“Close at hand; mind the fluke of that anchor. The owner of this spot should be put in limbo for settin’ man-traps. Have a care of your shins, Guy; it’s difficult navigation here on a dark night.”
“All right, Bax,” replied Guy; “I’ll keep close in your wake, so if you capsize we shall at least have the comfort of foundering together.”
The place through which the three friends were groping their way was that low locality of mud and old stores, which forms the border region between land and water, and in which dwelt those rats which have been described as being frolicsome and numerous.
“Hold hard!” roared Bluenose, as he tripped over the shank of an anchor, “why don’t you set up a lighthouse, or a beacon o’ some sort on these here shoals?”
“Starboard, old boy, starboard hard, steady!” cried Bax.
With seaman-like promptitude the Captain obeyed, and thus escaped tumbling off the end of the wharf at which they had arrived.
“Nancy, a-hoy!” cried Bax in a subdued shout.
A juvenile “Ay, ay, sir!” instantly came back in reply from the dark obscurity that overhung the river. The sound of oars followed.
“Smart little fellow that nephew of yours; he’ll do you credit some day,” said Bax, turning towards Bluenose, who, although close at his side, was scarcely visible, so dark was the night.
The Captain’s rejoinder was cut short by the boy in question sending the bow of the boat crash against the wharf, an exploit which had the effect of pitching him heels over head into the bottom of it.