ed her own torments, her maternal love forced her to live them
over again in the person of her child. Rejecting Bates's offer of a
pea-jacket and Frere's vague tenders of assistance, the poor woman
withdrew behind a rock that faced the sea, and, with her daughter in her
arms, resigned herself to her torturing thoughts. Sylvia, recovered
from her terror, was almost content, and, curled in her mother's shawl,
slept. To her little soul this midnight mystery of boats and muskets had
all the flavour of a romance. With Bates, Frere, and her mother so close
to her, it was impossible to be afraid; besides, it was obvious that
papa--the Supreme Being of the settlement--must at once return and
severely punish the impertinent prisoners who had dared to insult his
wife and child, and as Sylvia dropped off to sleep, she caught herself,
with some indignation, pitying the mutineers for the tremendous scrape
they had got themselves into. How they would be flogged when papa came
back! In the meantime this sleeping in the open air was novel and rather
pleasant.

Honest Bates produced a piece of biscuit, and, with all the generosity
of his nature, suggested that this should be set aside for the sole use
of the two females, but Mrs. Vickers would not hear of it. "We must all
share alike," said she, with something of the spirit that she knew her
husband would have displayed under like circumstance; and Frere
wondered at her apparent strength of mind. Had he been gifted with more
acuteness, he would not have wondered; for when a crisis comes to one
of two persons who have lived much together, the influence of the nobler
spirit makes itself felt. Frere had a tinder-box in his pocket, and he
made a fire with some dry leaves and sticks. Grimes fell asleep, and the
two men sitting at their fire discussed the chances of escape. Neither
liked to openly broach the supposition that they had been finally
deserted. It was concluded between them that unless the brig sailed in
the night--and the now risen moon showed her yet lying at anchor--the
convicts would return and bring them food. This supposition proved
correct, for about an hour after daylight they saw the whale-boat
pulling towards them.

A discussion had arisen amongst the mutineers as to the propriety of at
once making sail, but Barker, who had been one of the pilot-boat crew,
and knew the dangers of the Bar, vowed that he would not undertake to
steer the brig through the Gates until mornin