I have never given up hope of finding somewhere in the walls a fissure of some kind of which the pirates are ignorant and through which I could make my escape.

It is true that once outside I should have to wait till a passing ship hove in sight.

My evasion would speedily be known at the Beehive, and I should soon be recaptured, unless--a happy thought strikes me--unless I could get at the _Ebba's_ boat that was drawn up high and dry on the little sandy beach in the creek.

In this I might be able to make my way to St.George or Hamilton.
This evening--it was about nine o'clock--I stretched myself on a bed of sand at the foot of one of the columns, about one hundred yards to the east of the lagoon.

Shortly afterwards I heard footsteps, then voices.