After a short time some food and a cup of warm tea were brought us, having partaken of which, thanks to its genial warmth, we soon fell asleep.
Once I awoke when the rolling and pitching, the battering of the sea against the sides, and the noises overhead, told me that the gale was still blowing. I was soon asleep
again, and when I opened my eyes it was broad daylight. No one was in the cabin. I roused my companions. Our clothes had been brought back tolerably well dried, so we dressed, intending to go on deck and learn what ship we were on board of, and where we were bound.
The pistols, hangers, and other weapons hanging up against the bulkhead showed us she was a ship of war, and Lancelot discovered several prints ornamenting his cabin, which made us suspect that she did not belong to the Puritans.
“If they inquire who we are, as they are sure to do, what shall we say about ourselves?” asked Dick.
“Tell the truth and shame the devil! Whoever they are, we should be grateful to them for having saved our lives, and maybe, if we speak them fair, they’ll set us on shore at the first port they touch at,” answered Lancelot.
“If they’re Cavaliers, there’s no port they can put into on the south coast without the certainty of being fired at,” I observed, “though perhaps they may be induced to set us ashore in one of their boats, and we can find our way back over land. I much wish to relieve the anxiety that Audrey and Cicely and your father must be feeling about us, for they will—should we not return—give us up for lost.”
“We shan’t grow wiser by staying here,” said Lancelot, as he led the way on deck.
“Halloa, young masters. Who are you?” exclaimed a gentleman in plumed hat, scarlet doublet, and sword hanging by a rich scarf at his side.