“My friends, the exodus is unavoidable. Yet we still garrison a hemisphere.” He paused and scanned their faces, while for a moment all looked up at him as though fearing to break the spell which for the first time in their knowledge had given him tongue. But presently several men appeared on the threshold of a neighboring cabin, in which Gyll Croyden lived, and from which, until now, peals of incongruous laughter and the rattle of dice had proceeded at frequent intervals. Foremost in the doorway stood Ananias Dare, who, after hesitating a minute, joined the larger gathering. “What is afoot?” he asked of those nearest to him. “We shall be soon,” laughed Prat, “for to-morrow we leave Roanoke and join the Hatteras Indians.” “God’s pity! They will exterminate us.” At this Manteo, who until now had remained immobile as stone, started forward, but Vytal, with a word, restrained him, and, turning to the assistant, spoke in a low voice, so that Eleanor might not hear his accusation. “Master Dare, you insult a benefactor. Manteo is no murderer, but a generous host. Bridle your tongue.” The tone was authoritative and coldly harsh, but the very cowardice of Ananias, paradoxically enough, gave him moments of obstinate courage. Many there are who fight desperately to retreat: fear is bold in its own interests. “Who gave you command?” he queried. “’Twas I suggested to the governor that John Vytal should assume control. My voice, therefore, deserves the heed of all; and I say build a ship. By all means let us haste to England.” He turned at the last and addressed the women nearest to him, while the hands of Prat and Rouse went impulsively to their sword-hilts, and their glance hung on Vytal’s face, asking permission to end the matter immediately with summary decision. But the captain only scrutinized the group searchingly. “Master Dare,” ventured Roger, “harangues the women. His words are not for us. Oh ho, good dames, give ear. Ye’re to man a ship—_woman_ a ship, I mean. Now, one shall be Mistress Jack-Woman, another Dame Captain, another Sailing-Mistress. In troth, ’tis a lusty crew.” Ananias turned on him angrily. “Sirrah, have a care, else you shall feel the grip of a hand-lock within the hour.” But Roger responded with a laugh. “Now, what’s a hand-lock, Master Assistant? You’ve so often made mention of the thing as befitting my exalted station, that methinks ’tis time it were proven real.” He would have given his raillery free rein and run on further, but Vytal interrupted him. “Desist, Roger; your tongue runs riot most unseemly. The irons are real indeed, and here’s a hand shall lock them an you show not greater deference to superiors.”