CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH
MARTIN TO THE RESCUE
Gollop was in a quandary.
He had got possession of the Santa Maria, which would henceforth be called by her old name, the Merry Maid: what was he to do with her? Night had fallen; the tide was running out again to the sea; it seemed necessary to wait for morning light and the turn of the tide before the vessel could be floated back to London. But the constable had left his duty without leave from his commanding officer, and though he had Mr. Pemberton’s warrant to produce in self-justification, he felt that if a strict judgment were passed upon his action, he was in danger of losing his livelihood.
“Seems to me I’d better leave you in command, lad,” he said to Martin, “the ship being yours, and row back to the city.”
“But you are tired,” replied Martin; “it would be a terribly hard pull against the tide, and we can’t spare anyone to go with you; we’re very few to hold the ship if the crew break out of the forecastle.”
“Besides, there’s them boxes,” Boulter put in. The boxes had been opened and examined: they were full of plate and jewellery. “I reckon they’re worth a good few thousands of pounds, and Mr. Greatorex is so much beholden to you that he’ll see you don’t lose by the night’s work.”
“Maybe; gratitude ain’t a partickler common virtue. Howsomever, what you can’t help, make the best of. I’ll bide here till morning, and then we’ll see. Martin, my lad, you’re dead beat; you’ve got old eyes; turn in, you and your friend, and sleep sound till I wake you.”
Martin was glad enough to stretch himself on the deck against the bulwark; his recent experiences had worn him out.
“Your Gollop’s a Trojan,” said Hopton as he threw himself beside him. “I say, I’ll go with you to Tyburn to see Slocum hanged.”