the
shore; a faint twinkling light here and there in the town serving to
guide me upon my proper course.

It took me nearly two hours to reach the harbour; the boat being heavy,
and the oars much more cumbersome than any I had ever handled before;
but I passed in between the two piers at last; and as I did so a dark
figure appeared on the extremity of one of them, looming up indistinctly
against the dusky sky; and a voice exclaimed sharply, in French,--

"Who goes there?"

"_Bateau-pecheur; Bastia_," I replied composedly, resting on my oars at
the same time.

"You are late, comrade," remarked the sentry. "What luck?"

"Very poor," I replied. "I have only been able to find half my lines,
the darkness is so great; and in searching for the others I have lost a
good deal of time."

"Ah," returned he, "you are lucky to have found any of them. Pass on,
_monsieur le pecheur_; and good-night."