Mr Collinson had not been many minutes in the dining-room, when the young lady, accompanied by an elderly-looking Frenchman with white hair, entered the room.

“You are welcome, sir, to my house,” he said; “and I am happy to receive you.  I lately received great kindness from your countrymen, when I was in your situation, a captive in their hands, and I am thankful to have an opportunity of returning it.”

Mr Collinson made a suitable reply, adding that it was a sad thing that peaceable people should be made prisoners, and inconvenienced because their nations happened to be at war.

“Yes, indeed,” added the Frenchman; “but don’t speak about it.  It was our Emperor who set the example.”

“How long ago was it since the circumstance occurred?” asked Mr Collinson.

“But a few weeks ago,” answered the Frenchman; “indeed, we have only returned home about ten days.  My daughter and I were on our way from France, when our vessel was captured by an English corvette, and carried into Port Royal.  The captain of the English ship treated us with great kindness, as, indeed, did several of the inhabitants of the place, especially a military officer commanding a regiment there, with whom I was formerly acquainted when I was in the army.  We, on that occasion, met as enemies, but we parted as friends, and I was very glad to renew my acquaintance.”

The English lieutenant listened to this account with great interest.

“And what was the name of the ship by which your vessel was captured?” he asked.

“She was a corvette, I know,” he answered.  “Yes, yes, I remember; her name is the Lilly, and her captain is Mr Trevelyan.”

“That was indeed a curious coincidence, for it is the ship to which I belong,” said Mr Collinson.

“The captain is indeed a kind and generous man!” exclaimed the young lady with enthusiasm.  “And, now I think of it, how very strange!  Surely we heard of you from Colonel Lydall.  They were very anxious indeed about you.  Some, in truth, thought you were lost, but Miss Lydall would not believe that; yet often she was very sad.  Now I understand it all.”

As may be supposed, after this information, Mr Collinson had numberless questions to ask.  Sometimes he was grieved at the thoughts of the anxiety Miss Lydall was suffering; at other times, he could not help feeling grateful that her affection for him was undiminished.

While they were still speaking, a handsome repast was placed on the table, brought in by several black slaves.

“We will have your people in,” said the French gentleman.  “You will not object to their sitting at table, for I cannot ask them to join the black slaves.”

“Certainly not,” said Mr Collinson; “though I do not believe they would object to that.  Probably, indeed, they would be happier by themselves.”

However, the Frenchman insisted that they should come in.  The boys’ eyes sparkled as they found themselves seated at the table, for it was seldom or never they had seen so fine a repast.

“Won’t I have a good tuck-out!” said Tommy Rebow, as he eyed the viands.  “In case our nigger-guards should be inclined to starve us, we may as well take in enough to last for some days.”

All hands did ample justice, as may be supposed, to the repast, the black soldiers being fed, in the mean time, in another part of the house.

At length the sergeant of the party appeared at the door, and summoned his prisoners.

“I have not asked your name,” said Mr Collinson, turning to his host.  “I should like to remember one of whom I shall always think with gratitude.”

“My name is Mouret, and my daughter’s name is Adele; but don’t suppose that I shall lose sight of you.  Every influence I possess with the authorities I will exert in your favour, though I fear that is not very great.”

The sergeant becoming impatient, the English party had to take a hurried farewell.

“Good-bye, monsieur; much obliged for your good dinner!” cried Jack Windy, as Monsieur Mouret kindly shook him and his companions by the hand.  “We will not forget you, and be sure to give you a call, if we come this way again.”

The party were once more on their road.

“Here, sir, the nigger servant gave us these bundles to look after,” said Jack.  “They’re our duds, I suppose.  One is yours, sir, and the rest ours.”

“Take care of them,” said Mr Collinson.  “They may be useful to show who we are, should there be any doubt about the matter.”

They pushed on till it was dark, as fast as the negro soldiers could march, the sergeant being anxious, apparently, to make up for the time they had spent at Monsieur Mouret’s house.  They reached a village at length, where he told them they must stop.

“Is there an inn to which we can go?” asked Mr Collinson.

The negro grinned.

“No, monsieur,” he answered; “but quarters will be assigned to you.”

After being kept waiting for some time, the sergeant, who had gone away, returned, and told them to follow.

“Here’s a fine place,” he said, pointing to a tumbledown barn, or shed rather; “but I will see if we can get some straw, and something for supper.  You will not require much, after the good dinner you enjoyed.”

In vain Mr Collinson expostulated:  he found, at length, that he must submit.  The soldiers went out, and came back in a short time with some straw, which they piled up in one corner.

“Here’s enough for all of us,” they grunted out; “and as for food, some farina, and cold water to wash it down, is all that is allowed.  If monsieur has any money, we may procure something more suitable to his taste.”

When Mr Collinson told his companions what the negro soldier said, they begged that he would not submit to any imposition.

“We can do very well without any supper, or with only what the niggers bring us,” answered Jack; “and maybe we shall all want it more by-and-by.”

