CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
THE PERILS OF THE SCRAW.
In the hurry and confusion the boys crouched in the bottom of the boat for some minutes, gazing at the lugger, and seeing lanthorn after lanthorn dancing about.

Then one descended like a glowworm apparently on to the surface of the water, and they knew that a boat had been lowered and that there would be pursuit.

And all the time they felt that without effort on their part they were being borne rapidly along as fast as any one could chase them; but they were in a boat familiar to them, and furnished with oars and sails if they could only reach the open water.

Then a despondent feeling came over them as they realised that they were surrounded by towering rocks, and as they crouched lower they fully expected from moment to moment to hear a grinding sound, and feel a sharp check as a plank was ripped out by some sharp granite fang, and then hear once more the rippling of the water as it rushed into the boat.
And this in the darkness; for the bright stars above and the phosphorescent atoms with which the black waters were dotted did not relieve the deep gloom produced by the overhanging cliffs.
"Hurt, Vince ?" whispered Mike at last.
"Yes, ever so." "Oh! Want a handkerchief to bind it up ?" cried Mike, in horror.
"Well, it does bleed--feels wet--but it don't matter much." "But it does," said Mike excitedly.

"Where did it hit you ?" "On the shin; but it didn't hit me--I hit it." "What! The bullet ?" "Go along! don't joke now.