“Violence!” cried Dick Price.  “I put it to yourself, Mister Gascoyne, if I didn’t treat ye as if ye wos a lamb?”

“Wot a blissin it is for a man to git his mouth open agin, and let his breath go free,” cried Jo Bumpus, with a deep sigh.  “Come, Corrie, give us a cheer—­hip! hip! hip!—­”

The cheer that followed was stirring, and wonderfully harmonious; for it was given in a deep bass and a shrill treble, with an intermediate baritone “Ho!” from Jakolu.

“I know it, Mary—­I know it,” said Gascoyne; and there was a slight tremor in his deep voice as he drew his wife towards him, and laid her head upon his breast.

“You have never done me an evil turn—­you have done me nothing but good—­since you were a little child.  Heaven bless you, Mary!”

“Now, father,” said Henry, “I suppose you have no objection to make your escape?”

“No need to raise that question, lad,” said Gascoyne, with a perplexed smile.  “I am not quite clear as to what my duty is, now that I am free to go back again and give myself up.”

“Go back!—­free!” exclaimed John Bumpus, in a tone of withering sarcasm.  “So, Mister Gascoyne, ye’ve got sich an uncommon cargo o’ conceit in ye yet, that you actually think ye could go back without so much as saying, By your leave!”

While Jo was speaking, he bared to the shoulder an arm that was the reverse of infantine, and, holding it up, said, slowly: 

“I’ve often had a sort o’ desire, d’ye see, to try whether this bit of a limb or the one that’s round Mrs. Stuart’s waist is the strongest.  Now, if you have any desire to settle this question, just try to put, to shove, this boat’s head up into the wind—­that’s all!”

This was said so emphatically by the pugnacious Bumpus that his companions laughed, and Corrie cheered in admiration.

“You see,” observed Henry, “you need not give yourself any concern as to this point; you have no option in the matter.”

“No, not a bit o’ poption in it wotiver; though wot that means I ain’t rightly sure,” said Dick Price.

“Perhaps I ought to exercise my parental authority over you, Henry,” said Gascoyne, “and command you to steer back to Sandy Cove.”

“But we wouldn’t let him, Mister Pirate,” said Dick Price, who, now that his difficult duties were over, was preparing to solace himself with a pipe; an example that was immediately followed by Bumpus, who backed his friend by adding: 

“No more we would.”

“Nay, then, if Henry joins me,” said Gascoyne, “I think that we two will not have a bad chance against you three.”

“Come, that’s good:  so I count for nothing!” exclaimed Corrie.

“Ha! stick up, lad,” observed Bumpus.  “The niggers wot you pitched into at the mouth o’ yon cave didn’t think that—­eh! didn’t they not?”

“Well, well; if Corrie sides with you, I feel that my wisest course is to submit.  And now, Henry,” said Gascoyne, resuming his wonted gravity of tone and demeanor, “sit down here and let me know where we are going, and what you mean to do.  It is natural that I should feel curious on these points, even although I have perfect confidence in you all.”