“But would it be safe, Tom?” cried Mark eagerly.
“Not very, sir, for the skipper and his men. Soup’ll explain it to ’em, and once they know, you see if they don’t do all that dooty splendid, and leave us free to navigate the schooner.”
“Navigate the schooner, Tom?” said Mark, rather dolefully, as he thought of his shortcomings in that direction.
“Oh, it’ll be easy enough, sir. All we’ve got to do is to sail doo north and hug the shore. We can’t go wrong.”
Soup and Taters were summoned, and grasped the idea readily enough, with the result that in a very short time they had under their command six of the blacks keeping watch and ward against surprise, leaving the weary crew opportunity for getting up the anchor when the tide turned. Then a sail was hoisted for steering purposes, and the men gave a hearty cheer as they began to drop down the river with their prize.
“Lor’, mates!” said Dick Bannock, “who’d ha’ thought of our getting of her after all. Shows as it never does to say die. ‘Persewere,’ says you, ‘and never mind the difficoolties.’ What yer larfin’ for, Tom Fillot? Don’t I say what’s true?”
“I warn’t laughing at you, messmate, but at the niggers keeping watch.”
“Ay, they do look rum,” said Dick, smiling; “but they do splendid. Seem proud o’ their uniform too, eh?”
“Yes,” said Joe Dance, who was leaning his back against the bulwark, “but you might give ’em a bit of something else to put on.”
“Well, yes, I might—a sword-belt ain’t much for a man to wear, and his legs would be very thin to get ’em hid behind a scabbard. But we shall see, my lad, we shall see.”