of my ship,
the _Union_, the vessel which, you so pleasantly remarked just now, ran
away from your cruiser and her consort in the Straits."

"But," exclaimed Douglas, in astonishment, "I am a prisoner of war, and
I demand to be treated as such. I have done nothing but my duty,
nothing to merit death at your hands; and even if I had, I have yet to
learn that one man only, even though he be the captain of a corvette,
can sit in judgment upon a prisoner and sentence him to death. I am at
least entitled to a proper court-martial, if I am to be tried for my
life."

Villavicencio laughed. "What you say, my dear young man, is no doubt
technically correct; but _here_ might is right, and I will deal with you
as I please, as you shall very soon see. Sentry!" he called, suddenly
raising his voice and smiling evilly into Jim's face.

For a brief moment Douglas was on the point of leaping across the table
and endeavouring to strangle the Peruvian where he sat, and neither the
man's sword at his side nor his huge proportions would have intimidated
him, but there was that curious look in Villavicencio's eyes which
seemed to hypnotise and chain poor Jim to the spot on which he stood.
The next second the sentry entered, and it was too late to think about
resistance.

"Sentry," said the skipper, "take the prisoner back to his cell, and see
that he does not attempt to escape on the way; he looks desperate. When
you have locked him up in safety, send Lieutenant Rodriguez to me at
once."

Like a man in a dream, Jim marched to the door, scarcely hearing the
skipper's sauve voice remarking: "_Hasta la vista, Senor Douglas_; I
will not say _adios_, for we shall meet again--once more."

The cabin door then closed, and Jim was conducted back to his cell,
followed by the curious glances of the men who were assembled about the
decks. Once back in his prison, he seemed able to think more
connectedly, and he began to wonder whether or not there might be some
means of escape from this semi-human creature's clutches. He had done
absolutely nothing to merit this threatened summary execution, and he
felt convinced that his sentence was simply due to the skipper's own
desire for personal vengeance on the man who had made him turn and fly
upon that memorable day at the Second Narrows. If it really was so,
there was nothing to be hoped, Jim felt, from the man's clemency; for he
clearly knew no more of the meaning of the word "mercy" than do