we were, and fit to
stand a siege for just so long as our victuals and water held out. Then,
if the pirates remained upon the island, famine would compel us to a
sortie in the hope of clearing them from the woods, an adventure in
which our chances of success seemed to kick the balance.

But it did not come to that. About an hour before noon those of us who
were at the loopholes saw the shine of a scarlet coat among the trees on
the nearest slope, but before there was time to aim a musket something
white fluttered above it. It was, as it proved, but a handkerchief tied
to a ramrod, but it was a flag of truce for all that, and a flag of
truce is respected by gentlemen of honour, whoever carries it.

When the white flag had fluttered long enough for him who held it to
make sure that it must have been seen by us, the bearer came out from
the cover of the wood and walked boldly down the slope. For all the
distance the sharp-sighted among us knew him at once for Cornelys
Jensen, and it came into my mind that perhaps Lancelot might refuse to
accept him as an emissary. Lancelot, however, said nothing, but stood
quietly waiting while the man came nearer. But when he came within pitch
of voice Lancelot called out to him to come to a halt.

Jensen stopped at once and waited till Lancelot again called out to him
to ask what he wanted. Jensen replied that he came under the protection
of a flag of truce; that he wished to come to terms with Captain
Amber--for so he called him--if it were by any means possible; that he
was alone and unarmed, and trusted himself to our honour. Thereupon
Lancelot called back to him to come nearer, and he would hear what he
had to say. We had driven some great nails that we had with us into one
of the posts of our wall to serve as a kind of ladder, and by these
nails Lancelot lifted himself to the top of the palisade, and sat there
waiting for Jensen's approach. I begged him not to expose himself, but
he answered that there was no danger, so long as Jensen remained within
short range of half a dozen of our guns, that the fellows in the woods
would make himself a target. And so he sat there as coolly as if he were
in an ingle, whistling 'Tyburn Tree' softly to himself as Jensen drew
near.

CHAPTER XXXI

A PIECE OF DIPLOMACY

When Jensen was within a few feet of the stockade he halted, and
saluted Lancelot with a formal gravity that seemed grotesque under
the circumstances. I will do the ras