the worse for
ye!"

"They want to murder us," says Frere. "Give way, men!"

But the two soldiers, exchanging glances one with the other, pulled the
boat's head round, and made for the vessel. "It's no use, Mr. Frere,"
said the man nearest him; "we can do no good now, and they won't hurt
us, I dare say."

"You dogs, you are in league with them," bursts out Frere, purple with
indignation. "Do you mutiny?"

"Come, come, sir," returned the soldier, sulkily, "this ain't the time
to bully; and, as for mutiny, why, one man's about as good as another
just now."

This speech from the lips of a man who, but a few minutes before, would
have risked his life to obey orders of his officer, did more than
an hour's reasoning to convince Maurice Frere of the hopelessness
of resistance. His authority--born of circumstance, and supported by
adventitious aid--had left him. The musket shot had reduced him to the
ranks. He was now no more than anyone else; indeed, he was less than
many, for those who held the firearms were the ruling powers. With a
groan he resigned himself to his fate, and looking at the sleeve of the
undress uniform he wore, it seemed to him that virtue had gone out of
it. When they reached the brig, they found that the jolly-boat had
been lowered and laid alongside. In her were eleven persons; Bates with
forehead gashed, and hands bound, the stunned Grimes, Russen and Fair
pulling, Lyon, Riley, Cheshire, and Lesly with muskets, and John Rex
in the stern sheets, with Bates's pistols in his trousers' belt, and a
loaded musket across his knees. The white object which had been seen
by the men in the whale-boat was a large white shawl which wrapped Mrs.
Vickers and Sylvia.

Frere muttered an oath of relief when he saw this white bundle. He
had feared that the child was injured. By the direction of Rex the
whale-boat was brought alongside the jolly-boat, and Cheshire and Lesly
boarded her. Lesly then gave his musket to Rex, and bound Frere's
hands behind him, in the same manner as had been done for Bates. Frere
attempted to resist this indignity, but Cheshire, clapping his musket
to his ear, swore he would blow out his brains if he uttered another
syllable; Frere, catching the malignant eye of John Rex, remembered how
easily a twitch of the finger would pay off old scores, and was silent.
"Step in here, sir, if you please," said Rex, with polite irony. "I am
sorry to be compelled to tie you, but I must consult my own sa