“There’s my hand, Hampton,” said Mr Frewen.
“Thankye kindly, sir. That sounds English, on’y I can’t give it a grip, ’cause I’m holding on. But if you’d just stuff one finger in my mouth I’ll bite it if you like, to show I mean square and honest by you all.”
“Never mind that, Hampton,” said Mr Frewen; “we’ll take it as being all right.”
“Right it is then,” said Bob Hampton, with a satisfied grunt, “on’y let’s speak gently.”
“Can you help us to escape, Bob?” I whispered. “Can’t we re-take the ship?”
“Steady, my lad, don’t get out o’ breath. That’s what we come about, and Neb Dumlow’s bylin’ over to do it.”
“Tell us first what is the state of affairs,” said Mr Frewen.
“State of affairs is, that all the orficers and you the doctor, along with the passengers, is prisoners, and Frenchy Jarette’s skipper of the Burgh Castle, with that there rat of a ’prentice or middy, or whatever he calls hisself, first mate.”
“But where are we going?” said Mr Frewen.
“Nobody knows but Frenchy, and there is times when I think he don’t know. For he’s as mad as a whole cargo o’ hatters or he’d never ha’ done what he has. But look sharp, sir, I can’t stop long. If he found out, he’d cut the rope and send me adrift as soon as look at me, and that would be a pity, ’cause if there’s one man as I do respeck and like it’s Bob Hampton, mariner, spite of his looks.”