Billy Waters scratched his head again and looked up at the face of the rock, then at the sides, and then down at his feet, before once more raising his eyes to his commander.
“Now, sir!” exclaimed the latter, “what have you to say?”
Billy Waters appealed to the rocks again in mute despair, but they were as stony-faced as ever.
“Do you hear me, sir?” cried the lieutenant. “The fact of it is that you all came ashore, got scandalously intoxicated, and then began fighting among yourselves.”
“No, we didn’t,” growled Tom Tully from somewhere in the rear.
“Who was that? What mutinous scoundrel dared to speak like that?” cried the lieutenant; but no one answered, though the question was twice repeated. “Very good, then,” continued the lieutenant; “I shall investigate this directly I am back on board. Waters, consider yourself under arrest.”
“All right, your honour,” said the gunner; “but if I didn’t get a crack on the shoulder just about here from some one, I’m a Dutchman.”
“Ay, ay,” was uttered in chorus; and the members of the previous night’s party stared up at the rocks on all sides, in search of some evidence to lay before their doubting commander; but none being forthcoming, they reluctantly followed him back to the open shore, where, as there was nothing to be seen but rocks, sand, and stones, and the towering cliff, they proceeded back to the boats.
“Fools! idiots! asses!” the lieutenant kept muttering till they embarked, the gunner and Tom Tully being in one boat, the lieutenant in the other, which was allowed to get well on ahead before the occupants of the second boat ventured to speak, when Tom Tully became the spokesman, the gunner being too much put out by the rebuff he had met with to do more than utter an occasional growl.
“Lookye here, my lads,” said Tully; “arter this here, I’ll be blessed.”