Tom and I agreed that we had very little chance of getting leave, but that we should not refuse it if we did. The sky was clear as Nora Creina’s eye; every star was reflected on the calm surface of the water in the harbour. We were all inclined to be jolly—officers and men. Our tongues went rattling merrily on. Now and then there came a peal of laughter, now snatches of songs. We had got more than half-way down the harbour when the officer in command sang out, “Mind your helm. Where are you coming to?”
At that instant we ran slap into a shore-boat pulled by negroes, and stove in her bows. Loud shrieks and cries arose from the black crew, who began to scramble into our boat,—the wisest thing they could do, considering that their own was sinking.
“Oh, we all drown! we all drown!” they cried in loud tones. “Jack shark catch me!”
The four blacks had saved themselves, but there were two passengers in the stern-sheets who appeared to be less in a hurry to get on board. Presently, however, finding the boat settling down, one of them made a spring and tumbled on board.
“Why, Tim Connor, where did you come from?” asked one of our men. At that moment the other man, instead of trying to save himself, plunged into the water, and began swimming towards the southern shore. Perhaps he thought that he might escape in the confusion unperceived, but our lieutenant caught sight of him.
“Never mind the boat,” he exclaimed. “Out oars. We must get hold of that fellow, whoever he is.”
We were not long in coming up with the bold swimmer, who, speedily caught by the hair of his head, was hauled on board, in spite of his struggles to get free. As he was hauled aft by the orders of the lieutenant, I recognised Dan Hoolan.
“Who gave you leave to go on shore, my men?” asked the lieutenant.
“Plaise yer honour,” answered Tim Connor, “we were only going for a spree, and intended being off again in the mornin’.”
Dan Hoolan sat sulkily, with his hands between his knees, not deigning to reply.