For the black had suddenly made a dash for his boat, and sprung from the stage into his place.
Murray’s first thought was that the black was about to escape with his companions, but directly after he saw the cause of the man’s scare, for there was the quick, steady chop, chop of oars, and the youth’s heart sank with a feeling of despair, for the bows of the Seafowl’s second cutter suddenly came into sight, with her crew pulling hard, and there in the stern sat the man, after the captain, whom he least desired to see, and close by him, sitting up smart and consequential to a degree, and seeming to fix his eyes at once keenly upon those of his brother midshipman, was Roberts, looking as if he divined that something was wrong.
“And ready to jump upon me,” said Murray to himself. “Oh, how am I to begin?” he thought. “I wish I was anywhere out of this!”
But the first lieutenant did not wait for the lad to begin; he opened the ball himself.
“Well, Mr Murray,” he cried, “what does this mean? Why have you got the planter’s boat and crew out here?”
“We found them, sir, by accident,” faltered the lad.
“Well, I suppose they did not want much finding. Where is your prisoner?”
Murray gazed at his officer vacantly, trying hard to reply, but, as he afterwards said to Roberts, if it had been to save his life he could not have uttered a word.
“What’s the matter, my lad?” said the chief officer kindly. “Not ill, are you?”
“No, sir,” replied Murray, finding his voice at last, and watching the lieutenant hard, followed by Dick Roberts, who was grinning as if he enjoyed hearing what he looked upon as the beginning of “a wigging.”