more head than I gave him credit for," panted my
father. "The gun, lad! Quick, the gun!"

We ran to where the gun lay, and lifted it between us, straining
under its weight; lurched with it to the side, heaved it up, and sent
it over into the second boat with a crash. Prompt on the crash came
a yell, and we stared in each other's faces, giddy with our triumph,
as John Worthyvale came tottering out of the cook's galley with two
fresh red-hot handspikes.

The third boat had come to a halt, less than seventy yards away.
A score of bobbing heads were swimming for her, the nearer ones
offering a fair mark for musketry. We held our fire, however, and
watched them. The boat took in a dozen or so, and then, being
dangerously overcrowded, left the rest to their fate, and headed back
for the xebec. The swimmers clearly hoped nothing from us.
They followed the boat, some of them for a long while. Through our
glasses we saw them sink one by one.

CHAPTER XII.

HOW WE LANDED ON THE ISLAND.

"Friend Sancho," said the Duke, "the isle I have promised you
can neither stir nor fly. And whether you return to it upon
the flying horse, or trudge back to it in misfortune, a pilgrim
from house to house and from inn to inn, you will always find
your isle just where you left it, and your islanders with the
same good will to welcome you as they ever had."--
_Don Quixote_.

Night fell, and the xebec had made no further motion to attack: but
yet, as the calm held, Captain Pomery continued gloomy; nor did his
gloom lift at all when the enemy, as soon as it was thoroughly dark,
began to burn flares and torches.

"That will be a signal to the shore," said he. "Though, please God,
they are too far for it to reach."

The illumination served us in one way. While it lasted, no boat
could push out from the xebec without our perceiving it. The fires
lasted until after eight bells, when the captain, believing that he
scented a breeze ahead, turned us out into the boat again, to tow the
ketch toward it. For my part, I tugged and sweated, but scented no
breeze. On the contrary, the night seemed intolerably close and
sultry, as though brooding a thunderstorm. When the xebec's fires
died down, darkness settled on us like a cap. The only light came
from the water, where our oars swirled it in pools of briming,[1] or
the tow-rope dropped for a moment a