“He know somebody go to die soon,” said ’Pollo, in a low voice. “Dat Mass’ Studwick or pretty Missee Pugh.”
“Don’t you talk humbug,” said Oakum, with a growl. “Phew! it’s strange and hot; I shall go and turn in.”
“You soon turn out again. Mass’ Oakum, you go below. De cockroach hab fine game night like dis hyar, sah, and de skeetas buzz bout like anyfing. You top on deck and lay down under de awning. Dey coming on deck dose oder chap half baked, sah.”
“How do you know?” growled Sam.
“I hear some one, sah, just now come crawl up, and—Oh, Goramighty, who hit me on de head?”
For just then there was a dull thud, a fall, and Sam Oakum felt himself seized from behind, and a hard hand placed over his mouth.
He was too sturdy a fellow, though, to submit to that, and wrenching himself free he sent one of his assailants one way, and the other sprawling over the body of ’Pollo, and darting aside, he gave a spring, caught at the inner side of the main shrouds, swung his legs up, and as the two men ran in pursuit of him they passed beneath him in the darkness, and he climbed softly up higher and higher, then crawling round to the outside, and clung there, gazing down into the darkness below, feeling that he had had a narrow escape for his life.
“The ship’s been boarded in the dark,” he muttered, as he listened attentively, seeing nothing, but making out something of the proceedings by the sounds below.
Now came the noise of the cabin hatches being secured; then there were short, sharp orders here and there, followed by a struggle, a wild cry, and a heavy fall. Then came the splash heard below in the cabin, and Oakum muttered to himself:
“There’s one poor fellow gone to his long home.”