"I go wit' you, Bob," repeated the Dutchman.
"You see!" cried Murray. "'Tis useless to object. Go with you he will. Well, you'll have company at least—and I shall lack a companion whose presence is not the less valuable for his silence. A good friend is Peter, Robert. I would he were mine!"
Peter rose.
"We go," he said. "Ja."
On deck Murray had the longboat called away, and we embarked in silence. 'Twas a hot night, with very little air stirring, and the ribald uproar on the Walrus was amazingly distinct. The James was like a tomb by contrast. Not a sound came from her, and the only lights she showed were in the waist and the main cabin. The Walrus was a blaze of lanthorns from poop to fo'csle, but Murray hailed the deck twice before he had an answer.
"Boat ahoy!" responded a husky voice then. "Why'n —— don't ye come aboard?"
"'Tis Captain Murray to see Captain Flint," replied my great-uncle calmly.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the husky voice on a quaver of fear. "We'll call him directly. Will ye come aboard, sir?"
My great-uncle turned to Peter with one foot on the side ladder.
"Are you certain you must go with Robert?" he asked. "I can assure you no harm shall come to him."