"There's your ship to clean, man," replied Murray. "She needs it."
Flint answered with a curse. The Walrus had slid on too far for all his words to be distinct, but I heard a fragment of the beginning.
"—use o' cleaning' ship? Only a —— —— swab o' a —— —— Navy officer 'ud think to —— —— his ——"
My great-uncle indulged in one of his essentially Gallic shrugs and dusted a pinch of snuff into his nostrils.
"Captain Flint doth not agree with me, it seems. A strange character, and eke a forceful one, Robert, for all his inherent stupidity and blindness of view. But to return to your question. You were about to ask me what harm could befall you ashore. I answer you that I do not know, but that in all candid truth we are here, to quote my associate, some 'five hundred —— —— ——,' and accidents may happen. Therefore, I suggest that you be aboard not later than an hour after sunset. On second thoughts, Robert, I regret that I shall be unable to permit you to leave the ship save upon your parole on those terms."
"You have it," I answered shortly, and followed Peter down the side-cleats into the gig.
We rowed up the estuary for the mouth of the little river which we had seen from the James' deck, and our course took us under the yellow hull of the Walrus. A shrill voice hailed from a gunport, and Darby McGraw's red head was thrust out beside the frowning black muzzle.
"Glory be, Master Bob, and do they let ye go free wherever ye will? Sure, it's yourself must be one o' the grand favorites over yon. Are ye an officer yet?"
I was about to answer him when Flint gloomed down at us from the towering poop.
"Gut me!" he sneered. "'Tis Murray's by-blow, no less! What d'ye make o' this, Billy?"