The yard and sail fell clattering down, and then the work of death commenced; there was no parley, no suspense; each man started upon his feet and raised his sword.  The voices of Philip and of Krantz alone were heard, and Philip’s sword did its work.  He was nerved to his revenge, and never could be satiated as long as one remained who had sacrificed his Amine.  As Philip had expected, many had been covered up and entangled by the falling of the sail, and their work was thereby made easier.

Some fell where they stood; others reeled back, and sunk down under the smooth water; others were pierced as they floundered under the canvas.  In a few minutes, the work of carnage was complete.  Schriften meanwhile looked on, and ever and anon gave vent to his chuckling laugh—­his demoniacal “He! he!”

The strife was over, and Philip stood against the mast to recover his breath.  “So far art thou revenged, my Amine,” thought he; “but, oh! what are these paltry lives compared to thine?” And now that his revenge was satiated, and he could do no more, he covered his face up in his hands, and wept bitterly, while those who had assisted him were already collecting the money of the slain for distribution.  These men, when they found that three only of their side had fallen, lamented that there had not been more, as their own shares of the dollars would have been increased.

There were now but thirteen men besides Philip, Krantz, and Schriften left upon the raft.  As the day dawned, the breeze again sprung up, and they shared out the portions of water, which would have been the allowance of their companions who had fallen.  Hunger they felt not; but the water revived their spirits.

Although Philip had had little to say to Schriften since the separation from Amine, it was very evident to him and to Krantz, that all the pilot’s former bitter feelings had returned.  His chuckle, his sarcasms, his “He! he!” were incessant; and his eye was now as maliciously directed to Philip as it was when they first met.  It was evident that Amine alone had for the time conquered his disposition; and that, with her disappearance, had vanished all the good-will of Schriften towards her husband.  For this Philip cared little; he had a much more serious weight on his heart—­the loss of his dear Amine; and he felt reckless and indifferent concerning anything else.

The breeze now freshened, and they expected that, in two hours, they would run on the beach, but they were disappointed:  the step of the mast gave way from the force of the wind, and the sail fell upon the raft.  This occasioned great delay; and before they could repair the mischief, the wind again subsided, and they were left about a mile from the beach.  Tired and worn out with his feelings, Philip at last fell asleep by the side of Krantz, leaving Schriften at the helm.  He slept soundly—­he dreamt of Amine—­he thought she was under a grove of cocoa-nuts in a sweet sleep; that he stood by and