and beyond it a slight hurry and foam of the waters. Half a dozen voices cried warning to the helmsman. It was he of the woman’s mantle, whom I had run through the shoulder on the island off Cape Charles, and he had been Kirby’s pilot from Maracaibo to Fort Caroline. Now he answered with a burst of vaunting oaths: “We’re in deep water, and there’s deep water beyond. I’ve passed this way before, and I’ll carry ye safe past that reef were ‘t hell’s gate!”

The desperadoes who heard him swore applause, and thought no more of the reef that lay in wait. Long since they had gone through the gates of hell for the sake of the prize beyond. Knowing the appeal to be hopeless, I yet made it.

“She is English, men!” I shouted.