“Below there, matey!” cried Bob Hampton. “How are you?”
There was a curious growling noise and a loud rap on the cabin-floor.
“Easy, my lad, and I’ll cast you off. Wait till I get hold of the knots. Frenchy’s under hatches, and things is all right again.”
“Goroo, goroo!” gurgled poor Blane, and knowing exactly what was the matter, I got hold of the piece of linen that had been used as a gag, and dragging at one end, soon freed the poor fellow’s mouth from its great stopper.
“Ah!” he roared out, after taking a long free breath. “That was your game, Bob, but on’y just wait till I gets my lists.”
“No, no, my lad,” cried Mr Brymer; “it was all our doing, and we made a mistake in the darkness. We were lying in wait for Jarette, and took you for him.”
“No, you didn’t,” cried Barney, fiercely, “or you’d have pitched me overboard—you on’y wait till I get my hands loose.”
“Don’t be a fool, messmate!” growled Bob Hampton; “you hears what the gentleman says.”
“Yes, but it was a lark, and you sent me here to be ketched.”
“Now, hark at him, gents; did you ever hear such a wooden image of a man as that? Why, it were Frenchy sent you to bully the lads at the wheel, warn’t it?”