“You seem to have a summary method of hoisting them in,” returned Wilder.
“Ah! you speak of the fellow on the whip? Your eyes are good, friend, to tell a jack-knife from a marling-spike, at this distance. But the lad was mutinous; that is, not absolutely mutinous—but, drunk. As mutinous as a man can well be, who can neither speak, sit, nor stand.”
Then, as if as well content with his humour as with this simple explanation, the other laughed and chuckled, in a manner that showed he was in perfect good humour with himself.
“But all this time you are left on deck,” he quickly added, “and the Captain is waiting your appearance in the cabin: Follow; I will be your pilot.”
“Hold,” said Wilder; “will it not be as well to announce my visit?”
“He knows it already: Little takes place aboard, here, that does not reach his ears before it gets into the log-book.”
Wilder made no further objection, but indicated his readiness to proceed. The other led the way to the bulkhead which separated the principal cabin from the quarter-deck of the ship; and, pointing to a door, he rather whispered than said aloud,—
“Tap twice; if he answer, go in.”
Wilder did as he was directed. His first summons was either unheard or disregarded. On repeating it, he was bid to enter. The young seaman opened the door, with a crowd of sensations, that will find their solution in the succeeding parts of our narrative and instantly stood, under the light of a powerful lamp, in the presence of the stranger in green.