The boy departed in haste and in a moment there entered a junior officer, who stared in frank curiosity at the three in the cabin.
"Mr. Rance," said the captain, "go aloft in person to the main truck and look about you sharply. Come back and report what you see."
"Yea, yea, sir," the young man replied, and with that he was gone.
The captain stood by the cabin window and frowned. Plainly he had small confidence in the good faith of the prisoner and regarded his story as at best an attempt to save himself at the expense of his friends. The gentleman of the humours, somewhat sobered by the captain's manner of grave concern, returned to his desk, but sat tapping his fingers and watching Philip Marsham.
It had instantly, of course, dawned upon the runaway boatswain that his peril was more serious than he had had reason earlier to believe. For supposing the unknown sail should in all truth be the Rose of Devon,—and since she was cruising idly thereabouts nothing was more probable,—he stood between the Devil, or at all events the Devil's own emissary, Thomas Jordan, and a deeper sea than any ship has ever sailed: the sea upon which many a man with less plain evidence of piracy against him has embarked from a yardarm with a hempen collar about his neck and a black cap over his eyes.
Who, pray, would accept for sober truth such a tale as any scoundrel would make out of whole cloth to save himself from hanging? Despite all he could do or say, he now saw plainly, he must stand convicted, in their minds, of being at the very least a spy sent to learn the state of affairs on board this tall ship in which he was now a prisoner.
Then back to the cabin came young Mr. Rance and very much excited did he appear.
"Sir," he exclaimed, and stood in the door.
"Tell your tale."
"A ship lieth two cable's lengths from land on the farther side of the point, and a boat hath set out from her and is following the shore as if to reconnoitre."