“Let fall!” and the two oars clattered clumsily into the row-locks.
“Give ’way together!” and the boat shot out from the ship’s side and came toward us.
“Git on to th’ style av th’ Johnnie Bull,” chuckled O’Toole, who had just come on deck; “wan would think ’twas a man-o’-war sindin’ out a bloomin’ admiral. Now, b’ th’ faith av th’ howly saints! Who’s the mug I see squattin’ there in th’ stern-sheets? Garnett! B’ th’—”
“In bow! Weigh enough!” cried the little skipper, as the boat with six sweeping strokes fell alongside.
The next instant he sprang over the rail on to our main-deck, closely followed by his mate.
Then he deliberately put on his coat, waved Garnett to stand back, and approached Captain Crojack with a majestic step.
“Captain Webster, sir, yes, sir; Captain Webster of the Countess of Warwick,” he cried, as he reached the quarter-deck, where our skipper stood.
“Ah, did I hear aright? Crojack? Captain Crojack, I’m most happy to meet you, sir; most eternally tickled. Ah, your wife and daughter, I see. Madam, I bow to you. It gives me most uncommon pleasure, miss; yes, I may even say delight. But now, sir,” he cried, turning suddenly upon Crojack, “what is this row about, and what do you mean by hailing me and ordering me to stand off?”
His attack upon the skipper was so sudden that Crojack staggered back a pace or two in amazement and stared with open-eyed wonder at the little man, while his features worked convulsively as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or throw his guest overboard.
“Come, come, sir; I can’t waste all the morning here. Do you see that flag, sir?” and he pointed to the British ensign that hung in folds from his vessel’s peak.