“The situation is complex. Your interruption of Vancouver’s plot and Christopher’s dismissal of the native require us to lay a counter train. The king will infer from what Christopher told the native that Mr. Vancouver has abandoned his scheme to betray the colony, and that we are determined to hang together, and fight it out to the end. I imagine that the natives are growing impatient for a victim. What do you suggest, Mr. Tudor?”
“I suppose I should continue in the rôle of the king’s emissary and inform Mr. Vancouver that the sending out of the young men is postponed. Fortunately we have stopped that.”
“We have done nothing of the sort,” declared the president. “They shall go out.”
Astonishment silenced me.
“They shall go out,” he drove into me again.
“To their destruction—and ours?” I asked.
“No. But they must go and take their punishment. Then they will hear from me. You can manage it through the native boy and his sister. Let her see that they are soundly whipped and sent back to the colony. She’s our friend.”
“That is unthinkable,” I protested. “The risk is too great. Lentala can’t——”
“Don’t underestimate her. You have your instructions, sir.” He rose. “I’ll be on hand tomorrow when you call out the men for the fields.”
I had risen, and stood facing a commander instead of an ally. After a moment’s struggle with desperately rebellious emotions, I saw my own absurdity, and abruptly left without a word, to fight for patience and wisdom under the stars.