do without a navigator that ye go
and provoke that beast Bishop until he all but kills you?"

Pitt sat up and groaned again. But this time his anguish was mental
rather than physical.

"I don't think a navigator will be needed this time, Peter."

"What's that?" cried Mr. Blood.

Pitt explained the situation as briefly as he could, in a halting,
gasping speech. "I'm to rot here until I tell him the identity of my
visitor and his business."

Mr. Blood got up, growling in his throat. "Bad cess to the filthy
slaver!" said he. "But it must be contrived, nevertheless. To the devil
with Nuttall! Whether he gives surety for the boat or not, whether he
explains it or not, the boat remains, and we're going, and you're coming
with us."

"You're dreaming, Peter," said the prisoner. "We're not going this time.
The magistrates will confiscate the boat since the surety's not paid,
even if when they press him Nuttall does not confess the whole plan and
get us all branded on the forehead."

Mr. Blood turned away, and with agony in his eyes looked out to sea over
the blue water by which he had so fondly hoped soon to be travelling
back to freedom.

The great red ship had drawn considerably nearer shore by now. Slowly,
majestically, she was entering the bay. Already one or two wherries were
putting off from the wharf to board her. From where he stood, Mr. Blood
could see the glinting of the brass cannons mounted on the prow above
the curving beak-head, and he could make out the figure of a seaman in
the forechains on her larboard side, leaning out to heave the lead.

An angry voice aroused him from his unhappy thoughts.

"What the devil are you doing here?"

The returning Colonel Bishop came striding into the stockade, his
negroes following ever.

Mr. Blood turned to face him, and over that swarthy countenance--which,
indeed, by now was tanned to the golden brown of a half-caste Indian--a
mask descended.

"Doing?" said he blandly. "Why, the duties of my office."

The Colonel, striding furiously forward, observed two things. The
empty pannikin on the seat beside the prisoner, and the palmetto leaf
protecting his back. "Have you dared to do this?" The veins on the
planter's forehead stood out like cords.

"Of course I have." Mr. Blood's tone was one of faint surprise.

"I said he was to have neither meat nor drink until I ordered it."

"Sure, now, I never heard ye."

"You never heard me? How should you have heard me w