This task was not accomplished a moment too soon, for a number of kicks and blows were now dealt against the door, and together with the roaring voice of Tom Lark—who evidently chafed in his confinement like a mad bull—created a din such as is seldom heard in a whale-ship!
“Well, my eyes,” soliloquized Stump, “them noises are sartainly not very inviting, nor those that make ’em very chival-rie-ous, seeing that a young lady lodges in this hotel!”
“They will pound the door to pieces before many hours,” said Marline, “and before that happens I must make sure of the rifle that hangs in the captain’s state-room, so that we can show a good resistance to the bloodthirsty wretches.”
“Ay, ay, bloodthirsty is the word,” said Stump. “Them five pow-wows on deck are mad enough by this time to eat us alive. They ain’t at all particular, they ain’t, about the quality of their grub when they be angry. It’s parfectly astonishing how few ‘raal’ ‘epichewers’ there is in this world!”
Marline did not pause to reply to this philosophical remark. He hastened to the state-room and procured the rifle—which was already loaded—together with a bullet-pouch, and an old-fashioned powder-horn, containing a small supply of ammunition.
“Now, then, my friend, quick! Give me the key to Alice’s apartment.”
“Here it is!” replied the shipkeeper, placing the instrument in his hand, “and mighty glad, I warrant you, will be the poor gal to see you. So, away you go, and God bless you both, while Stump keeps guard.”
A very few steps carried the young man to the door which he sought, and which was nearly in a straight line with the foot of the stairway.
He placed his rifle against the carved wainscot, and turned the key in the lock of the door. Then he knocked gently upon one of the panels; but a half-smothered cry of alarm was the only response to the summons.
“Do not fear, dear Alice; it is I—Harry Marline!”