Mark Vandean did come out of the bunk in remarkably quick time, but he was still confused, and his brain refused to solve the puzzle before him, so he, to use a familiar expression, pulled himself together. The young officer resented being spoken to in this rough manner and threatened by a stranger with an American accent, and in as haughty a tone as he could assume he cried,-- "Who are you? What are you doing here?" "Come, I like that. Hear him. Oh, all right," cried the man, as there was a hoarse chorus of laughter. "Who'm I, eh, my bantam cock? Waal, I'm Cap'n Ephrum Bynes, o' Charleston, South Car'lina. That's who I am. And what am I doing here? I'm kicking a set o' sarcy Britishers out o' my ship. Now you know that." "Where's Lieutenant Russell?" "Down in the boat, my sarcy Tom chicken; and that's all you've got to know. Say another word, and I'll have you pitched into the sea among the sharks instead of into the boat. So mind that. Bring him on deck." Rough hands seized Mark on the instant, and as a man carrying the lanthorn stepped back, Mark saw the legs of the Yankee skipper ascending the companion ladder, and a minute later he was rudely dragged on deck, his heart beating wildly as he tried to pierce the darkness around in search of his companions. But all was pitchy black, and though his eyes wandered in search of the bright star-like lamp of the _Nautilus_, it was not to be seen. The next moment he knew why; a pleasant breeze was blowing off shore, hot but powerful enough to be acted upon, and in those brief moments he knew that the vessel must have sailed. He had little time for thought. He was suddenly lifted from the deck, and he began to struggle wildly, striking out with his fists, but all in vain. "Over with him!" cried the Yankee skipper, and a cry escaped from Mark's lips as he felt himself swung out over the side of the schooner, to fall, he expected, splash into the sea. He had time to think all this, for thought flies fast in emergencies, but his fall was partly upon someone below, partly upon the thwart of a boat, and a deep groan came from close to his ear as he looked up and saw the lanthorn resting on the schooner's bulwark, and several faces staring down. "My compliments to your skipper," said a mocking voice, "if you ever ketch him, and tell him he's welkim to my boat. I'll take a glass o' liquor with him if ever he comes our way.--Now then, shove off, you there forward. If you stop another minute, I'll send a pig o' ballast through your bottom." This was said with a savage snarl, and as Mark struggled up into a sitting position, he felt the boat begin to move. "Here, ahoy, below there! You'd best lay your head to the north," came the voice again, as the light was suddenly hidden or put out. "Your skipper made signals when the wind rose, and we answered 'em for you. Get your oars out sharp, or you won't overtake them this year."