your men will be ordered not to maltreat my poor fellows."

The Mexican captain glanced, with some surprise, at the formidable
array of men upon the deck of the Zanthe, and then, after a few words
in Spanish to his boat's crew, followed the captain and mate into the
cabin.

Captain Morena was a very fine looking man of thirty, with magnificent
hair and mustaches, and wore a very showy uniform. He threw himself
carelessly upon the transom, and laid his sword upon the cabin table,
while Morris and the mate seated themselves on camp stools.

"Senor capitan," said Morris, "I trust, though it be early in the day,
that you have no objection to take a glass of wine with me."

The Mexican assented to the proposition, and the steward produced a
bottle, glasses, and cigars.

"Your health, capitan," said Morris, with a courteous smile; "and may
you ever be as successful as on the present occasion."

"Muchas gracias senor," replied the Mexican; "you bear the loss of
your brig very good humoredly. What may she be worth?"

"She cost thirty thousand dollars in Baltimore," replied Morris.

"You must regret to lose her."

"That admits no question, senor."

"But that is of minor importance, compared with your other loss."

"What loss?"

"The loss of your life. I fear nothing can save you or your friend
here. Yet, perhaps, intercession may do something. I suppose you would
prefer being shot to hanging from the yard-arm."

"Decidedly," answered Morris.

"Or working for life on the highway, with a ball and chain, you would
think preferable to both."

"Cap'n Morris," said the mate, speaking in English, "it strikes me
that our friend in the hairy face is a leetle grain out in his
reckoning; 'pears to me, that instead of our bein' in his power, he's
in ourn. Just say the word, and I'll gin the Vengador a broadside
that'll sink her in the shiver of a main topsail."

"You are right, Pardon," said the captain, smiling; "the gentleman has
missed a figure, certainly. Captain Morena," he added, speaking in
Spanish, "you have made a small mistake; you are _my_ prisoner, sir.
Nay, start not; you are completely in my power. Dare but to breathe
another word of menace, or offer to resist me, and the Vengador shall
go to Davy Jones. Pass me that sword."

Morena, taken by surprise, obeyed.

"Gi' me his toastin' fork, cap'n," said the mate, "and I'll lock it up
in my state room;" which was done almost as soon as said.

"And now, Capt