The man laid hold of the tarpaulin and threw it aside, so that the mate could see the form of Ben Watson.
"That's one I have brought for you," said he. "He's a sailor-man, too. I'll have the other ready for you to-night."
"Are you certain that no one saw you?" asked the mate, who was profoundly astonished. He saw that Ben Watson had been overpowered, but that made no difference to him. During the years he had followed the water he had seen many a man brought aboard the ship dead drunk, and if he were questioned in regard to Ben he could easily say that he had come aboard in the same way.
"There was nobody hailed me, and no one came near me while I was coming up here," said Barlow. "I guess he is all right. Now, you want a whip to get him up there."
"He isn't dead, is he?"
"Dead! No. Throw two or three buckets of water over him and he will come around—though, to my mind, he'll have a headache. You had better let him sleep it off."
"Lay for'ard, a couple of you fellers, with a rope!" shouted the mate. "Bring a long one, mind."
In a few minutes a couple of sailors appeared beside the mate, and two ends of a rope were passed down to Barlow. One end he made fast under Ben's arms, the other was tied around his knees, and presently the unconscious sailor was hoisted to the vessel's deck and laid down with as much ceremony as if he had been a log of wood. Then Barlow breathed easier. Ben was disposed of for a year at least, and by the time he got back he hoped to be doing business somewhere else.
"Is the captain aboard?" asked Barlow.
"No, he's ashore. You'll get your advance when you bring off the other one."