That was all he said; but it was given in so emphatic a tone, and evidently meant so much, that his messmates all nodded their heads in sage acquiescence with his remark. Then they looked at each other and bent steadily to their oars, in expectation of what was to take place as soon as they got on board.
By the time they were three-quarters of the way Billy Waters had somewhat recovered himself.
“I’ve got it,” he exclaimed.
“Got what?” said three or four men at once.
“Why that ’ere. I see it all now. Them chaps lives atop o’ the cliff when they ar’n’t afloat, and they’ve got tackle rigged up ready, and what do they do but whip one another up the side o’ the rock, just as you might whip a lady out of a boat up the side of a three-decker.”
Tom Tully opened his mouth and stared at the gunner in open admiration.
“Why, what a clever chap you are, Billy!” he growled. “I shouldn’t ha’ thought o’ that if I’d lived to hundred-and-two.”
“I see it all now plain enough, mates,” continued the gunner. “I was hitting at that chap one minute in the dark, and then he was gone. He’d been keeping me off while his mates was whipped up, and then, when his turn came, up he goes like a bag o’ biscuit into a warehouse door at Portsmouth, and I’ll lay a tot o’ grog that’s what’s become of our young orsifer.”
“Hark at him!” cried Tom Tully, giving his head a sidewise wag. “That’s it for sartain; and if I wouldn’t rather sarve under Billy Waters for skipper than our luff, I ar’n’t here.”
“You’d best tell him, then, as soon as we get on board,” said one of the men.