"Does beat all how these fureigners do love their garlic," grumbled Luke. "'Twas the same way with them Spaniards in the Philippines."
"Garlic and grease," added Larry. "And this bread is hard enough to build a wall with," he continued. "However, we have got to eat or go hungry." And he partook of just enough to stay his stomach. Luke and Grandon were not so particular and despite their grumbling managed to make away with all that remained.
They saw nothing of the captain, or of the sailors who had been taken below, and the time hung heavily on their hands. At night they were given three hammocks and these they slung from one side of the prison to the other and rested as well as could be expected. The Russian sailors often came to the pen to gaze at them, but they had been warned not to attempt to converse with the prisoners, so nothing was said.
On the afternoon of the third day aboard of the Pocastra, those in the pen heard a loud shouting on deck, followed by a rush of feet. Larry, who was resting in the corner for the want of something better to do, leaped up.
"Something is doing!" he cried to his companions.
"Here comes Captain Ponsberry," ejaculated Tom Grandon.
He was right, the captain was coming up in company with Rosenvischpoff and two sailors. The Russian petty officer opened the door of the pen and Captain Ponsberry was thrust inside. Then the door was locked as before.
"How are you, boys?" cried the captain, cordially. "All well, I hope."
"We are," answered Grandon. "And you?"
"I'm well enough, but still angry to think that we lost the Columbia."