“Why, Francisco,” he said, to this personage, in good Spanish, “why, what madness is this? your suspicions are groundless; it is as I tell you, he is my prisoner, and whatever he may have been to me, he can be no spy on you.” “Cuchillo entonces,” was the savage reply. “No, no,” persisted Obediah, “get cool, man, get cool; I am pledged that no harm shall come to him; and farther I have promised to put him ashore at St Jago, and I will be as good as my word.” “You can’t if you would,” rejoined Francisco; “the Snake is at anchor under the Moro.” “Then he must go with us.” “We shall see as to that,” said the other; then raising his voice he shouted to his ragamuffins, “Comrades, we are betrayed; there is an English officer on board, who can be nothing but a spy; follow me!” And he dashed down the companion ladder, knife in hand, while I sprung through the small scuttle, like a rat out of one hole when a ferret is put in at the other, and crept as close to Obed as I could; Francisco when he missed me, came on deck again. The Captain had now seized a cutlass in one hand, and held a cocked pistol in the other. It appeared he had greater control, the nature of which I now began to comprehend, over the felucca’s people, than Francisco bargained for, as the moment the latter went below, they released him, and went forward in a body. My persecutor again advanced close up to me, seized me by the collar with one hand, and tried to drag me forward, brandishing his naked knife aloft in the other. Obed promptly caught his sword-arm--“Francisco,” he exclaimed, still in Spanish, “fool, madman, let go your hold! let go, or by the Heaven above us, and the hell we are both hastening to, I will strike you dead!” The man paused, and looked round to his own people, and seeing one or two encouraging glances and gestures amongst them, he again attempted to drag me away from my hold on the tafferel. Something flashed in the sun, and the man fell! his left arm, the hand of which still clutched my throat, while mine grasped its wrist, had been shred from his body by Obed’s cutlass, like a twig; and, oh God, my blood curdles to my heart even now when I think of it! the dead fingers kept the grasp sufficiently long to allow the arm to fall heavily against my side, where it hung for some seconds, until the muscles relaxed and it dropped on the deck. The instant that Obed struck the blow, he caught hold of my hand, threw away his cutlass, and advanced towards the group of the felucca’s men, pistol in hand. “Am I not your captain, ye cowards--have I ever deceived you yet--have I ever flinched from heading you where the danger was greatest--have you not all that I am worth in your hands, and will you murder me now?” “Viva, el noble capitan, viva!” And the tide turned as rapidly in our favour as it had lately ebbed against us.