The man in the shore boat stood up in the stern-sheets. He wore the Moorish costume; but his garments were soaked with water, and hung to him like a Monday morning wash on the clothes-line. His clothes certainly needed washing, for they were be-grimed with oil and coal dust. He was not regarded as dangerous, and he was permitted to come on deck.
"I run away from the Fatimé," said he without waiting to be questioned and in good enough English.
"Are you a Moor?" inquired the captain.
"No, sir; I am an Englishman. I shipped as an oiler when that steamer was there; but I was abused, kicked, and beaten by the engineer, who is an Englishman like myself, because I criticised some of the proceedings of the Pacha, who is the worst heathen I ever met."
"We know something about him," added Captain Ringgold encouragingly.
"Mr. Tomlin told me I did not mind my own business when he kicked me and blacked one of my eyes with his fist," added the fugitive. "I will drown myself before I will go back to the Fatimé. If I go on shore the Pacha will have me arrested, for he spends a great deal of money here, and the people will do anything he wants done."
The commander evidently pitied the poor fellow, whose "feet could not keep still when his body was abused," and he had used them in swimming away from the Pacha's steamer. The boatman said he had picked him up some distance from the Fatimé, and he wanted his fee. The fugitive drew a purse from his pocket, and gave the boatman half a sovereign on his promise not to tell any one that he had picked him up.
"That is a big fee, when a shilling would have paid you well," interposed the captain.
"But I gave him ten shilling to hold his tongue," said the runaway oiler.
"All right, if the boatman keeps his promise; and if he don't keep it, I will have him keel-hauled," replied the commander.