That was simple enough. But the heavy, red-faced Commodore, although prone to extravagant indulgence in expansive shirt frills, jewelry, and gold lace, usually went at matters in the simplest manner and after the most direct fashion. There did not appear to be any question on this present occasion; he to all appearances dismissed the subject from his mind; but Morris knew better--"Wait," said he to himself, "and we will see what we will see." And although this is the tritest remark in the world, it was more or less fitting, as will be shortly proved. At nine o'clock a letter arrived from the English Admiral. It was couched in the usual form, it was full of "best compliments," and bristled with references to "courtesy and distinguished conduct in the past," and it was signed "Obd't servant." But it said and meant plainly enough: "Just take our advice and hand this fellow over, Captain Hull,--right away please, no delay; don't stop for anything. He deserves to be abolished for presuming that he has a country that will protect him." The word had flown about the decks that the English cutter was alongside with a message from the flagship. The crew had all tumbled up from below, and a hum of voices arose from the forecastle. "Bill Roberts, here, he was on watch when they hauled 'im on board, warent ye, Bill?--I seed him when they brought 'im below--he had the shakes bad, didn't he, Bill?" The speaker was a short, thickset man, who had a way of turning his head quickly from side to side as he spoke. His long, well-wrapped queue that hung down his back would whip across from one shoulder to the other. "We thought it was one of yesterday's liberty party trying to get back to the ship," responded the man addressed as Bill. "But when we got him on deck we seed as how he warent one of us, as I told the First Luf. Did you see his back, Tom, when we peeled his shirt off?" "God a' mercy! I seed it." Well those marks were known. Deep red scars, crisscrossed with heavy, unhealed, blue-rimmed cuts, feverish and noisome. "He was whipped through the fleet ten days ago. So he says. I don't know what for, exactly; says he found a midshipman's handkerchief on deck, and not knowin' whose 'was, put it into his ditty box--some such yarn.--Jack here, he tells of somethin' like that, when he was impressed out of the _Ariadne_ into the old _Southampton_, don't ye, Jack?" "Yes, but damn the yarn--this fellow--where is he now?" asked a tall, light-haired foretopman, around whose muscular throat was tattooed a chain and locket, the latter with a very red-cheeked and exceedingly blue-eyed young person smiling out through the opening in his shirt. "He's hidin' somewhere down in the hold, I reckon," answered a little, nervous man; "nobody could find him this morning; guess he's had all the spunk licked out of him." "I've heard tell of that before," remarked the tall foretopman. "His spirit's broke."