"Not I, bedad. It was me mushket," said Dinny. "Divil a bit will I have any more to do wid it. I'll have another with a thrigger which isn't wake." "You've saved us, Dinny," said Jack, excitedly, as the boat was being left far behind. "Not I, my lad. Shure, it's between the wind and this worn-out old mushket. It's a baste of a thing. Why, it moight have killed the poor man. I say, lad; d'yer think he's much hurt?" "A broken arm, that's all, Dinny," said Jack, smiling. "Ah, well!" said Dinny, reloading the piece; "that'll do him good, and give the poor divils at the plantation a bit of a rest." He paused in the act of reloading, drew the charge with a dry look upon his countenance, and laid the musket down upon the deck. "No, thank ye," he said, shaking his head at the piece. "It's a murdhering baste ye are, and ye'll be getting some poor fellow into throuble wan of these days. Don't you think so, Dick?" The prisoner screwed up his countenance, and then relaxed it as he looked hard at Dinny. "Well, it's pretty nigh a hanging matter for you, Dinny," he said. "What! for an accident, man?" "Accident! you've gone and committed a rank act of piracy! But, I say, what'll they do with me?" "Hang ye, I should say," replied Dinny, with a droll look in his eye. "Hang ye as soon as they've got toime to think about ye; or no: maybe they'll save themselves the throuble, and hand ye over to thim ruffians there." He pointed over the side, and the sailor gave a start and changed colour as he caught sight of the back-fins of a couple of huge sharks gliding along through the water a little way astern. "Oh, they're a bad lot with their prisoners, Dick. Look at me." "But what are they going to do?" said the sailor, eagerly. "They can't put in anywhere, and as soon as this day's work's known, they'll have a man-o'-war sent after 'em." "Sorra a wan o' me knows," said Dinny; "but it's moighty plisant out here. I'm toired o' pipe-claying me belts and marching and being senthry, and they may make me prishner as long as they like." "You didn't half-kill one of them, and they don't bear malice against you," said the sailor, thoughtfully. "An' is it malice? Why, didn't I thry to run wan of 'em through wid me bagnet, and attimpt to shoot the other! Malice! I belave they liked it, for we've been the best o' friends iver since. Here, Bart, me lad; Dick here wants to shake hands with yez." "I don't," said the sailor, sternly; but as Bart came from where he had been taking a pull at one of the ropes, smiling and open-handed, Dick's face relaxed. "That was a pretty good wrastle," said Bart, running his eye approvingly over the physique of his late opponent, and gripping Dick's hand heartily; "but I got the best of you."