“Course I don’t, young officer. There’s many a pick at a worm as turns out a miss, ain’t there? How do I know that my Portygee neighbour mayn’t slip off through your boats making too much of a row instead of creeping up quiet? You mean right, all of you, but I shan’t feel sure till you’ve made a prisoner of that chap and scattered the nigger chief and his men where they’ll be afraid to come back. Now then; you said something about talking too much. I’m going to shut up shop now and give my tongue a holiday till I’ve laid you where you can send your boats to do their work. But I say, just one word more, mister,” said the man anxiously; and the lieutenant felt his hand tremble as he laid it upon his arm; “yew will be careful, won’t yew?”
“Trust us,” replied the lieutenant.
“That’s what I’m a-doing; but jest you think. It puts me in mind of the boys and the frogs in your English moral story—what may be fun to yew may be death to me. Tell your skipper that he must take all the care he can.”
“I will,” said the lieutenant.
“But look here; perhaps I’d better come aboard and say a word to him. Don’t you think I might?”
“No,” was the reply.
“But what do yew say, young mister?”
“I say no too,” replied Murray. “Your place is here aboard your lugger.”
“Wall, I suppose you’re right,” half whimpered the man, “for we’re getting tidy nigh now, and I don’t want anything to go wrong through my chaps making a mistake. I’ll chance it, so you’d best get aboard your vessel. Tell the skipper I shall do it just at daylight. Less than half-an-hour now. Then’ll be the time.”
“One moment,” said Murray, as the lieutenant was about to give the order for the coxswain to unhook and let the cutter glide back to the sloop.