“Now, young cockatoo,” answered Martin, impudently, and foolishly, too, for it brought him a couple of stiff blows of the rattan.
“Where are the provisions stowed away?”
“Where a lubber like you can’t get at them,” replied my brother, more defiantly than ever; adding, as the sailor gave him another heavy blow with the rattan, “Go on, my good fellow; you and this little cockatoo shall have it all back with good interest, for I know you dare not kill me.”
“You impudent vagabond!” cried the enraged little officer, “I will have you flogged within an inch of your life.”
“All right, you little coward; that wish will be quite enough to enable me to impress upon your hide a souvenir that you won’t get rid of for the rest of your life.”
“Will you, or will you not, tell me where the provisions are stowed away?”
“Well,” replied my brother, very coolly, “I will, because it will make you squeak yourself into a fit, my small friend. The provisions,” he added, “with the exception of rice and water, were all thrown overboard when your rogue of a captain first came on board.”
“Rascal!” again squeaked the middy, “by whose orders was it done—what for? Tell me the truth, or I will have you starved to death.”
“Oh, never fear! I will tell you the truth,” he replied. “Well, the provisions were sunk that you Dutch rats might be starved out of the ship; and now you know all, what do you think of it?”
The effect of this reply upon the midshipman was comical in the extreme. He first ordered the sailor to take Martin below; then he walked about the deck, giving vent both to rage and fear—the first, that good provisions should have been thrown away—the latter, that he would have to live the rest of the voyage upon rice and water, which, to a high-feeding Dutchman, was something like starvation.