“He ain’t no Britisher!  Dar ain’t no more Angler Saxon blood in his veins dan in dis chile!”

An hour later, when he stood near a gun carriage, still dizzy from his narrow escape from the double crime of murder and suicide, St. Mark passed Fernando.  He grasped the hand of the silent gunner, held it a moment in his own and whispered:  “Thank you!”

CHAPTER XI.

SHIPWRECK—­ESCAPE AND RETURN TO OHIO.

Ship’s rules, stringent as they were on the war frigate, and officers severe as were those of the Macedonian could not wholly curb the rollicking spirit of Terrence.  His exuberance of spirits constantly got the better of any good intentions he might have formed.  Any wholesome dread he may have entertained of that famous feline of nine tails, known to sailors of that day, was overcome by his love of pranks.

What guardian spirit protects the bold and mischievous has never yet been discovered; but it is a well authenticated fact that wild, harum scarum fellows like Terrence Malone seldom come to grief or disaster.

He was always the innocent lamb of the ship, whom no one would suspect of mischief.  The chaplain of the ship was not more grave and sanctimonious than he.  If the hammock netting were left so as to trip up the dignified captain and throw him on the deck in a very undignified manner, no one could possibly have suspected that the harmless Terrence had any thing to do with it.

The quarter-master was one day snoring in his hammock.  Terrence, who was on duty scrubbing the gun deck, had a large tub filled with water, which was unconsciously left just under the head of the hammock of the quarter-master.  No one could tell how it happened; but the supports were all cut save two or three, which the swaying of the hammock gradually loosened until, just as the officer went to “change sides,” down he came with a frightful splash head first into the tub.

Terrence, who was near, ran to his rescue and quickly pulled him out.

“It’s bastely carelessness to lave the water there,” cried Terrence.  “Faith, I hope the captain will give the shpalpeen two dozen as did it.”

“Who cut my hammock down?” roared the quarter-master.

“Cut yer hammock, indade?”

The quarter-master was in a rage and swore like a trooper.  Wiping the water from his face, he roared: 

“Yes, cut down my hammock!  Don’t you see the netting has been cut?”

“The truth ye tell, quarter-master; some haythin has surely been cutting yer netting.  Now who could have done that?  I hope the culprit may be found, that’s all.”

And the face of the quarter-master himself did not evince more savage fury than the Irishman.  He was the first to report it to the lieutenant, and in his zeal actually burst in on the captain himself and told of the disaster, volunteering his services to hunt down the culprit.