What was that?—­the sound of some dislodged stones splashing in one of the pools further up!  He glanced hurriedly round the wall of the bastion.  A figure crouching against the side of the ditch, as if concealing itself from observation on the glacis above, was slowly approaching the sea.  Suddenly, when within a hundred yards of Hurlstone, it turned, crossed the ditch, rapidly mounted its crumbling sides, and disappeared over the crest.  But in that hurried glimpse he had recognized Captain Bunker!

The sudden and mysterious apparition of this man produced on Hurlstone an effect that the most violent opposition could not have created.  Without a thought of the terrible purpose it had interrupted, and obeying some stronger instinct that had seized him, he dashed down into the ditch and up to the crest again after Captain Bunker.  But he had completely disappeared.  A little lagoon, making in from the bay, on which a small fishing-boat was riding, and a solitary fisherman mending his nets on the muddy shore a few feet from it, were all that was to be seen.

He was turning back, when he saw the object of his search creeping from some reeds, on all fours, with a stealthy, panther-like movement towards the unconscious fisherman.  Before Hurlstone could utter a cry, Bunker had sprung upon the unfortunate man, thrown him to the earth, rapidly rolled him over and over, enwrapping him hand and foot in his own net, and involving him hopelessly in its meshes.  Tossing the helpless victim—­who was apparently too stupefied to call out—­to one side, he was rushing towards the boat when, with a single bound, Hurlstone reached his side and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

“Captain Bunker, for God’s sake! what are you doing?”

Captain Bunker turned slowly and without apparent concern towards his captor.  Hurlstone fell back before the vacant, lack-lustre eyes that were fixed upon him.

“Captain Bunker’s my name,” said the madman, in a whisper.  “Lemuel Bunker, of Nantucket!  Hush! don’t waken him,” pointing to the prostrate fisherman; “I’ve put him to sleep.  I’m Captain Bunker—­old drunken Bunker—­who stole one ship from her owners, and disgraced himself, and now is going to steal another—­ha, ha!  Let me go.”

“Captain Bunker,” said Hurlstone, recovering himself in time to prevent the maniac from dashing into the water.  “Look at me.  Don’t you know me?”

“Yes, yes; you’re one of old Bunker’s dogs kicked overboard by Perkins.  I’m one of Perkins’ dogs gone mad, and locked up by Perkins!  Ha, ha!  But I got out!  Hush!  She let me out.  She thought I was going to see the boys at San Antonio.  But I’m going off to see the old barque out there in the fog.  I’m going to chuck Perkins overboard and the two mates.  Let me go.”

He struggled violently.  Hurlstone, fearful of quitting his hold to release the fisherman, whom Captain Bunker no longer noticed, and not daring to increase the Captain’s fury by openly calling to him, beckoned the pinioned man to make an effort.  But, paralyzed by fear, the wretched captive remained immovable, staring at the struggling men.  With the strength of desperation Hurlstone at last forced the Captain down upon his knees.