He had strolled alone through the tangle of undergrowth, of flowering
vines in which frightened mocking-birds and catbirds were darting, to
the side of the island nearest the bank of the mainland.

"Here," he said, speaking aloud as he had learned to do when he was a
captive among the Tartars that he might not forget the sound of his own
tongue, "here, on this side should be a bastioned wall with some strong
culverins. A lookout tower at this corner and, extending around north
and south, a strong palisade--that with vigilant sentries would ensure
against attack except by water. If I--"

Then he stopped, his brow knitting. His disappointment had been a keen
one, his pride was smitten to the quick. Never had he left England,
never thrown in his lot with the new colony, had he known how he was to
be made to suffer from jealousy, intrigue and neglect. As he stood
gazing across into the deeper tangle on the opposite shore his thoughts
were occupied with decisions for his future.

"Why should I remain here," he cried aloud, "to be disregarded, when
there is many an English ship that would be fain to have me stand on her
poop, many a company of yeomen that would be main glad to have me
command them? I am not of those men who are wont always to follow
orders. I am made to _give_ them. The world's wide and this island need
not be my prison. I will sail back on the _Discovery_ and e'en be on the
lookout for some new adventures."

A rustling in the bushes behind him made him turn quickly. There stood
Dickon and Hugh and Hob, three of the men who had come from his own part
of the country, with whom during the long voyage he had often been glad
to chat of their homes and the folk they all knew.