The men obeyed, grinning, and the schooner was soon threading her way in the darkness down the river, the skipper listening somewhat nervously for the first intimation of his captive’s awakening.
He listened in vain that night, for the prisoner made no sign, but at six o’clock in the morning, when the Fearless, coming within sight of the Nore, began to dance like a cork upon the waters, the mate reported hollow groans from the cabin.
“Let him groan,” said the skipper briefly, “as holler as he likes.”
“Well, I’ll just go down and see how he is,” said the mate.
“You stay where you are,” said the skipper sharply.
“Well, but you ain’t going to starve the man?”
“Nothing to do with me,” said the skipper ferociously; “if a man likes to come down and stay in my cabin, that’s his business. I’m not supposed to know he’s there; and if I like to lock my cabin up and sleep in a foc’sle what’s got more fleas in it than ten other foc’sles put together, and what smells worse than ten foc’sles rolled into one, that’s my business.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to berth for’ard too,” grumbled the other. “He can’t touch me. I can go and sleep in my berth.”
“You’ll do what I wish, my lad,” said the skipper.
“I’m the mate,” said the other darkly.