He nodded again, and looked so serious that my first inclination to laugh died away at once. “He was within two fathoms of you when I hailed, and his knife was as long as that,” and he stuck forth his arm with his left hand placed midway to the shoulder.
“So that’s his game, is it?” I said. “I’ll keep an eye on him hereafter. The whole outfit aft have something queer about them. I’m obliged to you for the warning. What was it that struck me in the back?”
“Pair o’ my rolled-up socks,--the only ones I’ve got, too,--an’ if they’re gone overboard, I’ll have to go barefooted, for I can’t abide shoes without socks. Them ratlines do cut the bare feet of a feller most uncommon though, an’ I’ll have a job aloft in the morning sending down them t’gallantstun’sail-booms.”
He searched about the forecastle deck for some minutes in the darkness, but failed to find them. The night being warm, we remained on deck, as the stiff wind was invigorating and the forecastle somewhat close. Finally we sat upon the weather side of the windlass and leaned against it. There was a man on lookout forward, but we were pretty well out of the track of ships, and the only person liable to disturb us was the third mate, who might come forward to trim head-sail. The starboard watch were grouped upon the main-hatch, lounging and resting, and Hawkson walked fore and aft on the poop, his tall form showing dimly now and then as he passed the cabin skylights where the light from within flared up. We snuggled down comfortably to sleep, but the snore of the gale through the rigging and under the forestaysail kept us wakeful. I watched Tim alongside of me, and saw he was still chewing his tobacco.
“How did you come to get into the hooker without clothes?” I asked, thinking he was tricked like myself.
“Signed all right. There’s money in her, if what I believe is correct. She’ll pay a feller like me. I’ve got no ties ashore. But they’re a tough crowd. That feller, Sir John Hicks,--you’ve heard of him, hey?”
“Never did. What’s he done?” I asked.
“He ain’t done nothin’ in particular, but he’s the wildest of the family. Got plenty o’ money, an’ that Lord George Renshaw, the old un,--well, say, Heywood, you’ve heard how he got chased out o’ London?”
I had heard nothing, being an American.
“I forgot,” he went on. “You see, I’m mighty nigh an Englishman,” and he spoke sadly and sighed, heaving his tobacco away.