It was now past sunset and Levy mechanically set about building a fire to warm his aching limbs and keep off any prowling beasts while he slept. Scooping a hollow in the sand beyond the reach of the tide, he gathered dry drift wood which he finally lighted by the aid of a spark struck from two stones. He was hungry now and even more anxious for a smoke than for food; at that moment he hated the crew less for making off with the vessel in which he had had a third interest than for casting him on this deserted shore without even the solace of his evening pipe. Muttering angrily, he leaned over the fire to stir the blaze; as he did so the damp string about his neck swung free and he noticed the little lucky stone still fastened to the end. Strangely enough, the sight of the pebble he had worn as a charm for so many years gave him courage. His bold spirit which for a little while had lain bruised and discouraged grew strong again; he felt that he was not the man to submit tamely to treachery and misfortune. He must win back all that he had lost that day, not only the stolen vessel but his self-respect. He must not allow himself beaten. Crouching by the fire, his chin resting on his clenched fists, his eyes on the flames, the boy vowed not to rest until he had defeated his enemies and secured what was his own. "I'm strong and young," he told himself, confidently, "and so far my luck has never failed me." And he fingered the little stone on the string about his neck. At last the fire died down, but there was no one to stir the dying embers, for Uriah Levy had fallen asleep upon the sands, the luck stone still clutched between his strong, brown fingers, a confident smile upon his lips. In the days that followed, it was not an easy thing for young Levy to smile confidently in the faces of those who predicted certain failure in his undertaking. "Other merchants and commanders have suffered from pirates and mutinous crews before your day," he was informed at every turn. "Better ship again and look for better luck." Kindly and well-meant advice, but Levy would have none of it. He still smiled, though now somewhat grimly, as he went from friend to friend, insisting that he would not fail to bring his piratical crew to justice. And so confident was he that he would eventually find a backer, that he even spent several days roaming about the wharves in order to pick out a trustworthy crew, should he find anyone willing to send him to sea on his own vessel again. "Why, Uriah Levy," exclaimed a deep voice as a stout sailor came toward him. "You surely haven't forgotten me?" "You're Ned Allison," said Levy after a long look had convinced him that the slender fisher boy had grown into the burly man before him. "And do you follow the sea now as you planned?"