It was so quickly and neatly done that we were taken by storm before we knew that we were attacked. The passage was full of rushing sailors. I slipped out of the clutch of one and ran for my gun, but it was only to crash down on to the stone floor an instant later with two of them holding on to me. They were so deft and quick that my hands were lashed together even while I struggled, and I was dragged into the settle corner, unhurt but very sore in spirit at the cunning with which our defences had been forced and the ease with which we had been overcome. They had not even troubled to bind my uncle, but he had been pushed into his chair, and the guns had been taken away. He sat with a very white face, his homely figure and absurd row of curls looking curiously out of place among the wild figures who surrounded him. There were six of them, all evidently sailors. One I recognized as the man with the earrings whom I had already met upon the road that evening. They were all fine, weather-bronzed bewhiskered fellows. In the midst of them, leaning against the table, was the freckled man who had passed me on the moor. The great black cloak which poor Enoch had taken out with him was still hanging from his shoulders. He was of a very different type from the others—crafty, cruel, dangerous, with sly, thoughtful eyes which gloated over my uncle. They suddenly turned themselves upon me and I never knew how one’s skin can creep at a man’s glance before. “Who are you?” he asked. “Speak out, or we’ll find a way to make you.” “I am Mr. Stephen Maple’s nephew, come to visit him.” “You are, are you? Well, I wish you joy of your uncle and of your visit too. Quick’s the word, lads, for we must be aboard before morning. What shall we do with the old ’un?” “Trice him up Yankee fashion and give him six dozen,” said one of the seamen. “D’you hear, you cursed Cockney thief? We’ll beat the life out of you if you don’t give back what you’ve stolen. Where are they? I know you never parted with them.” My uncle pursed up his lips and shook his head, with a face in which his fear and his obstinacy contended. “Won’t tell, won’t you? We’ll see about that! Get him ready, Jim!” One of the seamen seized my uncle, and pulled his coat and shirt over his shoulders. He sat lumped in his chair, his body all creased into white rolls which shivered with cold and with terror. “Up with him to those hooks.” There were rows of them along the walls where the smoked meat used to be hung. The seamen tied my uncle by the wrists to two of these. Then one of them undid his leather belt. “The buckle end, Jim,” said the captain. “Give him the buckle.” “You cowards,” I cried; “to beat an old man!” “We’ll beat a young one next,” said he, with a malevolent glance at my corner. “Now, Jim, cut a wad out of him!” “Give him one more chance!” cried one of the seamen. “Aye, aye,” growled one or two others. “Give the swab a chance!”