When Tom came to, he found the place a wreck, and four boarders too far gone in free liquor to offer any useful explanation of what had occurred since the rum had been pronounced fit to poison a dog.
"All I know is," said the soberest, "that he fit and we fit and fit and fit, and then 'e run."
And when Tom sought for the police, it was very odd that there was not one to be found in the quarter of San Francisco which most needs clubbing to keep it in order. There was not even one to bear witness that a crowd of bluejackets and an American citizen had come along the water front at midnight. But five minutes after midnight a British lieutenant could have taken his oath that both crews were in their boats and at least moderately sober.
"I've seen the admiral, Benson," said Selwyn, as he stepped into his boat and sat down, "and he may be later than he said."
"Very well, sir," replied Benson.
And as soon as Selwyn had disappeared into the darkness, the boat with Mr. Shanghai Smith in followed suit. And the bay of San Francisco is not so well policed that they had any one inquiring what they were doing as they pulled across to Saucelito, and laid up quietly till three o'clock.
"He ain't dead, we hopes," said the crew of the boat.
"Not 'e," said Benson; "'is 'eart beats all to rights, and 'is head is perfectly sound, bar a lump the size of a 'en's egg. That up-endin' dodge of Thomas's is very fatal in a row—oh, it's very fatal."
It was nearly two o'clock before Shanghai made any motion. But when he did begin to get conscious, he found his mind and his tongue with surprising rapidity.
"That 'ead of yourn must be made of five-eighths boiler-plate, Mr. Smith," said Benson, as Smith sat up suddenly.