“I’ll do what you orders, sir, of course, you being my orficer, but you might tell me which way I oughter lead.”
“I can’t, Tom, my lad. We want to get down to the boat, and hope to pick up Titely on the way. I’ve tried till I grew more and more puzzled than ever; so now you try. You must chance it, my lad.”
“Mean it, sir?”
“Mean it? Of course!” cried Murray; and the man shut his eyes close, knit his brow, and then began to mutter in a low tone, much to the midshipman’s surprise.
“What are you doing, Tom?” he cried at last.
“What you telled me, sir—charnshing of it.”
“Chancing it?”
“Yes, sir; that’s right,” said the man. “Same as we used to when we was little uns playing at Blind Man’s Buff. ‘How many horses has your father got?’ Then the one as had the hankychy tied over his eyes used to answer, ‘Black, white and grey.’ Then the one who arksed about the horses used to say, ‘Turn round three times and ketch who you may.’”
And as soon as the man had repeated these words with his eyes still closely shut he turned round three times and then opened them and stared straight before him.
“This here’s the way, sir; right ahead.”