“I bet you don’t,” said our first friend; “that trick won’t do here, stranger;” and his smooth looks and tones gave place to a scowl and the air of a bully. “Come along, Esau,” I said sharply. “No, nor you don’t come along neither,” said the man, as the others closed round us as if out of curiosity, but so as to effectually bar our retreat.
“What’s matter?” said one who had not yet spoken.
“Matter?” cried our friend. “Why jest this. These here tew have been holding me off and on for three days, wanting me to get ’em a ship to take ’em to Esquimalt. First they wanted to go for ten, then they’d give fifteen.”
“Fifteen dollars to Skimalt?” cried the new man. “Gammon.”
“That’s so,” said our friend. “Last they said they’d give twenty dollars a-piece, and after a deal o’ trouble we got ’em berths, and paid half the money down; now they want to back out of it.”
“Oh, yes,” cried the second man; “that won’t do here, mates.”
“It’s not true,” I said, indignantly. “And now wants to bounce me out of it. Here, yew wouldn’t hev that, mates, would yew?”
There was a regular excited chorus here, and the men closed in upon us, so that we were quite helpless, and for a moment I felt that we must buy ourselves out of our awkward position. But a glance at Esau showed that he was stubborn and angry as I, and that if called upon he would be ready to fight for it, and make a dash for liberty.
Those were only momentary thoughts, for we were two lads of sixteen or seventeen against a gang of strong men who were holding us now, and our position was hopeless.
Just then our first friend said in a carneying tone—