"Sure on it, sir; as sure as I am that there's somebody going to shout at 'em to be quiet, or he'll come and chuck some of 'em overboard." Even as the man spoke, footsteps were heard, and then there was a sharp sound like the banging of the top of the hatch with a capstan bar, followed by a fierce shout delivered in a threatening way. Then came a low, piteous moaning and sobbing, mingled with the crying of children, and once more the top of the hatch was banged. "Guess I'm coming down to give it to some of you. Stop that! Do yer hear?" These words came clearly enough over the water in the silence of the tropic night, and once more all was still again, and there was a low whistling, as if someone were walking back to the cabin-hatch, where he stood for a few minutes, and then went below. "Tom," said Mark, "that's the slaver skipper." "Yes, sir, so I s'pose. Nobody else wouldn't bully like that." "I mean the skipper of the schooner we took." "Think so, sir?" cried the man, excitedly. "I'm sure of it. I know his voice again. That's the man who had me thrown into the boat." "That's right, then, sir. I couldn't tell, because my head was all dumb with the crack I got; but you weren't hit, and of course you'd know." Just then there came a low, piteous, half-stifled wail from the vessel, which went so home to Mark's feelings, that his voice sounded changed and suffocated, as he whispered,-- "I've often said that I was sorry I came to sea, Tom Fillot, so as to be sent on this horrible slavery business, but I'm glad now." "That's right, sir." "And we'll have that schooner back, and set those poor creatures free if I die for it." "That you shall, sir," cried Tom Fillot. "No, no, that you shan't, I mean." "Not take her?" said Mark, half aloud in his surprise. "Hist! No, no, sir. I didn't mean that; I mean not die for it." "Oh, I see." "You shall take her, sir, as soon as you give the word; but, begging your pardon, sir, if I might ask a favour for me and the men--" "Yes; what is it?" "Don't be too hard on us, sir, in the way of orders." "What do you mean? I won't ask you to do anything I shall not try to do myself." "Oh, it ain't that, Mr Vandean, sir. We know you for a fine, plucky young gent, as we'd follow anywhere. What I meant was, don't be too stiff with the men in the way o' stopping 'em. We don't want to kill any of the beggars, but we should like to give it 'em as hard as we can." "Do, Tom," whispered Mark, excitedly. "The beasts! the wretches! the unmanly brutes! Oh, how can those poor blacks be such pitiful, miserable cowards, and not rise up and kill the villains who seize them and treat them in such a way!"