“Mud generally is, Mr Thomson,” said the captain blandly. “Well, then, let her rest for a while. We are all tired after a long night’s work. Pass the word to Mr Dempsey, and let him pipe all hands for breakfast. I want mine badly.”
There was a faint cheer at this, followed by another, and then by one which Murray said was a regular “roarer.”
“I say,” he said to Roberts, “doesn’t he take it splendidly!”
“Don’t you make any mistake,” replied that young gentleman. “He seems as cool as a cucumber, but he’s boiling with rage, and if he had that Yankee here he’d hang him from the yard-arm as sure as he’s his mother’s son.”
“And serve him right,” said Murray bitterly.
“What’s that, young gentlemen?” said the captain, turning upon them sharply, for he had noted what was going on and placed his own interpretation upon the conversation—“criticising your superiors?”
“No, sir,” said Murray frankly; “we were talking about punishing the Yankee who tricked us into this.”
“Gently, Mr Murray—gently, sir! You hot-blooded boys are in too great a hurry. Wait a bit. I dare say we shall have the pleasure of another interview with him; and, by the way, Mr Anderson, I think as we are so near, we might as well inspect the indiarubber plantations of our friend. We might see, too, if he has any more work-people of the same type as those who manned his galley.”
“I’m afraid we should only find them on board the schooner, sir,” said the chief officer bitterly.
“Exactly,” said the captain; “but I wonder at you young gentlemen,” he continued—“you with your sharp young brains allowing yourselves to be deceived as you were. Those fellows who formed the lugger’s crew ought not to have hoodwinked you.”