“Quite time that was done,” said the mate, as the two lighted lanterns were taken by Bob and carried to the galley. But the door was fast, and it was not until after a good deal of dragging and wrenching that it was pulled open, I holding the two lights, while Bob tugged.
Bang! went a revolver again, and a shot whizzed by my companion’s ear, and stuck into the side of the galley.
“Look sharp, Hampton; they can see you, man!” cried Mr Brymer. “Throw something over the lights.”
“Done it, sir,” cried Bob, as the door yielded, and I stepped forward to get the lanterns in, when, as Bob opened the door widely, and the light flashed in, he uttered a yell, and nearly dropped the lanterns, for there before us in the corner of the galley stood, or lay back, a ghastly-looking figure which at first sight seemed to me like the body of one of the mutineers who had been shot. But as I stood trembling and holding up one light, the white face moved and the eyes blinked.
“What’s the matter?” cried Mr Brymer, loudly. “Go and see, Mr Frewen.”
The doctor took a few steps and joined us, saw the figure, and said sharply—“Another prisoner?”
“No, sir; can’t he; ’cause he’s fastened hisself in,” replied Bob. “Why, matey, what are you doing here? I thought you was a ghost.”
“Why, it’s the cook!” I exclaimed.
“Cooky it is, sir,” said Hampton. “Here y’are, mate; we’ve brought you a light.”
The lanterns were thrust in, the door shut, and we hurried back, discussing our discovery, but this was checked by the firing from the hatch, while the blows from an axe threatened to make short work of the door and the boards that had been nailed across.