at my youth would not save me. James the Second was never
moved by pity towards a beaten enemy. I watched the arrival of the boat
at the ship's side, with the perspiration running down my face. I began
to understand, now, what was meant by the words high treason. I saw all
the majesty of the English Navy, all the law, all the noble polity of
England, arrayed to judge a boy to death, for a five minutes' prank.
They would drag me on a hurdle to Tyburn, as soon as torture had made me
tell my tale.

But enough of my state of mind. I saw Captain Barlow go up the ship's
gangway, where an officer no doubt received him. Very soon afterwards he
came down the gangway again, half followed by some one who seemed to
be ordering him. His boat then shoved off for the barquentine. The
man-of-war got under way again by swinging her great mainyard smartly
about. The smother at her bows gleamed whiter at the very instant, as
she gathered way. It was a blessed sight to me, after my suspense, I
assure you; but I did not understand it till later. I learned later
on that Captain Barlow was one of a kind of men very common in those
troublous times. He was hedging, or trimming. He was quite willing to
make money by selling the Duke's plans to the King; but he had the sense
to see that the Duke's party might succeed, in which case the King's
favour would not be worth much. So his treason to the Duke stopped short
of the betrayal of men attached in any way to the Monmouth party. He
would betray letters, when he could lay his hands on them unobserved;
but he was not going to become an open enemy to the Duke until he knew
that the Duke's was the losing side; then he would betray men fast
enough. Until then, he would receive the trust of both factions, in
order to betray a portion of the confidence received from them.

The day dragged by for me somehow, uncomfortably, under the captain's
eye. It was one of the longest days I have ever known. It sickened me
utterly of the life of adventure to which I now seemed pledged. I vowed
that if I had the chance I would write to my uncle from Mr. Blick's
house, begging to be received back. That seemed to be the only way of
escape possible to me. It did not seem hopeful; but it gave me some
solace to think of it. I longed to be free from these terrors. You
don't know what an adventurous life is. I will tell you. It is a life of
sordid unquiet, pursued without plan, like the life of an animal. Have
you seen a d