“But you have not told us yet,” said Sam, “how it was that you came to fail into the hands of the pirates.”
“I can soon tell ’ee that,” said the seaman, turning slowly on his couch.
“Lie still, now, you must not move,” said Sam, remonstratively.
“But that not movin’, doctor, is wuss than downright pain, by a long way. Hows’ever, I s’pose I must obey orders—anyhow you’ve got the whip hand o’ me just now. Well, as I was sayin’, the yarn ain’t a long ’un. I sailed from the port o’ Lun’on in a tea-clipper, of which I was the cook; got out to Hong-Kong all right, shipped a cargo, and off again for old England. We hadn’t got far when a most horrible gale blew us far out of our course. When it fell calm, soon arter, we was boarded by a pirate. Our captain fought like a hero, but it warn’t of no use. They was too many for us; most of my shipmates was killed, and I was knocked flat on the deck from behind with a hand-spike. On recoverin’, I found myself in the ship’s hold, bound hand and futt, among a lot of unfortunits like myself, most of ’em bein’ Chinese and Malays. The reptiles untied my hands and set me to an oar. They thrashed us all unmercifully to make us work hard, and killed the weak ones to be rid of ’em. At last we came to an anchor, as I knew by the rattlin’ o’ the cables, though, bein’ below, I couldn’t see where we was. Then I heard the boats got out, an’ all the crew went ashore, as I guessed, except the guard left to watch us.
“That night I dreamed a deal about bein’ free, an’ about former voyages—specially one when I was wrecked in the Atlantic, an’ our good ship, the Seahorse, went down in latitude—”
“The Seahorse!” echoed Robin, with an earnest look at the sailor; “was she an emigrant ship?”
“Ay, that’s just what she was.”
“Was she lost in the year 1850?” continued Robin, with increasing excitement.
“Jus’ so, my lad.”
“And you were cook?”