And methinks, Henry, that you would have preferred to owe your life to either of my men rather than to me, if I may judge by your looks." "You should not judge by looks, captain," replied the youth quickly,--"especially the looks of a man who has just had a hand-to-hand tussle with a savage.

But, to tell the plain truth, Captain Gascoyne, I would indeed rather have had to thank your worthy man John Bumpus than yourself for coming to my aid; for although I owe you no grudge, and do not count you an enemy, I had rather see your back than your face; and you know the reason why." "You give me credit, boy, for more knowledge than I possess," replied Gascoyne, while an angry frown gathered for a moment on his brow, but passed away almost as quickly as it came.

"I know not the cause of your unreasonable dislike to one who has never done you an injury." "Never done me an injury!" cried Henry, starting and turning with a look of passion on his companion; then, checking himself by a strong effort, he added, in a milder tone, "But a truce to such talk; and I ask your forgiveness for my sharp words just after your rendering me such good service in the hour of need.

You and I differ in our notions on one or two points--that is all; there is no need for quarreling.

See, here is a note from my mother, who sent me to the bay to meet you." During this colloquy, Dick and Bumpus had mounted guard over the wounded savage, just out of ear-shot of their captain.
Neither of the sailors ventured to hold their prisoner, because they deemed it an unmanly advantage to take of one who was so completely (as they imagined) in their power.