"He is not a man after my own heart, and I would rather be excused from serving under him. I don't think we shall agree."
"You may not agree, but he will," laughed the captain, who did not appear to be half so amiable as before I had signed the shipping papers.
"I don't think you know him. In my opinion, the police commissioners of St. Louis would like to see him very much indeed," I answered.
This was a very imprudent remark on my part, though it was only the simple truth. Ben Waterford's face turned red, and he leaped into the boat where I was.
"We have carried this farce just far enough," said he, angrily. "I'm not going to fool all day with any one. Now get into that boat. Tumble his trunk in."
The men with me obeyed the order, and my valuable trunk was placed in the stern sheets of the shipping master's boat. I could not hope successfully to resist the captain and mate of the Michigan, and calmer reflection than I had at first given the subject cooled my desperate ardor. But I still hoped that some lucky event would save me from my fate.
"Tumble into the boat, Phil," repeated the mate.
"I want you to tell the police of New York, as soon as possible," I continued, turning to my boatman, "that the mate of the Michigan is—"
I had not time to say any more before Ben Waterford seized me by the throat, and pitched me into the other boat.