Frank Reade, Jr., left bound hand and foot upon the floor of the main cabin of the Donna Veneta, was in by no means a happy frame of mind.

He was always clear grit and never given to despair.

Yet at that moment his case looked black and hopeless enough.

He lay for some while after the departure of his captors without making a move of any kind.

The other occupants of the cabin were respectful enough. Occasionally one of the dead buccaneers would lazily change his position, or, catching a current, float across the cabin.

At such times the young inventor could not avoid a chill of horror, so ghostly and supernatural did the buccaneers look.

Some time elapsed.

It seemed an age to Frank.

He speculated upon his chances in a methodical sort of way and gave himself up to somewhat morbid reflection.

After all, his worst fate could only be death. It must come to him some time. Drowning was, after all, not the worst form.

Again the suicidal mania threatened him. Especially was this the case when he reckoned the hopelessness of his position.

After a time, however, reaction was bound to set in.

Life never seemed to have a more rosy hue. It would seem a transition into paradise to reach the upper world.

With this came a desperate sort of hope.

Why not make a supreme effort?

He could do no worse than fail. Once his mind was made up there was no faltering.

He began work on his bonds. He writhed and twisted for some while. The water had swollen the ropes, but it had also weakened the strands.

He rolled over and over until he reached the door of the captain’s cabin. Here his gaze fell upon an object which gave him a thrill.

It was an ax.

52It had been dropped there by one of the divers. At once Frank saw his opportunity.

He rolled over to it in such a manner as to press his bonds against its keen edge.

Again and again he pressed the cords against the keen blade; one by one the strands snapped.

Finally the last one was cut; Frank experienced a thrill.

The rest was easy.

He had the use of his hands now, and with the blade of the ax he cut the other bonds.

He scrambled to his feet a free man; for a moment he was undecided how to act.

His impulse was to get out of the cabin of the galleon; but how could this be done?

The hatch had been battened down by the Aurelian’s divers when they went away. Could he hope to break it open? He could at least try.

He ascended the stairs and dealt the hatch a blow. Joy! it yielded, and with a great effort he forced it open.

He pushed away the sand and emerged at last from the prison he had occupied so long.

He examined his generator.

There were chemicals enough in it to last full forty-eight hours longer.

“Perhaps by that time they will return for me,” he reflected. “At least I will cling to hope.”

He looked about him.

There was no sign of the submarine boat or of the Aurelian’s men in the vicinity. He was in a quandary as to what to do.

While in this state of doubt he wandered away from the spot for some ways.

Again a strange drowsiness came upon him. He could not help but yield to it.

He waited for a time, fighting off the sensation. Then selecting a secluded spot under the reef, he sank down.

In a few moments he was sound asleep. The water surged about his prostrate form, little fishes came and peered in at the windows of his helmet.

But nothing of this kind woke him. How long he slept he knew not.

But when he woke up all was a glare of light about him. He was some while collecting his scattered senses.

53Then he arose and looked about him. His whole being thrilled.

“Saved!” he gasped.

It was no dream. Not fifty yards distant was the submarine boat, Dolphin.

Frank at once started for it. He reached its side and clambered over the rail.

He entered the vestibule and exhausted it of water. Then he removed his helmet and stepped into the cabin.

The effect was startling.

Clifford sat by a table looking over some maps. Barney was engaged in the pilot-house.

Clifford started up with a gasping cry:

“Heaven preserve us!” he shouted, “it is Frank Reade, Jr.”

Frank was wildly embraced by both.

“Be the sowl av Pat Murphy s cow, I’m happy onct more,” cried Barney, turning somers............