“Yes, quite right, thank you, sir.”
“Hah!” said the skipper, and walked on, taking no notice of Poole, who was coming up, and leaving the lads together.
“I say,” said Fitz sarcastically, “I can bear a good deal, but your father goes too far.”
“What do you mean?” asked Poole.
“He makes such a dreadful fuss over one, just for doing a trifling thing like that. Almost too much to bear.”
“Well, he didn’t make much fuss over me,” said Poole, in rather an ill-used tone. “I felt as if we had done nothing, instead of disabling a man-of-war.—Hullo! what does this mean?”
For just then the boat came swiftly round the bend, with the mate sitting in the stern-sheets, the dinghy towed by its painter behind.
A shout from the man on the watch astern brought up the skipper and the rest of the crew, including those who had been making up for their last night’s labours in their bunks, all expectant of some fresh news; and they were not disappointed, nearly every one hearing it as the boat came alongside and the mate spoke out to the captain on the deck.
“Found a way right up to the top of the cliff,” he said, “and from there I could regularly look down on the gunboat’s deck.”
“Well?” said the skipper sharply.