thought that their lives were in actual danger-so that when Mr. Snawthin listlessly asked them if they had anything to say to contradict what they were charged with, they were perfectly alive to the necessity of being cautious in their replies. But what reply could they make? There was but one answer, and Arty Bennett, though he felt he turned pale, boldly made it :

'I deny any mutiny; or inciting to any!'

'And I deny it, too!' said Bob Hillsden, whose colour had deserted him also.

Thet ain't the question,' said Snawthin, indulging in one of his horrible sneering grins, as he noticed how the boys had (instinctively) avoided the point of the accusation by generalising it; 'thet ain't the pint. Hev yew, or hev yew not, accused him of what he never done-and never didn't ought to do' (this with an abominable leer at the others, as if it were a good joke)--'an' so riled. these darned furriners of the crew to mutiny? Thet's the question. Hev yew called him--?'

'I called him a murderer!' said Bennett in a low firm tone, about which there could be no mistake.

'An' yew, younker?'

'I called him the same.' Bob Hillsden was very firm too in his reply.

Captain Potts never winced or looked the least

put out as his accusers looked him in the face. He merely said:

'Thet's all we want, gentlemen, eh ?'

'Thet's all. The young cusses can't deny what we all heard.'

'I don't want to deny!' burst in Arty Bennett, whose feelings and courage got the better of his common sense, and led away his comrade also;

I shan't deny it-far from it, I repeat it everywhere he did murder Black Sam; I saw him; and I'll swear he murdered him

'So will I. He killed him with the knuckleduster before--'

'I'd swear to it with my dying breath-if I was to be shot for it next minute!' All the horror for, and fearful loathing of, the Cain who was calmly sitting before them was intensified tenfold now that they were in his actual presence, and both of the lads cried out their accusations with an energy that was hardly natural or human. Even the Captain started a little

'I'll jest take yew at yewr word, you 'fired-imp ;' he raised one of the revolvers rapidly, aimed it at Arty's head

'Best not, Cap'en;' interposed Snawthin as lazily as possible, while the other two looked on indifferently; 'best not now-ef yew shoot one, yew must shoot both, and we can't afford tew lose the hands till we air near New Orleens. Besides'

(this with a horrid leer), 'there's stormy nights and shortenin' and stowin' sail in a gale of wind, incet'ra, incet'ra--bless you, Cap'en, no good makin' a muss with the dod-rotted imps. Let 'em sign a bit of paper to say it's all a darned lie, flog 'em both jolly well, an' then we'll all go on nice and comfabel as before. Eh, gents, that's best, eh ?'

'I'll sign no such paper,' said Arty, who was far too indignant to hold his tongue.

'Nor I, either,' Bob Hillsden added.

'Take 'em back to that strong-room, Snawthin, and we'll see what's best to be done with the young cusses.'

Captain Potts was as cool as ever, and as the boys were locked up again in their odious den (with the remark from Snawthin that he 'knowed he'd soon make 'em sign thet paper'), they felt very certain that Potts would deal with them exactly as he thought safest-shoot, or hang them, or keep them for a stormy night off New Orleans, as should seem to him best. All the tales and warnings of the murdered negro seemed throughout that night and the next day to din-din and repeat themselves ever in their ears, so that with twentyfour hours of absolute darkness, silence, want of food and of water, the horrors of their prison-house were infinitely worse than they had been before the cuddy interview.

So some half-dozen days passed again in abso