“Thank ’ee; same to you,” gruffly replied the individual addressed; adding to the steward, “That’ll do; you can go back to your pantry now, and get on with your work.”
The fellow departed in double-quick time, obviously glad to get away from the neighbourhood of his somewhat surly superior; and as he went Turnbull watched him until he disappeared down the poop ladder.
“Rum cove, that,” he remarked to Leslie, as the man vanished. “Good sort of steward enough, but nervous as a cat. Did ye notice him?”
“It was quite impossible not to do so,” answered Dick, with a laugh. “And I could not help feeling sorry for the poor beggar. I take it that he is the simpleton of the ship, and that all hands make a point of badgering him.”
“Ay,” answered Turnbull, eagerly, clearly relieved that Dick had taken this view of the man’s condition; “that’s just exactly what it is; you’ve hit the case off to a haffigraphy. Well, enough said about him. If you’re ready to go ashore now I’ll go with ye.”
“By all means,” answered Leslie, genially; not that he was in the least degree desirous to have the man’s company, or even that he or any of his crew should land upon the island at all. Still, he knew that, the barque being where she was, it was inevitable that at least some of the ship’s company would insist upon going ashore, and he could not see how he was to prevent them; meanwhile, it was much better to have the fellow alone with him than accompanied by half a dozen or more of his men.
As he spoke he rose from his seat and led the way toward the canoe, Turnbull following him. Upon reaching the gangway, however, Dick looked over the side, and then, turning to his companion, said—
“I think you would find it more convenient if your people rigged the side-ladder. My canoe is rather crank, and if you should happen to tumble overboard in getting into her I would not answer for your life; the lagoon swarms with sharks, and as likely as not there are one or two under the ship’s bottom at this moment.”
Turnbull grunted and turned away, looking forward to where two or three men were loafing about on the forecastle, hard at work doing nothing.
“For’ard, there!” he shouted; “rouse out the side-ladder and rig it, some of ye, and look sharp about it. Steward,” he added, turning toward the cabin under the poop, “bring me out a handful of cigars.”