"I know you," he said; "but I am here upon duty; besides, I have no friendship with a murderer."
"We are both victims of a mistake! This accusation is not true. Will you take my hand?"
"I am forbidden to speak upon guard," answered Pisgah, sullenly. "Resume your chair."
"At least join me in a glass."
"There is blood in it," said Pisgah.
"I swear to you, no! Let me ring for your old beverage, absinthe."
The soldier halted, irresolutely; the liquor came before he could refuse. When once his lips touched the vessel, Mr. Plade knew that there was still a chance for life.
In an hour Mr. Pisgah was impotent from intoxication; his musket was flung down the stairway, the door was bolted upon him, and the prisoner was gone.
He gained the Planter's deck as the screw made its first revolution; they turned the channel-piles with a good-by gun; the motley crew cheered heartily as they cleared the mole.
The pirate was at sea on her mission of plunder—the murderer was free!