However, when the bowl of boiled corn-meal was brought, they did ample justice to it, declaring that, for once in a way, it was not such bad food, after all.  Old Grim, however, grumbled considerably, especially at night, when the rats began to chase each other about the place; and the negro soldiers kept up an interrupted snore, with occasional grunts, as a variation to the music.

“I don’t see why we should complain,” said Bill, at length.  “We’re better off than we were on the raft; and, to my mind, it is not worse than being with those cut-throat looking fellows on board the privateer.”

“You are always contented,” answered Grimshaw.  “I can make nothing out of you.”

“Just for the reason that I stick to my belief that the sun is shining up above the clouds, however dark they may be over us,” answered Bill.

In spite of the rats, and the snoring and grunting of the negroes, and the unpleasant odours, even Mr Collinson fell asleep, his example being followed by his companions.  They were roused up by the black sergeant at daybreak, and, without any breakfast, were ordered to proceed on their journey.

“The people have given us supper and bed, and that’s all they’re obliged to do,” said the sergeant.  “We must get breakfast where we stop at.”

They travelled on as on the previous day, the scenery being sometimes very picturesque the prickly palm, and cocoa-nut trees, and numberless shrubs with long waving leaves.  Sometimes thickets of the graceful bamboo lined either side of the road; but persons, when carried off as prisoners, are not generally apt to admire the beauty of the scenery.  Sunshine Bill, however, was not to be put down.

“It’s one way of seeing the world that I did not expect, when I left home,” he remarked to Jack Windy.  “I shall have many more yarns to spin, when I get back, in consequence.  Now, Tommy, look out where you are going to.  You have nearly brought the mule down two or three times; and the next time we get off, I must sit ahead and steer.”

They brought up at another village, where the sergeant procured some messes of boiled meal, such as they had had for supper.

“If it had not been for that kind gentleman, I don’t know where we should have been by this time,” said Jack.  “We should have been desperately hungry, I know.  Howsumdever, when we are once settled, I suppose we shall be able to get sufficient grub to keep body and soul together.”

At length the prisoners arrived at a wretched-looking village, though picturesquely situated with hills rising round it.

“Halt here,” said the sergeant, “while I go and inquire what quarters are to be assigned to you.”

“Nothing very grand,” he said, with a laugh, when he returned.  “Follow me!”

“Why,” said Mr Collinson, “the authorities cannot think of putting us into a place like that.  It is a stable!”

“Very likely; but there’s only one old horse in it, and there are three stalls:  you can have one, monsieur, all to yourself, and your men can have he other.  What more can you desire?”

All expostulations were vain.

“Well, we must make the best of it, my lads,” said Mr Collinson, walking into the place.

“There’s just one thing you must remember,” shouted the sergeant:  “don’t be playing tricks, and turning out the horse.  The owner made that a bargain; and he requires shelter as much as you do.”

“Well, well!” answered the English lieutenant; “complaining is beneath us.”

“We shall not do badly, sir,” observed Jack, as he surveyed the place; “we don’t, however, like it for you, sir; but we will get some straw and some planks, and make it as comfortable-like as we can and rig up a table.  It’s a shame, that it is, to turn a British officer into such a place; and the next time we get alongside a French man-of-war, in the Lilly, won’t we give it her, that’s all!”

“I hope, my lads, we may have the opportunity before long,” said the lieutenant.  “I am glad you take things so well.  Perhaps they will mend.  It’s a compliment, I suspect, they pay us, to bring us here; for they have heard of the way English sailors have made their escape from prison, so they consider it is necessary to carry us all this distance from the coast.”

It was nearly dark when they arrived, so that they had not much time to get their habitation in order.  The night passed quietly enough, except that they were startled, every now and then, by the asthmatic cough of the horse, the croaking of the bull-frogs in a neighbouring pond, and the sound of the sentry’s musket, as he grounded it every now and then, when he halted, after pacing up and down in front of the hut.  Bill was awoke by hearing a voice shouting

“Hillo, shipmates, ahoy!  Where are they, blacky?  What!  In there?  Then they are as bad off as we are.”

Bill jumped up, and went to the door.  There he saw an English sailor, who was, however, a stranger to him.

“Hillo!  Boy,” said the sailor, “what cheer?  What has brought you here?”

Bill told him what had occurred.

“Well, we heard of some fresh arrivals, so I came along to see who you were.  We have had nearly two score of Englishmen here, officers and men; some privateersmen, some merchant seamen, the men-of-war’s men having been taken mostly in prizes, except a dozen of us who belong to the Buzzard schooner, and we should not have been taken had not the sloop of war we were engaging knocked away our fore-topmast, and pretty well killed or wounded two-thirds of our ship’s company.  Some of them, howsumdever, have been exchanged, and some have died; so that there are only a few of us remaining to make you welcome.”

In a short time, the rest of the Englishmen came to greet the newcomers.  One was a lieutenant, whose thin, careworn countenance showed suffering and anxiety; and another was a grey-haired old mate, who evidently cared very little what might become of him.  The account they gave of their treatment was far from satisfactory.

“We receive scarcely sufficient food to keep life in us,” observed the lieutenant.

All had similar complaints to make.  Several days passed by, and Mr Collinson found that his countrymen had ample reason for the complaints they made.