“Boys,” said Mr. Holdfast, “you may take hold of the trunk again and go on with it. Don’t be afraid. If the captain makes any attempt to assault you, he will have me to deal with.” Harry and Jack did as directed. Jack, however, could not help feeling a little nervous, his old fear of the captain asserting itself. But Harry, confident in the protection of his good friend, the mate, was quite unconcerned. Mr. Holdfast walked on beside them. “The captain seems disposed to make trouble,” he said. “He fancies that he is captain of this island, as he was chief officer of the Nantucket. I shall convince him of his mistake.” “I hope you won’t get into any trouble on my account, Mr. Holdfast,” said Harry, considerately. “Thank you, my lad; but Tom Holdfast doesn’t propose to let any man walk over him, even if it is his old skipper. Now that the ship is gone, Captain Hill has no more authority here than I have.” As the captain fell, his head came in contact with a timber with such violence that, combined with his condition, he was forced to lie where he fell for over an hour. As the boys emerged upon the bluff with the trunk, Clinton, who had just got up, recognized it, and ran up to them, his face beaming with delight. “Oh, Mr. Vane!” he said, “have you really brought my trunk? You are awfully kind.” Then they had breakfast--a very plain meal, as might be supposed. Some of the sailors came over from the other camp, and one of them asked Mr. Holdfast if he had seen the captain. “You will find him on the beach,” answered the mate. “He has been carrying too much sail, I think,” he added, dryly. After a while the captain picked himself up, and gazed moodily at the wreck, of which so little remained. Then, the events of the morning recurring to him, he frowned savagely, and, turning toward the bluff, he shook his fist angrily in the direction of the mate’s encampment. CHAPTER XVI CONCLUSION Among the sailors was an Italian named Francesco. Probably he had another name, but no one knew what it was. In fact, a sailor’s last name is very little used. He was a man of middle height, very swarthy, with bright, black eyes, not unpopular, for the most part, but with a violent temper. His chief fault was a love of strong drink. On board the Nantucket grog had been served to the crew; and with that he had been content. But at the time of the wreck no spirits had been saved but the captain’s stock of brandy. Francesco felt this to be a great hardship. More than any other sailor he felt the need of his usual stimulant. It was very tantalizing to him to see the captain partaking of his private stock of brandy while he was compelled to get along on water. “The captain is too mucha selfish,” he said one day to a fellow-sailor. “He should share his brandy with the men.” Ben Brady, the sailor to whom he was speaking, shrugged his shoulders. “I think I will try some of the captain’s brandy when he is away,” said Francesco, slyly.