A joyful clamor of voices mingled with the barking of dogs greeted the tough old sea captain as he made his way down the ship’s ladder.
“What is the news from home? Whom have you brought over? Have you food and apparel on board, and where are the letters?” The questions were eager and numberless.
“One thing at a time,” answered the worthy old sea-dog. “Do you expect us to stand here in the freezing cold to give you news? Lead the way to a fire where we may thaw the marrow in our bones. Gad, but you have the coldest ice-house over here it has ever been my lot to enter!”
The whole procession then made its way to the fort, as it was the largest house of accommodation. Great sticks of pitch pine lighted up the interior and revealed the prisoner lying in a corner.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?” thundered Newport. “Why is Captain Smith a prisoner?”
His questions were soon answered, and, turning fiercely upon Ratcliffe, he hurled maledictions upon him.
“Release him instantly or else some other gibbering head will adorn the gallows to-morrow! I will be answerable to the London Company.”
Captain Smith’s guards sullenly undid his bonds, and he came forward to hear the news from home. First he cast his eyes upon the new adventurers, and he saw that no hope for the settlement lay in them. Soft, cushiony hands were not going to wield the axe and sight the gun.
Seating himself upon a rough stool before the fire, the messenger from home began to dole out his packet of mail.
“Two for you, Martin, three for Ratcliffe, and one for you, Wingfield. Looks like a woman’s hand and an uneducated one at that. Nothing for you, Laydon, I am sorry to say.”