his left hand, while he threatened her with a clenched fist and
growled like a wild beast. "Another word of that, Poll, and I'll knock
the life out of you."

Poll gave a little shriek, which brought the mate on the scene with his
threatening rope's end, and restored Cappy to a sort of self-control,
though with a strange eagerness of terror his eyes followed the
frightened lad as he retreated toward his father.

The planter, after discussing with Captain Jackson the death of the
Prince of Wales in the preceding March, was explaining to the captain
that he did not mean to buy any more white servants. The blacks were
better, and were good property, while the black children added to a
planter's estate. White servants gave you trouble, and in four or seven
years at most their time expired, and you had to break in new ones. But
still, if he could pick up a fellow that would know how to sail his
sloop in a pinch, he might buy.

"There's one, now," said Captain Jackson; "that chap leaning on the
capstan; he's been a captain, I believe."

"How'd they come to convict a captain?" demanded the planter, laughing.
"We planters have always thought that all captains were allowed to
steal a little."

"They mustn't steal from their owners," said Captain Jackson
good-naturedly. "Passengers and shippers we do clip a little when we
can, but that old fool must have tried to get something out of the
owners of the ship. He's too old to run away now, or cut up any more
deviltry. Go and talk with him."

"What's his bob-wig for?"

"Oh, that's some of my mate's nonsense. He thought planters wouldn't
want to buy a seaman, so he rigged the old captain up like a
schoolmaster, and told him to say that he had always taught arithmetic.
He'll tell you he's a schoolmaster, according to the mate's commands;
but he isn't. He's been a ship's captain, I believe, and he helped me
take observations on the voyage, and he seemed to know the river when
he got in last night."

There ensued some talk as to how many hogsheads of tobacco the convict
was worth, and then Browne went forward to inspect the man and question
him.

"What's your name?" said the planter.

"James Palmer," said Cappy, with his head down.

"Lawr!" muttered Polly under her breath.

"What's your business?"

"Schoolmaster."

"Come, don't lie to me," said Browne. "You are a sailor, or a captain
maybe."

This set the old fellow to trembling visibly, and Polly again said
"Lawr!"