“A sad metamorphosis,” he said. “I had rather read of nymphs changed into laurel and gushing springs. I am come to take you, sir, before the officers of the Company aboard this ship, when, if you have aught to say for yourself, you may say it. I need not tell you, who saw so clearly some time ago the danger in which you then stood, that your plight is now a thousandfold worse.”
“I am perfectly aware of it,” I said. “Am I to go in fetters?”
“No,” he replied, with a smile. “I have no instructions on the subject, but I will take it upon myself to free you from them,—even for the sake of that excellently writ letter.”
“Is not this gentleman to go too?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I have no orders to that effect.”
While the men who were with him removed the irons from my wrists and ankles he stood in silence, regarding me with a scrutiny so close that it would have been offensive had I been in a position to take offence. When they had finished I turned and held Jeremy’s hand in mine for an instant, then followed the new-comer to the ladder and out of the hold; the two men coming after us, and resolving themselves above into a guard. As we traversed the main deck we came upon Diccon, busy with two or three others about the ports. He saw me, and, dropping the bar that he held, started forward, to be plucked back by an angry arm. The men who guarded me pushed in between us, and there was no word spoken by either. I walked on, the gentleman at my side, and presently came to an open port, and saw, with an intake of my breath, the sunshine, a dark blue heaven flecked with white, and a quiet ocean. My companion glanced at me keenly.
“Doubtless it seems fair enough, after that Cimmerian darkness below,” he remarked. “Would you like to rest here a moment?”
“Yes,” I said, and, leaning against the side of the port, looked out at the beauty of the light.
“We are off Hatteras,” he informed me, “but we have not met with the stormy seas that vex poor mariners hereabouts. Those sails you see on our quarter belong to our consort. We were separated by the hurricane that nigh sunk us, and finally drove us, helpless as we were, toward the Florida coast and across your path. For us that was a fortunate reef upon which you dashed. The gods must have made your helmsman blind, for he ran you into a destruction that gaped not for you. Why did every wretch that we hung next morning curse you before he died?”
“If I told you, you would not believe me,” I replied.