Bry shook his head, decisively. He was an expert woodsman, and declared no man could penetrate the thick jungle that hemmed us in. Ned Britton also bore testimony to this fact; so we were obliged to sadly abandon any hope of escape, and stretched ourselves as comfortably as we might upon the ground to await the approach of morning. With the first streaks of day the Major and a dozen of his men arrived, and without appearing to notice that we had slipped our bonds they drove us in a pack from the clearing and out upon the sands that bordered the inlet. Here we saw others of our captors busy preparing breakfast before the entrances to the rude huts, and it was evident that they were using the provisions they had captured from us, for I scented the aroma of the coffee that Uncle Naboth was so proud of, and carried with him wherever he went. We gathered before the hut of the Major, which was somewhat larger than the others, and then the leader said, in a tone of stern command: “Take off your clothes.” We hesitated, not quite understanding the purpose of the order. “Strip, my boys,” said another of the pirates, with a grin. “We want your togs. We drew cuts for ’em last night, and now we’ll trade you our rags for ’em.” So we stripped and tossed our clothes upon the ground, where they were eagerly seized by the outlaws and donned with great satisfaction. The Major did not participate in this robbery; but, indeed, no garment that we wore could possibly have fitted his huge frame. When we had put on the rags discarded by the others we were a curious looking lot, you may be sure. Uncle Naboth had a fit of silent merriment at my expense, but if he could have seen himself I am sure he would have choked and sputtered dangerously. A more disreputable appearance than that we now presented would be hard to imagine; but our enemies did not profit so greatly by the exchange, after all, for the garments fitted them as badly as theirs did us. However, they seemed very proud of their acquisition, and strutted around like so many vain peacocks. CHAPTER VIII. THE SANDS OF GOLD. The sun had now arisen and flooded the scene with its glorious rays. We were given some of the coffee and a scant allowance of food for our breakfast, the care with which the latter was doled out being evidence that our captors did not know that the “Flipper” was loaded down with provisions. As soon as the meal was concluded we all gathered around the Major’s hut again, and he began to make us an address. “At the conference held last evening,” he began, in his smooth tone, “we decided to allow you to choose your own fate. It is death on the one hand, and life as our paid employees on the other. What do you say?” “We’d like to know, sir,” said Uncle Naboth, “what you are doing on this island?” “Washing gold.” “Gold!”