given them enough to attend to for the
present. We killed a good number, and the boats have gone back with the
wounded and prisoners."

"Then the young jackanapes of an officer may be shut up in prison
again," said the king.

Scarcely had the order been given when a Spaniard rushed with fierce
gestures into the room. "Those English have killed some of our friends,
and we are resolved to have our revenge," he exclaimed, looking savagely
at Jack, and handling his long knife.

"Don't kill him yet, though," said Don Diogo, with his usual coolness;
"it will be time enough when he is of no further use. Take him away
now."

These were not exactly the words Jack heard used, but he made out that
such was their tenor.

Poor Jack! He was thrust rudely back into his dark, dirty hut, and the
only food he received was a bowl of the ill-dressed farina, of which he
was getting heartily tired. His spirits began to fall lower than they
had ever before done. He saw no hope of escape; for he was certain that
should the English threaten to attack the town, that instant he would
put be to death, even should he escape the long knives of some of the
Spaniards who had evidently a hankering for his blood. At last he fell
asleep. Midshipmen have a knack of sleeping under the most adverse
circumstances. His powers in that way were very considerable. It was
daylight when he awoke; but there were no sounds to indicate that the
negro population was astir. He could not help fancying that some
attempt would be made by Captain Lascelles and Captain Grant to rescue
him; but the day passed on, and no one except the man who brought him
his insipid farina came near him. If he had had any mode in which to
employ himself, he could, he thought, have the better borne his
imprisonment and the dreadful state of suspense in which he was placed.
All he could do was to walk about or sit on his bed of leaves with his
head resting on his knees. Now and then, as the evening approached and
his weariness increased, he jumped up and thought that he would force
his way out and make a run for it: but then the feeling that he would
most certainly be killed if he made the attempt, besides recollecting
not knowing where he should run to, induced him to sit down again and
chew the cud of impatience. Night came again. He was more melancholy
than ever. He thought that he was deserted, or that probably his
friends fancied he was killed, and would not trouble