"Where are you going?" he groaned at last.

"What's that to you? Home!" said Vince sharply.

"Nay, nay; don't take me there, Master Vince--don't! I give in. You two have 'most killed me, but I forgive you; only don't take me there."

"You hold your tongue, you old ruffian," cried Vince, who was steering and holding the sheet too, while Mike kept guard with the conger bat.

"Mind, Mike. Don't take your eyes off him for a moment, and if he tries to untie a knot, hit him again."

"Nay, I'm beat," said the old man, with a groan. "My head! my head!"

"Serve you right," cried Mike. "I believe you meant mischief to us."

"Oh!" groaned Daygo; and he turned up his eyes till only the whites, or rather the yellows, could be seen, and then lay perfectly still; while the boat bounded onward now towards the island, as if eager to bear the boys to their home.

Vince looked hard at the big, heavy figure in the bottom of the boat, as he attended to the sailing and steering; and now that the heat of battle was over, and he sat there in his saturated clothes, he began to wonder at their success in winning the day. Then, as Daygo lay quite still, he began to think that they had gone too far, and his opinion was endorsed by his companion, who suddenly leaned back to look at him, with a face full of horror.

"Cinder," he said, "I didn't mean to, but I hit him too hard."

"Put the bat down, and come and take the oar and sheet," whispered back Vince, whose nervous feeling increased as the change was made.

Vince was no doctor, but he had not been about with his father for years, and dipped into his books, without picking up some few sc.r.a.ps of medical and surgical lore. So, bringing these to bear, he leaned over their prisoner and listened to his breathing, studied his countenance a little, and then placed a couple of fingers upon the man's ma.s.sive wrist and then at his throat and temples.

After this he drew back to where, trembling and ghastly-looking, Mike was watching him, and now whispered, with catching breath,--

"Is he--"

Mike wanted to say "dead," but the word would not come.

"Yes," said Vince, in the same low tone; "he's shamming. Go back and keep guard."

"No, no--you," said Mike; "I'll steer."

Vince nodded, and seated himself on the thwart over the prisoner, with the heavy piece of wood close at hand.

The boat bounded on, and he glanced at the distant vessels, wondering whether the cutter would capture the schooner and the lugger get safely to port. He thought, too, a good deal about the man in the bottom of the boat, and felt more and more sure that he was right in his ideas; for every now and then there was a twitching of the muscles about the corners of his eyes, which at last opened in a natural way, and looked piteously in the boy's face.

"How far are we from the sh.o.r.e?" he said.

"'Bout a mile," said Vince coolly. "Why, Mike Ladelle thought you were dead?"

"So I am nearly," groaned Daygo. "Oh, my head, my head!"

"Yes, you did get a pretty good crack," said Vince; "and you'll get another if you don't lie still."

"But you've tied me so tight, Master Vince: line's a-cutting into my wristies."

"Of course it is," said Vince coolly. "I tied it as tightly as I could.

You ought to be pretty well satisfied that we didn't leave you to drown."

"Ah!" groaned Daygo, "don't say that, Master Vince. I've been a good friend to you and him."

"Yes, and we're going to be good friends to you, Joe. You're such a wicked old rascal that it will do you good to be sent to prison."

"No, no; don't do that, my lad. Mebbe they'd hang me."

"What, for a pirate and smuggler? Well, perhaps they will," said Vince coolly.

"But you wouldn't like that, my lad. Untie me, and let me set you ash.o.r.e, and then I'll sail away and never come near the Crag again."

"Well, but you won't come near the Crag again if I take you ash.o.r.e. Sir Francis will have you put in prison, of course. Won't he, Mike?"

"There's no doubt about that," replied Mike.

Daygo groaned.

"Oh, Master Vince--don't, don't!" he cried. "I'm an old man now, and it would be so horrible."

"So it was for our poor people at home; and I know you've been pretending you hadn't seen us."

"Ay, I've been a bad 'un--'orrid bad 'un, sir, but I'm a-repenting now, and going to lead a new life."

"In prison, Joe."

"No, no, no, sir," yelled the miserable wretch. "It 'd kill me. Do be a good gen'leman, and forgive me as you ought to, bad as I've been. You untie me and let me run you ash.o.r.e, and then I raally will sail away."

"What do you say, Mike?"

"Well, I think we might trust him now. He has been pretty well punished."

"Then you'd trust him?" said Vince.

Mike nodded.

"Then I wouldn't. He'd jump up, strong as ever, and pitch us overboard, or take us over to France, or do something. I'm not going to untie a knot."

"Oh, Master Vince," groaned the old fellow; "and after all the fish I've give you, and the things I've done!"

"Including trying to drown me," said Vince.

"Oh, Master Mike, you have got a 'art in yer," groaned Daygo. "You try an' persuade him, sir. Don't take me ash.o.r.e and give me up."

"Look, Mike," said Vince excitedly, as a white puff of smoke suddenly appeared from the bows of the cutter, followed shortly by another, showing that they had got within range of the schooner, and the firing was kept up steadily as the boat sailed on, fast nearing the sh.o.r.e now, where the cliff was dotted with the people attracted by the engagement.

But the firing did not interest Daygo, who kept on pleading and protesting and begging to be forgiven to one who seemed to have thoroughly hardened his heart.

Then the old man made an effort to wriggle himself into a sitting position, but a light tap with the conger bat sent him down.

"Don't you move again," said Vince sternly; "and don't you say another word, or you'll make your case worse than ever."