"That's no more'n he did to you, an' the chances are that many a poor fellow is eatin' his heart out aboard a British whaler because of him. We've got the scoundrel fast, an' I count on keepin' him so, at least until after he's been brought face to face with Captain Porter."
Benson spoke no word; the pallor of his face told that he was afraid, and if we had not known it before, we understood then that at heart he was a thorough coward.
I expected each instant that he would call for help, and there were enough rough characters around Valparaiso to give us no end of trouble in case they espoused his cause.
But Benson remained silent, therefore after a time I came to believe he did not stand on very good terms with the inhabitants of the town, and had good reason for thinking his summons would not be answered by aid. This last surmise of mine was soon found to be very nearly correct, as will presently be seen.
After tying the Britisher's hands behind his back, Master Hackett seized him by the arm and led the way toward the shore, followed closely, as may be supposed, by Phil and me.
It was near to midnight; the peace-loving inhabitants of the town were asleep, and the rougher element must have had a rendezvous at some distance from the water's edge, for we did not meet a single person until after having walked to and fro on the shore half an hour or more shouting for a boatman.
Then a sleepy looking fellow lounged up to Master Hackett, professing his willingness to do whatsoever might be required, providing a sufficient amount of money was forthcoming.
He had no more than given us to understand this much when a moonbeam lighted up Benson's face, and in an instant the boatman was animated.
"Where did you get that fellow?" he asked of Master Hackett in Spanish, and the latter replied in the same language, repeating the conversation to Phil and me after we were on board the Essex; but for the time we were completely in the dark so far as understanding the drift of the talk was concerned.