nother. Robert was able to turn on his side and
stare at them.

The one who carried the lantern was short, very dark, and had gold
rings in his ears. Robert judged him to be a Portuguese. But his
attention quickly passed to the man behind him, who was much taller,
rather spare, his face clean shaven, his hard blue eyes set close
together. Robert knew instinctively that he was master of the ship.

"Hold up the lantern, Miguel," the tall man said, "and let's have a
look at him."

The Portuguese obeyed.

Then Robert felt the hard blue eyes fastened upon him, but he raised
himself as much as he could and gave back the gaze fearlessly.

"Well, how's our sailorman?" said the captain, laughing, and his
laughter was hideous to the prisoner.

"I don't understand you," said Robert.

"My meaning is plain enough, I take it."

"I demand that you set me free at once and restore me to my friends in
New York."

The tall man laughed until he held his sides, and the short man
laughed with him, laugh for laugh. Their laughter so filled Robert
with loathing and hate that he would have attacked them both had he
been unbound.

"Come now, Peter," said the captain at last. "Enough of your grand
manner. You carry it well for a common sailor, and old Nick himself
knows where you got your fine clothes, but here you are back among
your old comrades, and you ought to be glad to see 'em."

"What do you mean?" asked the astonished Robert.

"Now, don't look so surprised. You can keep up a play too long. You
know as well as we do that you're plain Peter Smith, an able young
sailorman, when you're willing, who deserted us in Baltimore three
months ago, and you with a year yet to serve. And here's your
particular comrade, Miguel, so glad to see you. When we ran your boat
down, all your own fault, too, Miguel jumped overboard, and he didn't
dream that the lad he was risking his life to save was his old
chum. Oh, 'twas a pretty reunion! And now, Peter, thank Miguel for
bringing you back to life and to us."

A singular spirit seized Robert. He saw that he was at the mercy of
these men, who utterly without scruple wished for some reason to hold
him. He could be a player too, and perhaps more was to be won by being
a player.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I was tempted by the follies of the land,
and I've had enough of 'em. If you'll overlook it and let the past be
buried, captain, you'll have no better seaman than Peter Smith.
You've always