"It was just our luck to fall in with a bunch of convicts—that is the way our luck has been running ever since we left Port of Spain," grumbled Speake.
"Avast dere a leedle, Shpeake!" warned Carl. "Don'd go finding some fault mit our luck. Ditn't ve got der poat pack from dem confict fellers? Dot vasn't a pad luck, you bed you!"
"Yes, but look at the time we've lost."
"We're making it up, Speake," said Matt. "By the way, Carl," and he turned his eyes on his Dutch pard, "how did you get those ropes off your hands down there in the torpedo room?"
"I vas some foxy fellers, you bed my life," chuckled Carl. "Ven you shkipped oudt, I t'inks, py shiminy, dot I vill make some surbrises. Der dool shest hat its gorner in der shmall oof my pack, und I rupped der ropes oop und down der gorner ondil I rupped dem in doo. Den I vas retty, und you saw vat I dit. Some shtar blays, eh?"
"One of the finest things you ever did, matey," averred Dick, "and you've done a lot of things that stand pretty high on the record."
"T'anks," said Carl. "I ain'd von oof der pragging kindt, aber you bed somet'ing for nodding I'm a hot von ven I durn meinseluf loose. Now——"
"Ship ahoy!" exclaimed Matt suddenly, his eyes fixed on the periscope.
Every one in the periscope room leaped up excitedly.
"What is she?" came from all of them in chorus.