“No, Wilkins, you are wrong, I have walked away, being my own master, and I have done it openly, though I admit somewhat hastily—”
Jack was interrupted at that moment by Ben Trench laying a hand on his shoulder.
“It strikes me,” he said, in some surprise, “that I recognise the voice of a townsman—Mister Jack, if I mistake not?”
“No, sir,” replied the philosopher, “not Mister, only Edwin Jack, seaman aboard the Lively Poll. You are right, however, in styling me townsman. Allow me to introduce you to another townsman, Mr Watty Wilkins, stowaway on board of the same vessel!”
Trench had not, in the darkness, recognised his friend. He now seized him by both shoulders, and peering into his face, said—
“O Watty, Watty, have you really done it? I had thought better of you.”
“I said I would do it, and I’ve done it,” returned the little youth somewhat testily; “and now I want to know what is to be done next.”
“Report yourself and take the consequences,” said Jack, promptly.
This advice being seconded by Ben Trench, Watty Wilkins went aft to the captain, who had just come on deck, touched his cap, and confessed himself.
For some moments the captain spoke not a word, but looked at the young culprit with a portentous frown. Then, uttering something like a deep bass growl, he ordered the lad to follow him into his private cabin. When there, Captain Samson seated himself on a locker, and with a hand on each knee, glared at his prisoner so long and so fiercely from under his shaggy brows, that Watty, in spite of his recklessness, began to feel uneasy.