“Well, sir,” Stump replied, “I reckon I was always too scared to run away. And then,” he added fearfully, “I’ve got a few things to answer for, too. I was driven to ’em, but before a court that don’t count. I hain’t got murder, though,” he declared. “’Tain’t in no way as bad as that. Captain Scott swears I shoved a black boy overboard in a gale of wind, but ’fore God, it was an accident, and I asked to lower a boat and go after him, but Scott wouldn’t let me. I’ve done with it, and am willing to take whatever medicine is coming.” “Fangaloa,” Tuamana grunted, pointing to the dim outline of a high cone-shaped mountain looming up on the starboard hand. The word soon spread among the sleeping forms, and presently all were keenly alert. The gunner’s mate had secured his machine gun to be prepared to rake the enemy with a withering fire in case of opposition. The launch turned between two bold headlands and steered for the dark land. They were running into a long narrow arm of the sea--the Bay of Fangaloa, a mile wide and three miles deep. Every eye was strained ahead, gazing for the schooner. There were but few lights on the distant beach. Most of the natives were long ago in bed. Quietly the sailors had taken their stations. Each carried only a revolver; for night use rifles are less effective. Phil and Sydney stood side by side ready to lead their men on board the “Talofa.” The darkness was intense. The bold and densely wooded mountains rising precipitously above them cast a deep shadow over the waters of the bay. A satisfied grunt from Tuamana was the first news that their quarry had been located. The chiefs keen eyes had perceived the ghostly outline of a sail. In a few minutes all recognized the schooner, lying near the extreme end of the bay. Her great mainsail was set and its whiteness against the land had first revealed her presence. No one spoke. The steam launch had been slowed in speed, and all precautions taken to assure surprise. The fireman ceaselessly watched his boiler to prevent a sudden escape of steam and the machinist used oil freely to prevent the slightest machinery squeak which might reveal their presence. In silence, except for the slight churn of the propeller and the swirl of water thrown from the bow of the launch in its progress, O’Neil steered straight for the black hull now distinctly outlined scarcely five hundred yards away. No lights were visible on the schooner--a good sign. The crew were either all asleep or ashore. The launch, with its engine stopped, swung alongside. Ready hands made her fast, and a moment after the deserted decks were held by the Americans. “You look out for the forward hatch,” Phil ordered Sydney. “O’Neil, take a half dozen men with Stump, and make sail. Tell the launch to take a line and tow us out of the bog.” Phil with two sailors moved toward the cabin ladder. He gazed below into forbidding blackness.