“Wasn’t that the man who had us shut up here?” cried Don.
“To be sure: Bosun Jones,” said the man, running to the trap and beginning to descend.
“You’ll take my message?”
“Nay, not I,” said the man, shaking his head. “There, eat your breakfuss, and keep your head to the wind, my lads.”
Bang!
The door was shut heavily and the rusty bolt shot. Then the two prisoners listened to the descending footsteps and to the murmur of voices from below, after which Don looked across the steaming jug at Jem, and Jem returned the stare.
“Mornin’, Mas’ Don,” he said. “Rum game, arn’t it?”
“Do you think he’ll take my message, Jem?”
“Not a bit on it, sir. You may take your oath o’ that.”
“Will they take us aboard ship?”