“What, and be sent down here hunting after the blackbirding blackguards?”
“Pshaw! That’s not really what we are here for; only if we see a suspicious-looking craft we board her.”
“Then what are you here for?”
“King’s business. Mum. Mustn’t say.”
“Now, Mr Lindon! Good-evening, Captain Chubb; and good-evening, doctor. Glad to have met you, sir, and I hope you won’t put me down in your black books as homo durissimus, or some other scientific name. Give way, my lads. Mr Lindon! Do you want to be left behind?”
“All right, sir,” cried the middy, springing into the boat and coming down into the arms of a couple of the men. “Good-night, Harding! We shall expect you on board the Di.”
Down dropped the oars on either side, and then splash, splash, in regular movement the blades tossed up the beautiful pale lambent water, while here and there they broke up the reflection of the stars that were gradually appearing in the soft violet sky, while the boat glided on farther and farther from the schooner, making its way towards the lights of the sloop, from which all of a sudden there was a sharp flash, followed at a perceptible interval by the report of a musket.
This was answered a few seconds later by a flash and smart crack from the sloop’s cutter, whose course Rodd leaned over the side to watch till it was invisible, when he turned from the side, to find Joe Cross waiting and evidently watching him.
“Rather close shave, sir,” he said. “I began to feel as if some of us was going to have our ’oliday come to an end. Wouldn’t have been so bad, though, for there are some very jolly fellows there, and it aren’t half a dusty life aboard a man-of-war when you have got over the first few days, and being what they calls homesick. Aren’t no fear of their coming back for us, is there?”
“Not the least, Joe. You are all safe enough.”