“What want?” he said.
“The captain ordered these loaves from the King’s baker,” Martin replied.
“Up, up,” said the man, whose English appeared to be limited to monosyllables.
Martin began to do as he had been instructed: to place the loaves in a small sack, sling this on his back, and swarm up the ladder. But when Sebastian, whom he supposed to be the cook, saw his intention, he cried “No, no,” waved him back, and let down a rope, indicating that Martin was to tie the sack to that.
There seemed to be nothing else to be done, though Martin was disappointed: he had hoped for an opportunity of seeing something of this mysterious vessel. The sack was drawn up; the man took it in his huge dirty hands, and was turning away when Martin detained him by calling out the word “money,” at the same time jingling the bag that contained his morning’s takings.
“No money; captain not here,” said the man. “Come again other time.”
“I can’t do that,” said Martin. “My master’s orders were not to go without the money.”
“Basta!” exclaimed the cook; then he turned on his heel and disappeared.
Without an instant’s hesitation, Martin hitched his painter to the rope ladder, and, swarming up, sprang on to the deck. The seamen made way for him, and looked on impassively as he darted across the deck.
