At this moment Paul Powis stepped up to the editor, and in a low but firm
voice ordered him to quit the cabin.
"I will pray for you--be your slave--do all you ask, if you will not give
me up!" continued the culprit, fairly writhing in his agony. "Oh! Captain
Ducie, as an English nobleman, have mercy on me."
"I must transfer the duty to subordinates," said the English commander, a
tear actually standing in his eye. "Will you permit a party of armed
marines to take this unhappy being from your ship, sir."
"Perhaps this will be the best course, as he will yield only to a show of
force. I see no objection to this, Mr John Effingham?"
"None in the world, sir. It is your object to clear your ship of a
delinquent, and let those among whom he committed the fault be
the agents."
"Ay--ay! this is what Vattel calls the comity of nations. Captain Ducie, I
beg you will issue your orders."
The English commander had foreseen some difficulty, and, in sending away
his boat when he came below, he had sent for a corporal's guard. These men
were now in a cutter, near the ship, lying off on their oars, in a rigid
respect to the rights of a stranger, however,--as Captain Truck was glad
to see, the whole party having gone on deck as soon as the arrangement was
settled.
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