“How dare you say that?” cried Nic angrily.
“’Cause I’ve lived off and on about Plymouth all my life and close to the sea, and if I don’t know a king’s ship by this time I ought to. That’s only a lubberly old merchantman. Why, her yards were all anyhow, with not half men enough to keep ’em square.”
“Bah!” cried Solly angrily. “Hold your mouth, you one-eyed old tater-grubber. What do you mean by giving the young master the lie?”
“That will do, Solly,” cried Nic. “He means right. Look here, my lads; that is a king’s ship, the one commanded by my father’s friend; and he has made her look all rough like that so as to cheat the salmon-gang, and it will have cheated them if it has cheated you.”
A cheer was bursting forth, but Nic checked it, and the gardener said huskily:
“Master Nic, I beg your pardon. I oughtn’t to ha’ said such a word. It was the king’s ship as humbugged me, and not you. Say, lads, we’re going to have a night of it, eh?”
A low buzz of satisfaction arose; and Nic hurried out, to walk in the direction of the signal-staff, where the Captain had gone to look out for their allies.
“Who goes there?” came in the old officer’s deep voice.
“Only I, father.”
“Bah!” cried the Captain in a low, angry voice. “Give the word, sir—‘Tails.’”