"Quaco, the cook, next. Heave ahead, darkey," said Foster.
"Yaas, yaas, Master Foster!" grinned the negro, who was helplessly intoxicated, and but partially awake.
"Black in heart, and black in face."
"Bolter! Come along, you traitorous scoundrel!"
Mr. Benjamin Bolter, who was more sober than the rest, kicked vigorously, and nearly fell into the sea, in which case he must have sunk like a stone, as his arms were tied, and neither friends nor foes could have saved him; but such were the comments made by the recaptors of the ship, as the mutineers were flung over the side into the boat, like so many sacks of wool or flour.
Zuares, who seemed in a perfect stupor, came last. There were taken from them the revolver, of which Mr. Basset had been deprived, with his watch and rings, six old brass-barrelled pistols, and about a dozen sheath-knives.
"Pedro Barradas—where is Pedro?" asked Captain Phillips, suddenly; "every rascal is in the boat but he."
"He is not on deck, sir," said Mr. Foster.
"Can he have been killed—or has he jumped overboard?"
"Not likely the last—he is too cowardly to die if he can help it."