Azores and captured yet a third galleon, and fell in
with a fourth sailing for Panama itself. He boarded this, and gave the
captain a letter for the authorities of the isthmian port. In this he
declared his intention of paying the place a speedy visit with such a
force that he would level the town with the ground if a hair on the
head of any captive had been injured. 'Twas a proud, characteristic
boast, but it was never carried into effect.

Plymouth was duly reached. The _Golden Boar_ brought some goodly
treasure to port, many stories of wonderful lands, and a wealth of bad
news. There was mourning in Plymouth. And Paignton Rob--weeks
after--sat moist-eyed in a cottage at Newnham listening to a maiden's
sobs.

Chapter XLIII.

IN PANAMA.

Panama sweltered in a blaze of summer sunshine. The place reeked with
heat like a furnace. The smooth sea reflected the glare like a mirror;
the white houses dazzled the eyes, and sent fiery darts of pain through
them to the brain. The harbour showed no sign of life, the sentinel at
the castle nodded at his post, and his excellency the governor lay
stretched on a couch at an open window, whilst two slaves fanned him
with palm leaves. The streets were empty even of natives. These,
emulating their white masters, had crawled into the shade of wall or
tree, and curled up in slumber.

The jail was a long, low building in the southern angle of the castle
courtyard. Its walls were of mud baked in the tropical sun, and its
roof was of palm-thatch. The windows were mere slits in the thick,
hard walls, and gave little light or air. The doors were stout, and
tightly barred. Of all the hot corners in the Pacific inferno, the
jail corner was the hottest. The place was full; either the long spell
of heat or the caprices of the sweltered governor had stirred up an
unruly spirit. Several soldiers had mutinied; the natives had been
troublesome and restive; a party of sailors had run amuck--doubtless
affected by the torrid heat--and so the prison population was at
high-water mark. The commandant had much ado to find room for the
seven Englishmen. On behalf of the Inquisitors, Basil had offered to
relieve him of their company, but the governor had said "No" to the
proposal. The seven were confined in one room of fair size, and,
except for the heat, were no more comfortless than they would have been
in the average English jail. But the heat was fearful! The wretched
men