“Had I not better take it down into my mess, sir, till the Purser comes off?” said the master-at-arms, deferentially.
“I have given my orders, sir!” said the Lieutenant, turning away.
When the Purser came on board, it turned out that he knew nothing at all about the box. He had never so much as heard of it in his life. So it was again brought up before the deck-officer, who immediately summoned the master-at-arms.
“Break open that box!”
“Certainly, sir!” said the master-at-arms; and, wrenching off the cover, twenty-five brown jugs like a litter of twenty-five brown pigs, were found snugly nestled in a bed of straw.
“The smugglers are at work, sir,” said the master-at-arms, looking up.
“Uncork and taste it,” said the officer.
The master-at-arms did so; and, smacking his lips after a puzzled fashion, was a little doubtful whether it was American whisky or Holland gin; but he said he was not used to liquor.
“Brandy; I know it by the smell,” said the officer; “return the box to the brig.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said the master-at-arms, redoubling his activity.