“Chile, chile! don’t heave me overboard!” groaned the cook. “I can’t swim! Let go of me! I ain’t done nothin’!”
During their days on the schooner the boys had noticed a small hatch only a few feet from the door to the galley. This hatch had been open to ventilate the hold, and Gif had looked down to find the spot beneath empty.
“You keep quiet,” he ordered, and then he said to his chums: “I know what to do with him. As soon as I tell you to come out, bring him along. And somebody had better put his hand over the fellow’s mouth for fear he may start to yell.”
Slipping outside, Gif made his way to the small hatch and raised it. Then he called softly to the others, and they came outside, dragging the cook with them. Randy had his hand over the fellow’s mouth, and it must be confessed that the colored cook was thoroughly frightened.
“Drop him down the hatchway, quick!” ordered Gif.
Without ceremony, this command was carried out, and the poor colored cook found himself shooting through utter darkness, to land in a heap in the hold of the schooner. Then the boys replaced the hatch and ran back into the galley to get the food they had packed up, and also the bottles and the jug of water. They were just starting for the stern when they found themselves confronted by Ira Small.
“Got the stuff?” whispered the lanky sailor, hoarsely.
“Yes,” answered Andy.
“I thought I heard a little noise up here.”