Josh leaned over the gunwale, and reported that there was no fender out.  A malediction followed, also so familiar to those acquainted with ships, and the black was told to look again.  This time, as had been expected, the negro leaned with his head and body far over the side of the yawl, to look for that which had no existence, when two of the men beneath the thwart shoved his legs after them.  Josh screamed, as he found himself going into the water, with a sort of confused consciousness of the truth; and Spike called out to Simon to “catch hold of his brother-nigger.”  The cook bent forward to obey, when a similar assault on his legs from beneath the thwart, sent him headlong after Josh.  One of the younger seamen, who was not in the secret, sprang up to rescue Simon, who grasped his extended hand, when the too generous fellow was pitched headlong from the boat.

All this occurred in less than ten seconds of time, and so unexpectedly and naturally, that not a soul beyond those who were in the secret, had the least suspicion it was anything but an accident.  Some water was shipped, of necessity, but the boat was soon bailed free.  As for the victims of this vile conspiracy, they disappeared amid the troubled waters of the reef, struggling with each other.  Each and all met the common fate so much the sooner, from the manner in which they impeded their own efforts.

The yawl was now relieved from about five hundred pounds of the weight it had carried—­Simon weighing two hundred alone, and the youngish seaman being large and full.  So intense does human selfishness get to be, in moments of great emergency, that it is to be feared most of those who remained, secretly rejoiced that they were so far benefited by the loss of their fellows.  The Senor Montefalderon was seated on the aftermost thwart, with his legs in the stern-sheets, and consequently with his back toward the negroes, and he fully believed that what had happened was purely accidental.

“Let us lower our sail, Don Esteban,” he cried, eagerly, “and save the poor fellows.”

Something very like a sneer gleamed on the dark countenance of the captain, but it suddenly changed to a look of assent.

“Good!” he said, hastily—­“spring forward, Don Wan, and lower the sail—­stand by the oars, men!”

Without pausing to reflect, the generous-hearted Mexican stepped on a thwart, and began to walk rapidly forward, steadying himself by placing his hands on the heads of the men.  He was suffered to get as far as the second thwart or past most of the conspirators, when his legs were seized from behind.  The truth now flashed on him, and grasping two of the men in his front, who knew nothing of Spike’s dire scheme, he endeavoured to save himself by holding to their jackets.  Thus assailed, those men seized others with like intent, and an awful struggle filled all that part of the craft.  At this dread instant the boat glanced into the white water, shipping so