“Let him get up, Tom,” said Aleck.
“Easy, Master Aleck. Let’s make sure first as he won’t go off his head again.”
“I shan’t go off my head again now I’m safe, stoopid,” cried the smuggler, angrily. “Master Aleck, sir, thankye kindly for helping a poor desprit fellow. I can’t say much, but my poor little wife’ll say: ‘Gord bless yer for this for the sake of our weans.’”
“There, don’t talk about it, Eben; only let it be a lesson to you not to go smuggling any more. Do you bear?”
“Yes, sir, I hear; but this hadn’t nothing to do with running a cargo or two. We was unlucky enough to be in Rockabie, and someone has sold us to the press-gang. Warn’t you, were it, mate?”
“Get out!” growled Tom; “is it likely?”
“No. Someone did, but I don’t believe it was old Double Dot, Master Aleck.”
“And you believe I didn’t, now?”
“B’lieve yer? Yes, sir; and I’ll never forget this night.”
“Look here,” growled Tom, “hadn’t you and him better be quiet, Master Aleck? You’re both talking very fine about saving and gettin’ free and never forgettin’, and all the time there’s boats out arter us and they may be clost up for all I can say. It’s about the darkest night I was ever out in.”