We lost no time in preparing to start, and soon hoisted sail, let go our moorings, and set our bows around the Goodwins in the direction of the Belgian coast. Gradually the weather grew more boisterous, and our boat laboured heavily through the rolling seas until midnight, when the storm abated.
The men were on deck managing the craft, while I, with the portmanteau under the bench near me, sat alone in the corner of the narrow, dirty little cabin, smoking and reading a newspaper by the uncertain light of a swinging oil lamp. The motion of the boat must, I think, have lulled me to sleep, for I was suddenly awakened by hearing whispering near me.
The lamp had gone out and I was in total darkness.
I listened, feeling convinced that I had heard subdued voices.
Suddenly hoarse, ominous words broke upon my ear.
“Garn. Don’t be a fool, Ned. He’s got jewels in the bag wot he’s stole. There ain’t no reason why we shouldn’t share.”
It was the voice of the skipper.
“Hush! You’ll wake him,” exclaimed another voice.
“If he stirs, darn him, we’ll chuck him overboard, like we did the other cove, that’s all.”
I sat breathless, hesitating to move. It was plain that the men were a gang of unscrupulous villains who intended to rob me.