e
them anywhere."

"Didn't I say that they were traitors and cowards?" replied the
governor. "Listen, now, an' I'll tell you all about it."

Sam then proceeded to give Tom and his mate a glowing description of the
mutiny, and, during the course of his narration, he artfully aroused
their indignation by dwelling upon the meanness and cowardice displayed
by Atkins and Jack Spaniard in deserting the band at the very time their
services were most needed, to assist in releasing the prisoners, and
wound up by telling how he had secured possession of the rope and pulled
down the limb, thus cutting off all chance of escape for the mutineers.
Tom and Xury were highly enraged, especially the former, who denounced
the faithless Crusoe men in the strongest terms. He also took occasion
to impress his auditors with the fact that the society could not long
exist without the hearty co-operation of all its members, and that no
punishment was too severe for one who could refuse to hasten to the
relief of a comrade in distress. Tom made a long speech on this subject,
emphasizing his remarks by shaking his fists in the air, and stamping
his feet on the ground, and all the while forgetting that, when
questioned by the farmer in the house, he had been on the point of
committing the very sin he was so loudly condemning. Xury remembered the
circumstance, but he did not think it worth speaking about.

"I 'spose that, bein' an officer, I have a right to say something, haint
I?" asked the mate, when Tom had finished his speech. "Well, I just want
to tell you how I think them two fellers can be made to listen to
reason. That farmer said he was goin' to take us over to the village in
the mornin' an' have us put in--what kind of a house did he say that
was, cap'n?"

"The House of Refuge," replied Tom.

"Yes, that's it. He said he was goin' to put us in that house fur three
or four years, an' that it would be the best place in the world fur us.
Now, can't we scare them two mutineers by tellin' 'em that if they don't
do what's right we will give 'em up to the farmer, an' let him take 'em
before the 'squire? That will bring 'em to terms, if any thing will."

"But how can we give 'em up to the farmer without bein' ketched
ourselves?" asked Sam.

"We can tie 'em hand an' foot, an' take 'em up to the house some night
an' leave 'em on the porch, can't we? But, of course, we don't want to
do it, governor, 'cause we can't get along without 'em. We on