For some time after the brig had sunk, the schooner appeared to take no notice whatever of us, while we continued to draw nearer and nearer to her.  We had an Englishman, Mr Stone, who acted as master of the _Dove_, and two other natives.  Stone was a simple-minded, honest man. His principle was, if he received an order from a superior, to obey it. Therefore, as Mr Brand had directed him to continue beating up to windward till he returned on board, it never occurred to him to propose running away from our suspiciously dangerous neighbour.  The natives held their tongues, but did not look happy.  Mr McRitchie was the most agitated.  He kept walking our little deck with hurried steps.  We were drawing nearer and nearer to the big schooner.  Suddenly he stopped and looked at us, the tears starting into his eyes.  "My dear lads," said he, "it is very, very sad to think of, but there can be no doubt, I greatly fear, that our friend and his followers have been murdered by yonder piratical villains.  If they are still alive, (and what chance is there of it?) they will certainly not be allowed to return to us.  We are, therefore, only sacrificing our own lives by allowing ourselves to fall into the power of the villains.  While there is time, let us escape.  Captain Stone, don't you agree with me?"