I did not intend to make any more mistakes, and with the same cord which had confined my hands, I tied his wrists together behind him. I secured his feet, and made him fast to the jib-sheet cleat. He was now in precisely the same situation as that to which I had been reduced, and in which I had been only half an hour before. He lay very still; but I was satisfied so long as I knew that he breathed. His face was covered with blood, for the bottle had broken under the blow, and cut his head. I directed Peter to wash his face and bathe his head in spirits.
"Gorrificious! Things is turned right over," said he.
"They are; and, Peter, I give you the same instructions which Mr. Whippleton gave you. Don't you let him get away," I added, as I seated myself at the side of Marian.
"No, sir."
"I'm not drunk, Peter."
"No, sir; sober's you was the day you was born," chattered the cook.
"If you want to get back to Chicago without a hole in your head, you will see that Mr. Whippleton don't get loose. I shall keep this pistol beside me, and I shall not go to sleep."
"Yes, sir. I understand."
"See that you mind."
"Don't be afraid of me, Mr. Philip. I always minds the captain, whoever he is," replied the polite cook, who, like thousands of others, was disposed to submit to the powers that be without asking any questions.