“_Hwhat evidence have ye of identitee?_” _I hadn’t any at all and began to finger my buttonholes as shame-faced as a pauper before a Board. The certitude dawned upon me suddenly that Carlos, even if he would consent to swear to me, would prejudice my chances._ I cannot help thinking that _I came very near to being cast adrift upon the streets of Kingston. To my asseverations Macdonald returned nothing but a series of minute “humphs.” I don’t know what overcame his scruples; he had shown no signs of yielding, but suddenly turning on his heel_ made a motion with one of his flabby white hands. I understood it to mean that I was to follow him aft. The decks were covered with a jabbering turmoil of negroes with muscular arms and brawny shoulders. All their shining faces seemed to be momentarily gashed open to show rows of white, and were spotted with inlaid eyeballs. The sounds coming from them were a bewildering noise. They were hauling baggage about aimlessly. _A large soft bundle of bedding nearly took me off my legs._ There wasn’t room for emotion. Macdonald laid about him with the handle of the umbrella a few inches from the deck; but the passage that he made for himself closed behind him. _Suddenly, in the pushing and hurrying, I came upon a little clear space beside a pile of boxes. Stooping over them was the angular figure of Nichols, the second mate. He looked up at me, screwing his yellow eyes together._ _“Going ashore,” he asked, “long of that Puffing Billy?”_ “What business is it of yours?” I mumbled sulkily. _Sudden and intense threatening came into his_ yellow _eyes_. _“Don’t you ever come to_ you know where,” _he said; “I don’t want no spies on what I do. There’s a man there’ll crack your little backbone if he catches you. Don’t yeh come now. Never.”_ * * * * * _Part Four: Chapter One._ In my anxiety to keep clear of the schooner which, for all I know to this day, may not have been there at all, I had come too close to the sand, so close that I heard soft, rapid footfalls stop short in the fog. A voice seemed to be asking me in a whisper: “Where, oh, where?” Another cried out irresistibly, “I see it.” It was a subdued cry, as if hushed in awe. My arm swung to and fro; the turn of my wrist went on imparting the propelling motion of the oar. All the rest of my body was gripped helplessly in the dead expectation of the end, as if in the benumbing seconds of a fall from a towering height. And it was swift, too. I felt a draught at the back of my neck--a breath of wind. And instantly, as if a battering ram had been let swing past me at many layers of stretched gauze, I beheld, through a tattered deep hole in the fog, a roaring vision of flames, borne down and swimming up again; a dance of purple gleams on the strip of unveiled water, and three coal black figures in the light.