t as if they were expectin' somebody," says Pengelly with
a sudden hopefulness: and with that Treleaven, that was pulling
stroke, casts his eyes over his right shoulder and gives a gasp.

"Good Lord, look!" says he. "The tender!"

And sure enough, out of the thick weather rolling up away over
Bovisand they spied now a Service cutter bearing across close-hauled,
leaning under her big tops'l and knocking up the water like
ginger-beer with the stress of it. When first sighted she couldn't
have been much more than a mile distant, and, pull as they did with
the remains of their strength, she crossed their bows a good
half-mile ahead, taking in tops'l as she fetched near the frigate.

"Use your eyes--oh, use your eyes!" called out Pengelly: but no soul
could they see on her besides two or three of the crew forward and a
little officer standing aft beside the helmsman. Pengelly ran
forward, leaping the thwarts, and fetched the tailor a rousing kick.
"Sit up!" he ordered, "and tell us if that's the orficer you spoke to
last night!"

The poor creature hoisted himself upon his thwart, looking as yellow
as a bad egg. "I--I think that's the man," said he, straining his
eyes, and dropped his head overside.

"Pull for your lives, boys," shouted Pengelly. And they did pull, to
the last man. They pulled so that they reached the frigate just as
the tender, having run up in the wind and fallen alongside, began
uncovering hatches.

Two officers were leaning overside and watching--and a couple of the
tender's crew were reaching down their arms into the hold. They were
lifting somebody through the hatchway, and the body they lifted clung
for a moment to the hatchway coaming, to steady itself.

"Sally!" screamed a voice from the gig.

The little officer in the stern of the tender cast a glance back at
the sound and knew the tailor at once. He must have owned sharp
sight, that man.

"Oh, you've come for your money, have you?" says he. And, looking up
at the two officers overhead, he salutes, saying: "We've made a tidy
haul, Sir--thanks to that man."

"I don't want your money. I want my wife!" yelled Hancock.

"And I mine!" yelled Pengelly.

"And I mine!" yelled Treleaven.

By this time the gig had fallen alongside the tender, and the women
in the tender's hold were coming up to daylight, one by one.
Sal herself stood watching the jail-delivery; and first of all she
blinked a bit, after the darkness below, and next s