He was quite correct in his judgment, for though Captain Maitland had fumed and declared that he would not give up the chance of capture for the sake of a black, when he felt that he might seize the schooner and put an end to the mischief she was doing probably year after year, he had his vessel’s course stayed, and waited patiently for the return of the boat he had lowered.
The mission of this cutter was almost an exact repetition of the one in which Mark took part, Bob Howlett having the luck to seize the second drowning man, over whose body the boathook had slipped.
“And no wonder,” growled the coxswain afterwards. “He’d got on no duds, and I didn’t want to stick the hook into his flesh.”
While this was going on, the captain stamped above on one side of the quarter-deck, the first lieutenant on the other. For they kept as far apart as they could, and it was an understood thing amongst the junior officers that it would be to come in for the full force of an explosion to speak to either of them now.
“Pull, men, pull!” roared the first lieutenant through his speaking trumpet. “Mr Russell, do you want to keep us here all night?”
“Ay, ay, sir,” came back from the boat.
“What?”
“No, no, sir; I beg your pardon. We’ve got the man.”
“Got the man!” cried the captain, angrily; “do you think we have no glasses on board? Make haste, sir.”
“Oh!”