By the aid of this light he looked over and along the surface of the lumber aft to where some men were dimly silhouetted against the aft sail, then swinging abeam, by a lantern on the poop.
Without hesitation he mounted the lumber and was immediately accosted by a gruff voice from behind: “Where away now shipmate?”
“That’s something I should like to know,” replied Corway, turning around and facing the questioner.
Then he saw that the ship was being towed down the Columbia River, of which he was certain by its width, by a steamer, and the man who had addressed him was leaning on the boom that swung over the forecastle.
“You’ll know soon enough when your ‘watch’ comes,” said the man with a grunt that may have been meant for a laugh.
“I say, friend,” went on Corway, pleadingly, “I am not a sailor, and as there must be some mistake about me being on this ship, may I ask what means were used to get me aboard?”
“Well, that’s a rummie,” said the fellow, leering at Corway, and after a moment of seeming reflection, he continued: “Well, I reckon it’s not a mate’s place to give out information, but bein’ you’ve a sore top an’ wearin’ city clothes, I will say this much: you had stowed away such a bally lot of booze that you come to the ship like a gentleman, sir. Yes, sir. And nothing short of a hack with a pair of blacks to draw it, would do for you, sir.”
“In a hack, you say!” exclaimed Corway, alertly.
“Yes, sir; in a hack, just as we cast off from the sawmill wharf at Portland.”
“Strange! The hack I saw yesterday afternoon, and again at the depot last night, was drawn by black horses,” muttered Corway to himself, and after a moment of deep reflection, went on: “Looks like a conspiracy to get me out of the way. I say, my good fellow, do you remember the time I was brought on board and how many were in the party?”