"We're not going this time.
The magistrates will confiscate the boat since the surety's not paid, even if when they press him Nuttall does not confess the whole plan and get us all branded on the forehead." Mr.Blood turned away, and with agony in his eyes looked out to sea over the blue water by which he had so fondly hoped soon to be travelling back to freedom.
The great red ship had drawn considerably nearer shore by now.

Slowly, majestically, she was entering the bay.

Already one or two wherries were putting off from the wharf to board her.

From where he stood, Mr.Blood could see the glinting of the brass cannons mounted on the prow above the curving beak-head, and he could make out the figure of a seaman in the forechains on her larboard side, leaning out to heave the lead.
An angry voice aroused him from his unhappy thoughts.
"What the devil are you doing here ?" The returning Colonel Bishop came striding into the stockade, his negroes following ever.
Mr.Blood turned to face him, and over that swarthy countenance--which, indeed, by now was tanned to the golden brown of a half-caste Indian--a mask descended.
"Doing ?" said he blandly.

"Why, the duties of my office." The Colonel, striding furiously forward, observed two things.