one who understood a little English was able to comprehend this.
The command was followed by an excited debate among the four, which
was at last ended by a second mandate from Zac, accompanied by a
threat to fire upon them. At this a hurried answer was given:--

"We render. We render. Fire not."

A small skylight was then opened, and all the arms and equipments of
the prisoners were passed up. These were appropriated by Zac. The
door of the cabin was then unfastened and opened, and the prisoners
called upon to come forth. They came looking fearful and dejected, as
though apprehending the worst. Zac, Terry, and Jericho, each with his
musket, stood at the stern, and as they came out they motioned to
them to go to the bows. The Acadians obeyed in silence, and soon
joined their two companions.

Some time was now occupied by Zac in talking over with Terry the best
course to be pursued. They at length decided to allow the Acadians to
remain unbound by day, and to shut them down at night, or while
sailing. As long as these men were unarmed and themselves armed, they
had not the slightest fear of any trouble arising. For the Acadians,
though stout, muscular fellows, were all so good-natured and
phlegmatic in their faces that no danger of anything so desperate as
an attack on their part was to be anticipated. It was decided,
however, while they were on deck, to keep them confined to the
forward part of the schooner.

This Zac succeeded in making known to them.

"We won't do you no harm," said he. "We won't tie you or bind you. At
night you must go below to sleep. If any of you make an attack, we
won't show you any mercy. So you'd best keep quiet."

The chief Acadian understood this as well by the signs with which it
was accompanied as from the words, and he explained it to his
followers. He then informed Zac that they would be quiet; whereupon
Terry went forward and shook hands with each and all of them. "_Commy
porty-voo? Bon jure, moosoo_," said he; to which the Acadians,
however, made no response. They did indeed allow him to shake their
hands; but they would not say anything, and evidently regarded him as
a perjured villain, and traitor to their cause.

"Biler!" roared Zac. "Whar are you, you young cuss of life?"

Upon this the young cuss of life slowly emerged from the forecastle,
holding a cold potato in his hand. The scene on deck made no
impression on him, but he walked aft with his eyes fixed on Zac.

"Stand