The noise and confusion, however, for the time prevented any explanation from being heard upon either side.
A voice arose above the din, calling out for the doors to be closed.
This was followed by a proposal that every one present should submit to be searched.
“Let there be a general search all round!” demanded several voices.
I recognised the man who was foremost in this demand—it was the mate of our own ship, who had dropped in along with several old sea-wolves like himself—for the vessel had been warped up, and was now lying at an adjacent wharf.
“Yes,” responded several voices; “a search, a search! let us see who is the thief!”
No one objected—no one could—for each person present had a personal interest in the result; and, as no one was likely now to go out, the shutting of the doors was ruled as unnecessary.
Two men were immediately chosen as “searchers”—one of whom was our mate himself—the other the keeper of the saloon; and, without loss of time, the search proceeded.
It was altogether an odd spectacle, to see the two inquisitors pass from individual to individual—stopping before each one in turn, handling him about the breast and back, and stripping him down the arms, legs, and thighs, as if they were a brace of electro-biologists, putting the whole company into a mesmeric slumber.
There was a good deal of merriment, and now and then loud bursts of laughter, as some character well known to the company interrupted the silence with a jeu d’esprit. For all this, there was a certain solemnity about the proceeding—a sort of painful anticipation that some one would prove the criminal.