"You rascal!" roared Captain Hannock. "Thought you could escape that way, did you? I had half a mind to let you go to Davy Jones's locker!"
And he shook his fist at me savagely.
At these words I was almost too dumfounded to speak. Did he really imagine I had jumped overboard?
"What do you mean?" I gasped. "I didn't go over on purpose. Lowell pitched me over."
"What's that?" thundered the boatswain. "That's the biggest whopper I ever heard in my life."
"It's the truth."
"Stuff and nonsense," cried the captain. "Lowell seems to worry you altogether too much. Go forward, and don't you try any more such monkey tricks again, or I'll take the rope's end over you myself!"
And Captain Hannock advanced upon me so savagely that I was glad enough to retreat.
I went down into the forecastle, and here Tony Dibble, a hand, managed to hunt me up some dry clothing. While I was putting it on the old sailor stood by, and presently said:
"I'm afraid you're going to have a hard time of it, my lad. I was thinking Lowell pushed you over, though he stood by it that you had fallen. I saw you just as you reached the water and I flung a stick after you, thinking it might keep you afloat."