suffocated, they shot up to the heaving surface of the sea, clinging tightly to each other.

And there—oh, blessed sight!—not twenty fathoms away, lay their own ship, dismasted and looking an utter wreck, but more beautiful to their eyes than any palace.

From her decks there came a shout: “There they are! there they are! Lower away a boat! lower quickly, or the sharks will have them!”

In a few minutes the only remaining boat belonging to the ship was lowered, and a dozen willing arms were sending her flying over the water towards the two lads.

Bearded faces looked over her gunwale, and brawny arms literally snatched them from an awful death; for as they were dragged out of the water there was a snap of hungry jaws, and several huge sharks were baulked of their prey.

A few minutes later, dripping and exhausted, the two lads found themselves once more safe and sound on the decks of their beloved ship, and saw Cavendish himself looking at them with an expression of anxiety on his face.

“I hope, lads, you are none the worse for your adventure?” said he.

“No, sir, we are safe, thank God!” replied Roger; “but we have been through a good deal, and are somewhat shaken. We should therefore like to go below for a while. But is all the fighting over?”

“Yes,” replied Cavendish, “and victory is to us.”

The two then went below, and Harry soon had Roger under the care of the surgeon. The good man pronounced that his wound was not dangerous, and that he would do, with care.

Then, sitting by Roger’s side, Harry plunged into a recital of his adventures since the boarding of the Spaniard, a circle of eager listeners standing or sitting round them.