196 A NATURALIST ON DESERT ISLANDS. 



tearing back on the starboard tack. This time her port 

 broadside barks forth its storm of death ; there is a 

 deafening report and a blinding flash on board the Buc- 

 caneer vessel as her powder magazine explodes and . . . 



" Good- lord above ! what was that ? " " Where are 

 we ? " " Hullo, is that you, Barton ? " " Yes, sir, 

 we've just shot that bird yoi^ wanted. Had a rare 

 chase after it though. Wheugh — isn't it hot ? " — 

 " Merciful heavens, yes ! but I thought you were all 

 asleep. Why it's four o'clock, and time we were 

 moving." 



