Of this man Kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,—which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six Bells,—where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed. He drew a little sigh of relief. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene.
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