‘Pumice-stone, sir,’ answered Finn.
‘Don’t like it,’ said the little fellow with a shake of his head. ‘Is it steep to?’
‘He ought to be able to see by looking over the side,’ grumbled Finn; then aloud, ‘Slopes as gradual as the calf of a man’s leg.’
‘Well, then, you won’t mind wading,’ said the little fellow.
‘Cutbill, Finn,’ I cried, ‘carry her ladyship, will you? Dowling or Head, come and lend me a hand to convey Miss Jennings.’
The little fool obliged us to wade waist high by keeping off, so confoundedly anxious was he to keep his keel clear of the ground. However, we easily got the ladies into the boat; then Cutbill, Finn, and I gripped the gunwale and rolled inboards; but Dowling coolly waded shorewards again to where Head was standing.
‘Aren’t you two men coming?’ cried the little fellow, who afterwards proved to be the second mate of the barque, a doll of a man with bright eyes, diminutive features, red beard, and hands and feet of the size of a boy of ten.
‘No, sir,’ answered Dowling; ‘there’s treasure in that there craft, and my mate and me’s going to stop to overhaul the cargo.’
The three seamen belonging to the boat stared on hearing this, instantly pricking up their ears with sailors’ sympathy and fastening devouring eyes on the galleon.