“That’ll do for the ballast,” said Tom, when the cargo was aboard. “Now, we’re got to go and make a raid for provisions.”
“How will we?” queried Dave.
“We’ll sneak up through this corn patch, and storm the fowlhouse,” said the older pirate grimly. “We got to get meat to eat.”
They approached the farmhouse cautiously, sneaking round between the tall rows of rustling maize till they located the chicken roost at the rear.
“You stay on watch,” whispered Tom, “an’ I’ll nick in an’ cop a couple o’ young hens. I’ll ketch ’em by the necks so they can’t sing out. If you hear any noise, whistle three times loud an’ cut to the boat.”
The first mate hid behind the fence, and the pirate captain crept softly upon his prey.
It was pretty dark inside the fowl-shed and the feathered occupants stirred uneasily, and made some enquiring remarks, when Tom fell over a box which had been left for the hens to lay in. The chief pirate waited for the row to subside, and then put out his hand quietly and grabbed a likely-looking rooster tightly by the neck.
The bird uttered a gutteral cry, which the adventurer stilled by revolving his quarry round on its own axis several times with great rapidity.
He was just preparing to commandeer further poultry when three shrill whistles echoed through the night, followed by the sound of voices and a noise of somebody running through the maize.
A second later, Tom, beating a retreat through the fowlhouse door, ran right into the arms of a burly figure.