"No!" answered the mutineer, quickly, "you must not speak to him again, nor to any of the others."
"As you will. Poor fellows; I can do no more, but at least I can write on the back of the chart and tell Mr. Todd the prevailing directions of the winds, the courses to be steered, and the name of the least savage of the islands he can make for."
Then coolly turning the chart over, he scribbled a few lines upon it.
"There," he said, "read that; you will see that that can do no harm."
Mancillo looked critically at the writing for a few minutes, and Loftgreen's heart thumped against his ribs as he watched. Then a sigh of relief burst from him as the mutineer spoke.
"We are not murderers, and do not mind for you to give the second mate the good directions. But if you are lying to us we shall have your life for it."
These were the words he had written: "Not allowed to speak or write. Coast the islands, all are dangerous till you reach Otaheite. Am forced to navigate the mutineers to Manila, I will try to retake the ship, as I think I can gain over Jose and the cook, and then make for Otaheite. Have patience, and trust in God always."
Loftgreen was then again placed in irons, and one of the mutineers stood sentry in the cabin over him, while Mancillo and the rest went on deck and set about disposing of the remaining prisoners, Mr. Todd was the first man ordered into the boat, which had now been lowered and brought alongside. Then Mancillo handed him the chart and a compass.
"Here," said the mutineer, "we give you fine chart, just made for you by the mate. You see he has write out for you your course, so you will soon make the land." Then he added with a grin—"Is not Antonio Mancillo damn good fellow, eh?"
Poor Todd looked at the chart, and then at the writing at the back of it, and miserably anxious and dejected as he was, he found it hard to resist smiling at the clever way in which his fellow-officer had got to windward of the Chileno. However, he pulled a long face, and said there was mighty little chance of reaching anywhere but a savage island, with such a poor chart as that. "What," he added angrily, "is the good of this writing? We could find a cannibal island without this," and he contemptuously flung the chart into the stern sheets of the boat.