Then there was a peculiar noise below, slightly suggestive of pigs, and a voice said—
“Jolly hot, but—suss!—good—capital!”
“Here, look sharp, skipper, make haste! Here, I’m first,” and a dozen other expressions greeted my ear, as, gaining courage, I had a second one filled and passed it down, leaving it to Dumlow now to hand down the biscuits, while as every portion was served there were grunts of satisfaction, and the cook smiled and looked as proud as could be.
“Here you, cookie, bon chef,” cried Jarette; “I’ll promote you as soon as I come to my rights. Ladle away.”
The cook did ladle away, and I handed the tins, moved by a kind of frenzy, so eager was I to get the horrible task over, while my heart beat furiously. I shivered as I heard the men below laughing and talking, as they praised the cook’s performance, little imagining the hand I had had in the preparation. But I thought of how horrible it would be if the drug proved too strong for some of the men, or if others got more than their share through its settling down, and in spite of the vigorous use the cook made of his ladle as we neared the bottom, I felt worse and worse, feeling as I did at last, that we were sending down to some of the men that which might prove to be their death.
“That’s all!” shouted the cook at last, giving the upturned tin bucket a loud banging with his ladle, and a loud murmur of disappointment came up through the opening.
“Be good boys, then, and I’ll make you another lot to-morrow. Why, Mr Dale, sir,” he said, turning to me, “it has made you hot; your face is all over great drops.”
“Is it?” I said, rather faintly; “I suppose it is very hot.”
But all the same I felt cold and ready to shiver, while to escape notice I hurried aft and entered the saloon where the gentlemen were waiting, Mr Brymer following me in.
“Well!” he said eagerly.