A general bustle followed. Herc was lifted bodily, and carried down a narrow plank gangway leading to the sloop. Once on board, he was half-thrown, half-pushed, into a stuffy cabin, and the door above him closed with a sharp bang. He heard a metallic clang, as the bolts and lock, which evidently held it, were closed.
"Wow!" exclaimed the Dreadnought Boy. "If this isn't what old Ben Franklin would call 'the logical limit of the uttermost.'"
The cabin was almost dark, being lighted only by two dirty and very small port holes. It was, moreover, stuffy and malodorous. Herc tried to get on his feet, but, being bound hand and foot, he was compelled to lie as he had fallen at the foot of the stairs. On deck he could hear the trampling of feet, and before long the motion of the sloop told him that she was under way.
"Going to sea, I guess," mused Herc. "I wonder what they mean to do with me?"
He was left to speculate on this topic for some time. The motion of a choppy sea was already manifest when a man descended into the cabin with some bread and some cold meat. He also had a stone jug presumably containing water.
"Here you are," he said, thrusting it in front of Herc. "You'd better eat while you get a chance."
"I can't do that very well while I'm all trussed up like a roasting chicken," objected Herc.
"That's so," assented the man. "Well, I guess there's no harm in setting you loose for a while. We've cleared the bay, and the only place you can go to if you want to get away is overboard."
So saying, he loosened Herc's bonds, to the immense satisfaction of the freckle-faced boy.