“Put a couple of lookouts on the fo’c’s’le.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Perhaps, too, we’d better send up a rocket to let ’em know we’re about. Mr Spokeshave? Mr Spokeshave?”
No answer came this time, however, from my friend, Master “Conky,” though he had been ready enough just now with his aggravating “quite so.”
“I think, sir,” said I, “Mr Spokeshave has gone below to his tea.”
“Very likely,” replied the skipper drily; “he’s precious fond of his breadbasket, that young gentleman. I don’t think he’ll ever starve where there’s any grub knocking about. Fancy a fellow, calling himself a man, thinking of his belly at such a moment! Go, Haldane, and call him up again and tell him I want him.”
I started to obey Captain Applegarth’s order, but I had hardly got three steps down the ladder when Spokeshave saved me further trouble by coming up on the bridge again of his own accord, without waiting to be summoned.
The skipper, therefore, gave him instructions to let off, every quarter of an hour, a couple of signal rockets and burn a blue light or two over our port and starboard quarter alternately as we proceeded towards the object of our quest.
“All right, sir; quite so!” said “Conky,” as well as he could articulate, his mouth being full of something he had hurriedly snatched from the steward’s pantry when he had gone below, and brought up with him to eat on deck, knowing that the skipper would be sure to sing out for him if he remained long away at so critical a juncture. “All right, sir; quite so!”
The skipper laughed as he went down again to get the rockets and blue lights which were kept in a spare cabin aft for safety.