f a tree,
as he had previously supposed, he found that he was secured to a stout
post driven into the ground, his arms, behind him, encircling the post,
with the wrists lashed together by what felt like rough ropes of native
fibre. Glancing downward, he saw that his ankles had been placed one on
each side of the stake, and secured there by several lengths of rattan;
and it was to this that his uncomfortable and cramped position was due,
as his whole weight was thus thrust forward until it was supported
almost entirely by the wrists.

Looking round him, he saw that a number of similar stakes had been
erected in the form of a circle, in the centre of which was a roaring
fire, the heat from which he had become unpleasantly aware of on his
return to consciousness; and to each post was secured the body of a man,
supported in the same manner as himself. Many of them appeared,
Frobisher noticed, to be in a state of entire, or nearly entire,
unconsciousness. These men were, of course, the Chinese seamen who had
escaped death at the first onslaught of the savages, and had survived,
he very greatly feared, only to meet a far more sinister fate than that
of sudden death.

His gaze diligently searched the circle for Drake, and he was beginning
to fear that his old friend must be numbered with the slain, when one of
the figures raised its head slowly and painfully, as though just
returning to consciousness, and revealed the blood-stained, haggard
features of the first lieutenant. At the same time Drake turned his
eyes in Frobisher's direction, stared blankly at him for a second, and
then smiled a glad but painful smile--painful because of the slash which
he had received across the face; but he refrained from calling a
greeting, and Frobisher instantly recognised that the other must have
some good reason for remaining silent--a circumstance very much opposed
to his usual nature.

That reason soon became apparent as Frobisher managed to twist his head
round, with considerable difficulty, and look behind him; for he then
saw that he and the survivors of his crew were tied up in front of a
native Formosan village; the spot where they were standing being
evidently the open space which is to be found in some portion of every
savage town. It was still night-time, but the glare of the great fire
shone redly on the low, reed-thatched huts, with their two-foot-high
doors, covered with fibre mats, through which the occupants were oblig