“Oh, he’s all right, sir,” said the gunner grinning. “He got a knock, sir, but he didn’t get hurt. Nothin’ hurts old Tom. I don’t believe he’s got any feeling in him at all.”
“Now, if I propose to take them,” thought Hilary, “Lipscombe will say they sha’n’t go. Here he comes, though. I shall catch it for not being off.”
He made a run and dropped down through the damaged hatchway, alighting amidst the carpenter’s tools on the lower deck, ran aft to his cabin, obtained sword and pistols, and then mounted to the deck to find the lieutenant angrily addressing Waters and Tully.
For no sooner had Hilary disappeared, and the gunner made out that the chief officer was coming on deck, than he turned his back, busied himself about the breeching of one of the guns, and shouting to Tom Tully:
“Going to send you ashore, matey?”
“No,” growled Tully; “what’s on?”
“Oh! some wild-goose hunt o’ the skipper’s. I don’t mean to go, and don’t you if you can help it. There won’t be a place to get a drop o’ grog. All searching among the rocks.”
“Gunner!”
“Yes, your honour.”
Billy Waters’ pigtail swung round like a pump-handle, as he lumped up and pulled his forelock to his angry officer.