“He put me ashore on that point above us, where I see'd a nigger with his skiff, who I thought would be willin' to 'arn his quarter by giving me a cast alongside. So here I am, and a long pull I've had to get here.”
As this was said, Jack removed his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief, which, if it had never seen better days, had doubtless been cleaner. After this, he looked about him, with an air not entirely free from exultation.
This conversation had taken place in the gangway, a somewhat public place, and Spike beckoned to his recruit to walk aft, where he might be questioned without being overheard.
“What became of the gentleman in the boat, as you call him?” demanded Spike.
“He pulled ahead, seeming to be in a hurry.”
“Do you know who he was?”
“Not a bit of it. I never saw the man before, and he did n't tell me his business, sir.”
“Had he anything like a silver oar about him.”
“I saw nothing of the sort, Capt. Spike, and knows nothing consarning him.”
“What sort of a boat was he in, and where did he get it?”