I crept back on hands and knees to my companions, who were waiting for me impatiently.
“It’s all right,” I said; “there’s some one in the cable-tier a prisoner, and as it must be some one of our lads he is of course afraid. Oughtn’t I to run to Mr Brymer?”
The need ceased the next moment, for before we could decide whether the signal ought to be given by firing a pistol, Neb Dumlow appeared in the feeble glow shed by the lantern, coming out of the black darkness in a peculiarly weird fashion.
“Ahoy!” he growled. “Mate says, is all right?”
“No,” I said eagerly, for boy as I was, I seemed to be the captain of that watch, the two gentlemen giving place to me, even if they did oppose some of my ideas. “Go and tell Mr Brymer to come here.”
“Ay, ay!” growled the great ugly fellow—uglier now in the darkness than he had ever looked before—and he turned and trotted aft, to return in a few minutes bearing a lantern, and in company with the mate and Mr Frewen.
I told them what I had discovered, and Mr Brymer gave an angry stamp.
“Of course!” he cried. “I might have known. Why, it must be one of our lads, and a friend. Quick, Dumlow, and have off that hatch.”
In another moment or two the sailor was on his knees dragging off the piece of tarpaulin which had been fastened down over the top, probably when the storm began, and directly after the hatch was lifted off, and the lantern held down to throw its light upon a ghastly face, which was raised to us as a couple of hands grasped the combings around the opening. I was so astounded that I could not speak, only listen, as Dumlow shouted—
“I say, what cheer you, my lad?”