But it was now too late to get oh shore again. The headsheets were let draw, the main eased off a little, the peak hoisted up, and, with a fair breeze, the cutter glided out of the harbour.
“Well, youngster, you were not long in making up your mind about coming,” said the old skipper, scrutinising me, I thought, pretty narrowly from head to foot. “What place are you bound for, eh?”
I told him Ryde, in the Isle of Wight.
“Well, we’ll put you ashore at the back of the Wight; I suppose that will do for you?” he answered, in a good-natured tone.
I thanked him for his offer; and we went on talking very amicably for some time, till we had run some fifteen miles from the coast. I think, from the first, the old man had some suspicions of me; but I had acted my part well, and I fancied that I had succeeded in lulling them.
Just as I thought all was right, as ill-luck would have it, I happened to want to use my pocket-handkerchief, and in searching for it I incautiously threw open my jacket and exposed my uniform buttons to view.
In the first place, the sort of boy I pretended to be would not have possessed such an article as a pocket-handkerchief; and I ought to have remembered that the sight of the crown and anchor would not be acceptable to persons of my friends’ vocation.
“Why—hullo, youngster! who are you, I should like to know?” exclaimed the old skipper, seizing me by the arm, and giving me no gentle shake.
“He’s a spy, surely, and no mistake,” cried several of the crew. “Heave the young shrimp overboard.”
“Overboard with him!” exclaimed the rest in chorus. “We’ll teach the Government to send their whelps to hunt us out in this fashion.”