About midnight, Jack awakened with a start and a vague feeling that all was not well. The Barley Rig was still tossing violently and for a few moments after he opened his eyes, the lad who had slept on the outside of the bunk felt dazed.
Then he became aware that Captain Hoeseason was standing near to him, feeling about under the mattress.
“He’s trying to rob us,” thought Jack. “What shall I do?”
The thought flashed across him that he had no weapon, and that Hoeseason was probably armed. He was undecided whether to feign sleep or not, for the captain of the Barley Rig was apparently not yet aware that the boy was awake, when he was saved the trouble of making a decision.
He was grasped roughly by the shoulder and violently shaken. The giant captain, with an evil look in his eyes, stood above him, a huge seaman’s knife glimmering in his hand under the light of the guttering lamp.
“Now, younker,” he said, in his hoarse tones, with a ferocious look, “I ain’t goin’ ter beat about the bush. I’ve come after that money of yourn.”
“What money?” demanded Jack, deeming it wisest to “spar for time,” and see if he could not devise some way out of the dilemma.
“Now, don’t play foxey, Mister Yankee kid,” snarled the huge fisherman; “you know as well as I do. The money in that belt I heard you talking to your chum about.”
“I know nothing about it,” declared Jack. “When I paid you I gave you almost all the money I had. I am looking to get fresh funds in Antwerp.”
The man tightened his grip on the boy’s shoulder and fairly yanked him out of the bunk. He placed his knife between his teeth and compelling Jack to hold his arms above his head he searched him. Jack’s heart sank. He knew the money belt was in the bunk under the pillow. Beyond doubt this desperate ruffian would search the sleeping place before very long and discover its hiding place.