On deck Vytal met Hugh Rouse, whom he questioned tersely concerning the whereabouts of Roger Prat. “He is in the forecastle, captain, with King Lud, the bear.” “Fetch him, Hugh. Quick!” And the giant, with darkening brow, hastened forward. In a moment he had returned with his companion. “Give full heed,” commanded Vytal, glancing sharply about to make sure he was unheard by others. “There is a plot afoot to desert the fly-boat. That plot at all hazards must not be disclosed. We should lose by immediate accusation, as we know not who are loyal. My plan is this: I shall jump into the sea; you two then give outcry as if a man by accident had fallen overboard. Ferdinando will of necessity heave to. In the mean time, as though distracted, fire a piece and blow on trumpets, as the sailing rule demands. Thus the fly-boat will have time to come up to us, and then—but leave that to me.” He turned to one and the other to make certain of their comprehension, and found it. They were accustomed, these two men, to their captain’s succinct commands in moments of emergency. But Roger Prat stepped forward with an expression indicative of disobedience. “Nay, captain,” he said, with a broad grin, “_I_ am the hogshead and will float; ’tis better so. Under your favor, I go myself. The outcry being thine, will have more effect.” And before Vytal could hinder him, the short, grotesque fellow, winking and wagging his head at Rouse, flung himself, with a loud cry, into the sea. In three minutes the ship was in an uproar. Men ran hither and thither, fore and aft, in a confusion of useless endeavor. The women, startled by the commotion, gathered for the most part amidships near the main-mast, while others, among whom were the first to learn the cause of the excitement, sought the high, castellated stern, from which they might look off with straining eyes, intent on catching sight of Roger Prat, who had already gained a widespread popularity. Hugh Rouse, at a word from Vytal, went quickly to the master’s mate, then at the helm, and informed him of the occurrence. Without hesitation, the mate and his assistants put the helm hard down, throwing the vessel into the wind. For an instant she stood poised, a breathless creature, her sails flapping, and then, minding her rudder still further, started back over her course. In the mean time, Rouse, who had hurried forward, gained the poop, and, waving a torch he had procured from one of the sailors, shouted with the full power of his lusty lungs to the crew of the fly-boat. “Fool,” cried a voice behind him, “there is no need of that!” Turning, he saw St. Magil peering out across the water.