“Just as if it was a beehive, and all the bees swarming.”
“That’s it. Then we are here, and all I’ve got to say for myself is, as I wonder I could ha’ been such a fool, and I’m sorry as Mr Dale don’t know better.”
“Then where are we, Dumlow?” I said hastily; “for I don’t know any better.”
“Then you ought to, sir; you a orficer and brought up proper. I wonder at you a-leading men into trouble, and there’ll be an awful row when old Brymer finds us out.”
“He’s got it, sir,” said Bob Hampton. “It’s what I thought, and it’s a rum ’un.”
“Then, where are we?” I said pettishly; for my head kept on feeling as if it was spinning round.
“Why, sir,” said Dumlow; “we’re down in the hold among them sperrit casks as was stowed by themselves, and some one’s been opening one of ’em with a gimlet and letting us all drink.”
“Hist!”
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
A long, low knocking as of knuckles against a bulk-head.