I set about awaking the people, which was not difficult, and in a few minutes everybody was sent aft. Following the crew, it was soon found that only one man was missing, and he was the very individual whom we had left on deck, when we had all gone below on securing the ship. Every soul belonging to the vessel was present in the cabin, or steerage, but this solitary man—Philadelphians and all!
“It can never be that Harris has dared to trifle with us,” said Talcott; “and yet it does look surprisingly like it.”
“Quite sure, Miles, that Marble Land is an uninhabited island?” said the captain, interrogatively.
“I can only say, sir, that it is as much like all the other uninhabited coral islands we have passed, as one pea is like another; and that there were no signs of a living being visible last night. It is true, we saw but little of the island, though to all appearances there was not much to see.”
“Unluckily, all the men's arms are on deck, in the arm-chest, or strapped to the boom or masts. There is no use, however, in dillydallying against one man; so I will make a rumpus that will soon bring the chap to his bearings.”
Hereupon Marble made what he called a rumpus in good earnest. I thought, for a minute, he would kick the cabin-doors down.
“'Andzomelee-'andzomelee,” said some one on deck. “Vat for you make so much kick?”
“Who the devil are you?” demanded Marble, kicking harder than ever. “Open the cabin-doors, or I'll kick them down, and yourself overboard.”
“Monsieur—sair,” rejoined another voice, “tenez—you air prisonnier. Comprenez-vous—prisonair, eh?”
“These are Frenchmen, Captain Marble,” I exclaimed, “and we are in the hands of the enemy.”