“You are the two gentlemen who were detained by the privateer, I presume,” said Pearce, the master, who had come on board to superintend the necessary arrangements previous to her being sent in.
“We are, sir, and must introduce ourselves. My name is Mr Peter Capon—that of my friend, designated by that young gentleman as Cock-eye, is Mr Paul Contract. Will you oblige us with a boat to go on board of the frigate, that we may speak to the captain?”
“Most certainly. Jump into the first cutter there. I am sorry you have been so unpleasantly situated, gentlemen. Why did not you come on deck before?”
Peter did not state the real ground, which was to secure their property, which was below, from being plundered by the privateer’s crew; but, wishing to pay off Jerry for his impertinence, replied—
“Why, we did look up the hatchway several times, but there was something so awful, and, I may say, so un-English-like, in the appearance of that officer, with his drawn sword, that we were afraid; we could not imagine into whose hands the vessel had fallen—we thought it had been captured by the Yahoos.”
“Houyhnhnms, more likely. You’ll find I’m a bit of a horse,” replied Jerry, in a passion.
“By Jove, then, you’re only fit for the hounds,” observed the gentleman with oblique vision; “I should order you—”
“Would you? Well, now I’ll order you, sir,” replied the youngster, whose anger made him quite forget the presence of his commanding officer—“Have the goodness to step into that boat.”
“And I shall order you, Mr J—,” observed the master, with asperity—“I order you to go into that boat, and take these gentlemen on board, and to hold your tongue.”
“Ay, ay, sir. This way, sir,” said Jerry to Mr Peter, making him a polite bow, and pointing to the boat at the gangway—“In that direction, sir, if you please,” continued Jerry, bowing to Mr Paul, and pointing to the quarter of the vessel.