Murray made way, and the officer began to try and force in the edge of his service blade.
“Humph! Dear me!” he muttered. “The floor is made of mahogany. Very hard wood. Not so easy as I thought, May, my lad.”
A broad smile covered the big sailor’s countenance as he watched his officer’s failure.
“Ay, ay, sir!” he growled. “Beg pardon, sir; you’ll be breaking your sword.”
“Yes, my lad, and I don’t want to do that,” said the lieutenant. “Here, hallo! What do you mean by that? Look here, Mr Murray; your nigger is trying to tell you how to do it. He knows all about it. Let him try.”
For, as if recovering somewhat from his abject dread, the black knelt and shuffled about as if longing to perform the task himself.
“Yes, sir, that’s it,” said the midshipman eagerly. “Now then, Caesar, show us how it’s done.”
But this only made the black shrink away more and more, and begin shaking his head violently and resuming the pointing as before.
“Here, he must be made to show how it is done,” cried the lieutenant impatiently. “We cannot waste time like this.”
“I think I can manage now, sir,” said Murray, for just then the black caught hold of his hand, slipped his own up the lad’s wrist, and pressed him to one side of the square trap that refused to open.