“Beg pardon, Master Aleck; couldn’t say it no better. Mouth was full o’ hard crust.”
“How long before we start?”
“Good hour, sir. There’s a lot o’ shallow yonder.”
“Oh!” cried Aleck, impatiently. “Let’s get some of the fishermen to come and launch us.”
“I don’t think you’d find anyone as would come, sir. They’re all lying low somewhere for fear o’ the press-gang.”
“Nonsense! Here they come, a lot of them, to get us off.”
“Why, so they be,” grumbled Tom, in a disappointed way. “Can’t see no faces, but—Master Aleck,” he whispered, sharply, “it’s them!”
“Well, I said so,” began Aleck, impatiently; but he got no farther, the words being checked by a feeling of astonishment. For a voice suddenly exclaimed:
“Quick, lads; surround!” and a hand was laid sharply upon the lad’s collar, while two men grappled Tom.
“Now, then,” he growled, “what is it?”