“I believe I have; zeemed to turn it over and find it under this here clod I’m breaking up with the hoe. Wish I’d looked when we was aboard.”
“Looked at what?”
“Her bottom. She’s got a big bung-hole in her zomewhere, and he must pole her along into a deep part, and take the bung out, and let her fill and zink. Then he zinks the painter with a stone.”
“But she wouldn’t sink, Pete.”
“Oh yes, she would, with ballast enough, sir; and all we’ve got to do now is to find out where she is.”
Nic shook his head sadly, for he was not convinced.
“Don’t you do that, my lad; that’s not the way to get home. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think I’m right, and I dare zay, if we knowed where to look, she’s just close handy zomewhere. Zay, Master Nic, s’pose I get old Zamson down and kneel on his chest, and pull out my knife. I could show my teeth and look savage, and pretend I was going to cut his head off if he didn’t tell me. That would make him speak—eh?”
“Yes, to Saunders; and you would be punished, and we should be worse off than ever.”
“That’s about it, sir. I’m afraid I did no good last night.”
Pete chopped and broke clods, and muttered to himself in a way which suggested that he was by no means satisfied with his investigations. Then all at once he said: