“But where do they keep them—with the stores?”
“Who’s going fishing?” said Walters. “Mr Denning.”
“Oh! I’ll come and help him; I like fishing,” he said.
I looked at him curiously, as I thought of what had been said, and then asked him again.
“I don’t know,” he cried, “I don’t carry fishing-lines in my pockets. Ask old fat Preddle, he’s a regular fisherman. But you won’t catch any.”
I did not think Mr Preddle was likely to have lines, so I did not ask him, but thought I would go and ask every man I met, when I caught sight of Bob Hampton, and went to him.
“Fishin’-lines, my lad? No, I don’t think there’s any aboard.”
“Yes, there are,” growled Barney; “I see Frenchy Jarette rigging some up t’other day, as if he meant to have a try.”
I felt as if I did not like to ask a favour of the Frenchman, for somehow I did not like him; but feeling that Mr Denning would be disappointed if none were found, I asked where the man was, and found that he was down in the forecastle asleep, for he had been in one of the night watches.
It was so dark there, that for a few moments I could not make out which of the sleeping men lying there was the one I sought. They were all breathing heavily, and at first going down out of the bright sunshine the faces all looked alike; but after getting a little more accustomed to the gloom, I saw a hand just where the faint rays came down through a little sky-light, and on one of the fingers there was a silver ring. Thinking that the wearer might possibly be the Frenchman, I went farther and looked a little more closely, and saw that I was right, for though I could not have been sure that the ring on the hand proved this to be the man I sought, one that I could just make out in the ear satisfied me, and stooping lower still I laid my hand upon his shoulder.