r cartridges into an old tin
slush-pot which was stowed in the locker below the bunk. I had noted it
in the early morning when I had done my sewing. I pressed the cartridges
into the slush, till they were all hidden. In another instant of time
the pot was back in the locker among the other oddments while I was
back in the cabin hard at work at my sermons. I was conscious that
the captain glanced through the skylight at me. No doubt what he saw
reassured him. For the moment I felt perfectly safe.

About half an hour later, I heard a great noise of hauling on deck,
followed by the threshing of our sails, as though they had suddenly come
aback. I knew enough of the sea to know that if we were tacking there
would be other orders, while, if the helmsman had let the ship come
aback by accident I should have heard the officers rating him. I heard
neither nor orders; something else was happening. A glance out of the
stern windows showed me that the ship was no longer under way. She was
not moving through the water. It struck me that I had better go on deck
to see what was the matter. When I reached the deck I found that
the barquentine was hove-to (that is, held motionless by a certain
arrangement of the sails) about half a mile from a small full-rigged
ship which had hove-to likewise. The barquentine's boat was rapidly
pulling towards this full-rigged ship, with Captain Barlow sitting
in the stern-sheets. The ship was a man-of-war; for she flew the St.
George's banner, as well as a pennant. Her guns were pointing through
her ports, eight bright brass guns to a broadside. She was waiting
there, heaving in huge stately heaves, for Captain Barlow's message.

Now I had had alarms enough since I entered the Duke's service; but I
confess this sight of the man-of-war daunted me worse than any of them.
I knew that Captain Barlow had stopped her, so that he might hand over
my letters to her captain; that was easily guessed The next question
was, would the captain insist on taking the messenger to be examined in
person. It was that which scared me worst. I had heard frightful tales
about political prisoners. They were shut up in the Tower dungeons,
away below the level of the Thames. They were examined there by masked
magistrates who wrung the truth from them by the "bootikins," which
squeezed the feet, or by the thumbscrews, which twisted the thumbs. My
feet seemed to grow red-hot when I thought of that horror. I knew only
too well th