He felt the wind of the free ocean upon his breast and lifted up his great bellowing voice in song. Ha! ha! he! ho! in a jiffy the tables had been turned; John Bowen had had the shore and no ship and now Captain Robert Drummond, of Edinburgh, out of Glasgow, had all the shore he cared to use and no ship. No stenographer was present to record what Captain Drummond said when he came out of the woods and found the black embers of the _Content_ knocking about the piling or bobbing far out on the bay, and of his ship only the stupid, inarticulate remembrance of the gaping Malagassy natives, but without doubt it was something pretty. Captain Stewart was master of the _Content_ and probably had been absent with Drummond of the _Speedy Return_--although he might have been on his own ship and been captured with the rest of the crew; nobody has given us the precise information--but if he came out of the woods at the same time that Drummond did, there is no doubt the inhabitants beheld two of the angriest Scotchmen they had ever seen or ever were likely to see. We don’t know what happened to Stewart, but a man who spent fifteen years in captivity among the Madagascans came home with the story that Drummond found his way to Tullea, on the southwest coast of the island, where, in an altercation with a Jamaican negro, who was of course one of those far-faring West Indian pirates, he received a wallop from the black rogue which deprived the Scotch African-Indian trading company of a faithful servant and the rising British Merchant Marine of a competent shipmaster.