The story of the negro was a very interesting one.  He told of his adventures on shore, and how kind the men had been to him until they went on board the Arato, and how then they treated him as if he had been a dog—­how he had been made to do double duty in all sorts of disagreeable work, and how, after they had seen the light on the beach, he had been put into the hold and tied hand and foot.  While down there in the dark he had heard the firing on shore, and, after a long while, the firing from the deck, and other shots near by.  All this had so excited him that he managed to get one hand loose from his cords, and then had speedily unfastened the rest, and had quietly crept to a hatchway, where he could watch what was going on without showing himself.  He had seen the two men on deck, ready to fire on the approaching boat.  He had recognized Captain Horn and the people of the Miranda in the boat.  And then, when there was but one man left on deck, and the boat was afraid to come nearer, he had rushed up behind him and tumbled him overboard.

One thing only did Inkspot omit:  he did not say that it was Mr. Burke’s example that had prompted him to go ashore for refreshments.  When the story had been told, and all questions asked and answered, the captain turned to Burke and Shirley and asked their opinions upon the case.  Shirley was in favor of putting the negro in irons.  He had deserted them, and had nearly cost them their lives by the stories he had told on shore.  Burke, to the captain’s surprise,—­for the second mate generally dealt severely with nautical transgressions,—­was in favor of clemency.

“To be sure,” said he, “the black scoundrel did get us into trouble.  But then, don’t you see, he has got us out of it.  If these beastly fellows hadn’t been led by him to come after our money, we would not have had this schooner, and how we should have got those bags away without her,—­to say nothing of ourselves,—­is more than I can fathom.  It is my belief that no craft ever comes within twenty miles of this coast, if she can help it.  So I vote for letting him off.  He didn’t intend to do us any harm, and he didn’t intend to do us any good, but it seems to me that the good he did do rises higher above the water-line than the harm.  So I say, let him off.  We need another hand about as much as we need anything.”

“And so say I,” said the captain.  “Maka, you can tell him we forgive him, because we believe that he is really a good fellow and didn’t intend any harm, and he can turn in with the rest of you on his old watch.  And now bring up that Chilian fellow.”