“Sir,” said I, quick and low, before he could get a word out—“Sir, we are in your hands. I will be plain. To-night I have broke out of Bristol Keep, and the Colonel’s men are after me. Give me up to them, and they hang me to-morrow: give my comrade up, and they persecute her vilely. Now, sir, I know not which side you be, but there’s our case in a nutshell.” The man bent forward, displaying a huge, rounded face, very kindly about the eyes, and set atop of the oddest body in the world: for under a trunk extraordinary broad and strong, straddled a pair of legs that a baby would have disown’d—so thin and stunted were they, and (to make it the queerer) ended in feet the most prodigious you ever saw. As I said, this man lean’d forward, and shouted into my ear so that I fairly leap’d in the air— “My name’s Pottery—Bill Pottery, cap’n o’ the _Godsend_—an’ you can’t make me hear, not if you bust yoursel’!” You may think this put me in a fine quandary. “I be deaf as nails!” bawl’d he. ’Twas horrible: for the troopers (I thought) if anywhere near, could not miss hearing him. His voice shook the very rigging. “... An’ o’ my crew the half ashore gettin’ drunk, an’ the half below in a very accomplished state o’ liquor: so there’s no chance for ’ee to speak!” He paus’d a moment, then roared again— “What a pity! ’Cos you make me very curious—that you do!” Luckily, at this moment, Delia had the sense to put a finger to her lip. The man wheel’d round without another word, led us aft over the blocks, cordage, and all manner of loose gear that encumber’d the deck, to a ladder that, toward the stern, led down into darkness. Here he sign’d to us to follow; and, descending first, threw open a door, letting out a faint stream of light in our faces. ’Twas the captain’s cabin, lin’d with cupboards and lockers: and the light came from an oil lamp hanging over a narrow deal table. By this light Captain Billy scrutiniz’d us for an instant: then, from one of his lockers, brought out pen, paper, and ink, and set them on the table before me. [Illustration: “Master Pottery shaking us both by the hand.”] I caught up the pen, dipp’d it, and began to write— “I am John Marvel, a servant of King Charles; and this night am escap’d out of Bristol Castle. If you be—” Thus far I had written without glancing up, in fear to read the disappointment of my hopes. But now the pen was caught suddenly from my fingers, the paper torn in shreds, and there was Master Pottery shaking us both by the hand, nodding and becking, and smiling the while all over his big red face. But he ceas’d at last: and opening another of his lockers, drew forth a horn lantern, a mallet, and a chisel. Not a word was spoken as he lit the lantern and pass’d out of the cabin, Delia and I following at his heels.