The sergeant was now quietly arranging his men in such a manner as to insure the captivity or death of the outlaw, when one of the soldiers stumbled, and his musket struck the ground with a ringing noise. Jack, who had just awakened from his drunken nap, heard the ominous sound. He had no weapons, but relied on the security of his retreat and his activity and strength. He cautiously opened the door, in front of which stood a soldier with his musket pointed towards him. The sergeant cried, "Surrender, or you are a dead man!" Jack made one last desperate struggle for life. He sprang down the ledge, turned aside with one hand the bayonet which was thrust at his bosom, and felled the soldier with the other; but ere he could clear the guard, his shoulder was transfixed by another bayonet, which disabled him, and in a few minutes he was stretched at the feet of the soldiers, a wounded, pinioned captive. Before the sun had set that afternoon he was securely lodged in the prison at Guayave, heavily ironed, and the prison was guarded by a detachment of soldiers. The trial of Jack Shadow soon came on before a bench of magistrates. His identity was proved; also the conspicuous part he had taken in the insurrection, and the bloody acts which he had committed. The outlaw was condemned to death. His deportment was sullen and dogged to the last. He refused to see his wife, who, when too late, regretted the steps which, prompted by anger and a short-lived desire for revenge, she had taken for his arrest. He was hanged on a gallows, about a quarter of a mile outside the village of Guayave. Chapter XXX. WEST INDIA LIFE I remained on the Upper Pearl estate, and found much to interest an inquiring mind. Murray, although there were some good points about him, was not considered trustworthy. In his cups he was quarrelsome and as choleric as a Welshman; and a fondness for liquor was his besetting sin. He was an excellent accountant and an efficient clerk, but could hardly be relied on when a clear head and cool judgment were required. A short time before I became acquainted with Murray, he had quarreled at a dinner party with a Mr. Reed, the manager of a coffee plantation. The lie was exchanged, a blow was struck; a challenge was given and accepted on the spot. The next morning the parties met, with their seconds, firmly bent upon shooting each other. There was no flinching on the part of the principals; no desire evinced to give or receive an apology. The seconds, however, were made of milder stuff; and neither of them being Irishmen, thought they would be justified in rendering the duel a bloodless one, and transforming a grave matter into a harmless joke. They accordingly loaded the pistols with powder only, keeping the bullets in their pockets; probably taking the hint from the well-blazoned proceedings in the duel fought at Chalk farm, a few years before, between Jeffries and Moore,