With this in my mind, scanning the woods on the north bank for an opening, I drifted around the bend, and with a shock of surprise found myself in full view of the end of the creek.  Worse than this, I was bearing straight for the Espriella’s dinghy, which lay just above water on the foreshore, with her painter carried out to a tree above the bank.  Worst of all, some one at that instant stepped back from the bank and under the shadow of the tree, as if to await me there. . . .  Mr. Rogers, or the Captain? . . .  Mr. Rogers certainly; for I remembered that the Captain wore white duck trousers, and, by my glimpse of him, this man’s clothes were dark.  His height and walk, too!  Yes; no doubt of it, he was Mr. Rogers.

I stood—­a culprit caught red-handed—­and let the boat drift me down upon retributive justice.  A while ago I had been mentally composing a number of effective retorts upon Captain Branscome for his tyrannical behaviour.  Now, of a sudden, all this eloquence deserted me:  I felt it leaking away and knew myself for a law-breaker.  One lingering hope remained—­that the Captain had pushed ahead into the woods, and that, as yet, Mr. Jack Rogers (whose good nature I might almost count upon) had alone detected me and would pack me home to the ship with nothing worse than a flea in my ear.

His silence encouraged this hope.  Half a minute passed and still he forbore to lift his voice and summon me.  He stood, deep in the shadow, his face screened by the boughs, and made no motion to advance to the bank.

Then suddenly—­at, maybe, two hundred yards’ distance—­I saw him take another pace backwards and slip away among the trees.

“Good man!” thought I, and blessed him (after my first start of astonishment).  “He has pretended not to see me.”

At any rate he had given me a pretty good hint to make myself scarce unless I wished to incur Captain Branscome’s wrath.  I slipped my paddle forward into a rowlock, picked up the other, and, dropping upon the thwart, jerked the cockboat right-about-face to head her back for the schooner.

But after a stroke or two I easied and let her drift back stern-foremost while I sat considering.  Mr. Rogers had behaved like a trump; yet it seemed mean to deceive the old man; and, moreover, it amounted to striking my colours.  I had broken orders deliberately and because I denied his right to give such orders.  I might be a youngster; but, to say the least of it, I had as much interest in the success of this expedition as any member of the company.  The shortest way to dissuade Captain Branscome from treating me as a child was to assert myself from the beginning.  I had started with full intent to assert myself, and—­yes, I was much obliged to Mr. Rogers, but this question between me and Branscome had best be settled, though it meant open mutiny.  I felt pretty sure that Miss Belcher would support the tyrant; almost equally sure that Plinny would acquiesce, though