“Get out, and don’t make higgerant observations, messmate. It’s a funeral, and that’s the way these here heathens show how sorry they are.”
“Silence there, my lads,” said the lieutenant. “Keep a sharp look-out.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
Just at that moment, as the lit-up boat glided along about a couple of hundred yards from us, where we sailed gently up-stream, there was a faint rustling forward, and Tom Jecks’ gruff voice whispered—
“What is it, messmate?”
“Ching see big junk.”
There was a dead silence, and we all strained our eyes to gaze up-stream.
“Can’t see nought, messmate,” was whispered.
“Yes; big junk come along.”
Plash! and a creaking, rattling sound came forth out of the darkness.