As his head came up above the level of the flooring Benson saw the mulatto and the dogs in the next room, the connecting door of which had been taken from its hinges.

“Come right in, Marse Benson.  Dere am’ nuffin’ gwineter hu’t yo’,” came the rascal’s voice reassuringly.  Jack obeyed by stepping into the next room, though he kept watch over the dogs out of the corners of his eyes.

“Now, yo’ lie right down on de flo’, Marse Benson,” commanded the master of the situation.  “Ah’s gotter tie yo’ up, befo’ Ah can staht yo’ back ter ‘Napolis, but dere ain’ no hahm gwine come ter yo’.”

Making a virtue of necessity, Captain Jack lay down as directed, passing his hands behind his back.  These were deftly secured, after which his ankles were treated in the same fashion.  Immediately the mulatto, who was strong and wiry, lifted the boy and the lantern together.  The dogs remaining behind, Jack was carried out into the yard, where he discovered that daylight was coming on in the East.  He was dumped on the ground long enough to permit his captor to lock the door securely.  Then the submarine boy was lifted once more, carried around the corner of the house and dumped in the bottom of a shabby old delivery wagon.  A canvas was pulled over him, concealing him from any chance passer.  Then the mulatto ran around to the seat, picking up the reins and starting the horse.

It seemed like a long drive to the boy, though Benson was certainly in no position to judge time accurately.  At last the team was halted, along a stretch of road in a deep woods.  The mulatto lifted the submarine boy out to the ground.

“Now, w’en yo’s got yo’ se’f free, yo’ can take de road in dat direckshun,” declared the fellow, pointing.  “Bimeby yo’ come in sight ob de town.  Now, Marse Benson, w’at happen to yo’ las’ night am all in de co’se ob a lifetime, an’ Ah hope you ain’t got no bad feelin’s.  Yo’ suttinly done learn somet’ing new in de way ob tricks.  Good-bye, sab, an’ mah compliments to yo’, Marse Benson.”

With that the guide of the night before swiftly cut the cords at Jack’s wrists, then as swiftly leaped to the seat of the wagon, whipping up the horse and disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Jack, having now no knife, and the bonds about his ankles being tied with many hard knots, spent some precious minutes in freeing his feet.  At last he stood up, fire in his eyes.

“Oh, pshaw!  There’s no sense in trying to run after that rascal and his wagon,” decided the young submarine skipper.  “I haven’t the slightest idea what direction he took after he got out of sight, and—­oh, gracious!  I’m under orders to be aboard the ‘Farnum’ at eight this morning.  And on Mr. Farnum’s business, at that!”

Clenching his hands vengefully, Jack started along in the direction pointed out by his late captor.  Brisk walking wore some of the edge off his great wrath.  Catching a comprehensive glimpse of himself, Jack could not keep back a grim laugh.