“Have ever yer bin thar?”

“Ay, twice—­and to a land beyond they call Maryland.  Tis a country not so unlike England.”

“Good luck that then; tell us about it, matie.”

I endeavored to do so, dwelling upon what I remembered of the settlements, and the habits of the people, but saying little of the great wilderness of the interior, or how I had seen slaves toiling in the fields.  The group of men within range of my voice leaned forward in breathless attention, one now and then asking a question, their chains rattling with each movement of a body.  The deep interest shown in their faces caused me unconsciously to elevate, my voice, and I had spoken but a moment or two before a hard hand gripped my shoulder.

“Yer better stow that, my man,” growled someone above me, and I looked up into the stern eyes of the captain of the guard “or it may be the ‘cat’ for ye.  Yer heard the orders.”

“Yes, sir; I was only answering questions.”

“Questions!  What the hell difference does it make to this scum whar they go?  Do yer talkin’ aboard, not here.  So ye’ve been ter the Virginia plantation, hev ye?”

“Twice, sir.”

“As a sailor?”

“In command of vessels.”

His eyes softened slightly, and a different tone seemed to creep into his voice.

“Then ye must be Master Carlyle, I take it.  I heerd tell about ye at the trial, but supposed ye ter be an older man.”

“I am twenty-six.”

“Ye don’t look even thet.  It’s my notion ye got an overly hard dose this time.  The Judge was in ill humor thet day.  Still thet’s not fer me ter talk about.  It’s best fer both of us ter hold our tongues.  Ay, they’re ready fer ye now.  Fall in there—­all of yer.  Step along, yer damn rebel scum.”

We passed aboard over the narrow gang-plank, four abreast, dragging our feet, and were halted on the forward deck, while artificers removed our chains.  As these were knocked off, the released prisoners disappeared one by one down the forward hatch, into the space between the decks which had been roughly fitted up for their confinement during the long voyage.  As my position was in one of the last files, I had ample time in which to gaze about, and take note of my surroundings.  Except for the presence of the prisoners the deck presented no unusual scene.  The Romping Betsy was a large, full-rigged brig, not overly clean, and had evidently been in commission for some time.  Not heavily loaded she rode high, and was a broad-nosed vessel, with comfortable beam.  I knew her at once as a slow sailor, and bound to develop a decidedly disagreeable roll in any considerable sea.  She was heavily sparred, and to my eye her canvas appeared unduly weather-beaten and rotten.  Indeed there was unnecessary clutter aloft, and an amount of litter about the deck which evidenced lack of seamanship; nor did the general appearance of such stray members of the crew as met my notice add appreciably to my confidence in the voyage.