Blackbeard, whom his companions addressed indiscriminately as “Captain,” or “Tony,” seemed to exercise a certain authority.  He went over to the prisoners on the log and inspected their bonds.

“You’ll do; can’t git loose nohow,” he announced.  Then, with a savage frown, “But no monkey business.  First o’ that I see, its a dose o’ cold lead for youse, savvy?”

He turned to us women.

“Well, chickabiddies, we ain’t treated you harsh, I hope?  Now I don’t care about tyin’ youse up, in case we can help it, so jest be good girls, and I’ll let youse run around loose for a while.”

But Magnus struck in with an oath.

“Loose?  You’re turnin’ soft, I say.  The future Mrs. M. there—­which I mean to make her if she behaves right—­she’s a handful, she is.  There ain’t no low trick she won’t play on us if she gets the chance.  Better tie her up, I say.”

“Magnus,” responded Tony with severity, “it’d make a person think to hear you talk that you wasn’t no gentleman.  If you can’t keep little Red-top in order without you tie her, why, then hand her over to a guy what can.  I bet I wouldn’t have a speck o’ trouble with her—­her and me would git along as sweet as two turtle-doves.”

“You dry up, Tony,” said Magnus, lowering.  “I’ll look after my own affairs of the heart.  Anyway, here’s them two old hens what have been makin’ me sick with their jabber and nonsense all these weeks.  Ain’t I goin’ to have a chance to get square?”

“Here, youse!” struck in Slinker, “quit your jawin’!  Here’s a feed we ain’t seen the like of in weeks.”

Tony thereupon ordered the women to sit down on the ground in the shade and not move under penalty of “gettin’ a wing clipped.”  We obeyed in silence and looked on while the pirates with wolfish voracity devoured the meal which had been meant for us.  They had pocket-flasks with them, and as they attacked them with frequency the talk grew louder and wilder.  By degrees it was possible to comprehend the extraordinary disaster which had befallen us, at least in a sketchy outline of which the detail was filled in later.  Tony, it appeared, was the master of a small power-schooner which had been fitting out in San Francisco for a filibustering trip to the Mexican coast.  His three companions were the crew.  None was of the old hearty breed of sailors, but wharf-rats pure and simple, city-dregs whom chance had led to follow the sea.  Tony, in whom one detected a certain rough force and ability, was an Italian, an outlaw specimen of the breed which mans the fishing fleet putting forth from the harbor of San Francisco.  When and where he and Magnus had been friends I do not know.  But no sooner had the wisdom of Miss Browne imparted the great secret to her chance acquaintance of the New York wharves, than he had communicated with his old pal Tony.  The power-schooner with her unlawful cargo stole out through the gate, made her delivery in the Mexican