“This here, sir,” replied the man, holding up a round brass tobacco-box. “Thought I’d take a quid just to put a bit o’ life into me, and as soon as I’d got it I shut up the lid, and it went off like a pistol.”
“But do you feel sure they didn’t hear?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about that, sir. There they go, and we’re all right so long as none of ’em looks round, and Billy Titely and Mr Roberts don’t sing out anything to bring them back.”
“Oh, don’t speak so loud,” whispered the middy.
“Nay, they can’t hear that, sir,” said the man. “Lucky beggars!”
“What!”
“Lucky beggars, sir. Two on ’em’s saved their lives, and a couple more’s gone off without having any mark upon ’em. For I’m pretty handy with my cutlash, Mr Murray, sir; arn’t I?”
“Handy, Tom? Yes, of course; but what an escape! I felt as if I couldn’t have helped you.”
“Yah! Nonsense, sir! I always feel like that, just as if I couldn’t do anything. It’s nat’ral, I suppose. I was allers that how when I was a boy, when I got fighting. Used to feel like running away, till I was hurt, and then my monkey was up directly and I began to bite. Whatcher talking about, sir? I just see you standing still and one of them ugly beggars sticking his long knife into you. You’d hold still, wouldn’t you? Not much!”
“Oh, I don’t know, Tom.”