"Think better of it, sir. Who am I to voice so many older and wiser men than myself?" "I wish you to do so. We must say much in little and hold the Agent's attention. Be off now and collect your thoughts and set your ideas in order," said the Commodore. "Look to it that you justify my choice, for I shall bear the blame if you fail." "'Tis a very great responsibility, but I'll assume it, since you command, Commodore. Now let me meet the leaders." After a brief conference with the prominent prisoners, Stark vanished and, until the important person named Reuben Blazey arrived at Prince Town, he secluded himself with certain papers and prison orders, that he might prepare his speech. Then, towards evening, a trumpet announced the arrival of the Agent; the captives drew up in a dense double line, and Mr. Blazey, with his staff and a guard of red-coats, appeared. He was a short, stout man, clad in plum-colour, with a face of generous purple that matched his clothes. His little black eyes shot sharp glances everywhere as he advanced, hat in hand; his clean-shaven mouth was of a coarse pattern, yet it lacked not kindliness. "Great God!" he said to a clerk at his elbow, "this is the Valley of Bones; and they have come to life. But, indeed, I had not dreamed there were so many." "There are some five or six hundred of 'em, I believe," answered Lieutenant Mainwaring, who escorted the visitor. Then he addressed the prisoners. "Now who is to speak for the rest with Mr. Blazey?" Stark instantly stepped forward and saluted. "You!" exclaimed the soldier. "Yes, my comrades honour me with this grave commission." "Then be brief, young man," said Blazey, "for I don't want to ride over Dartmoor in the dark." "'Be brief!'" echoed Stark, with fire flashing to his eye. "'Be brief!' Why, you----" Here with an effort and in response to the murmur of warning voices behind him, he curbed his temper and made another answer. "Our grievances can't be very briefly told, Mr. Reuben Blazey; but I will set them out in as few words as possible. First and worst, the scum and offscouring of the French prisons are poured in upon us to our terrible discomfort. Next we desire to tell you that our contractors are rogues. For five days in the week the law directs that we receive one and a half pounds of brown bread, one half-pound of beef, including bone--of which God knows we get our share--one-third of an ounce of barley and salt, one-third of an ounce of onions, and one pound of turnips. The residue of the week we have one pound of pickled fish and coals enough to cook it. These things are daily served by the contractors, and we have watched them scrimp weight cruelly to fill their pockets out of our starving bellies. Upon beef days we suffer most." "Go on," said Mr. Blazey. He yawned, scratched under his wig, and turned to a clerk. "You are making notes, Mr. Williams?" "Yes, sir--full notes."