FullReads

“Yes,” said Ned in a smothered voice, and, depositing the boy in the hold, hastily clambered up again, wiping his mouth.

“Been having a swig at the bottle?” inquired Bill.

“Boy’s heel,” said Ned very shortly. “Get the hatch on.”

The hatch was replaced, and Bill and his fellow conspirator, treading quietly and not without some apprehension for the morrow, went below and turned in. Tommy, who had been at sea long enough to take things as he found them, curled up in the corner of the hold, and with his bottle as a pillow fell asleep.

It was not until eight o’clock next morning that the master of the Sunbeam discovered that he was a boy short. He questioned the cook as he sat at breakfast The cook, who was a very nervous man, turned pale, set the coffee-pot down with a thump which upset some of the liquor, and bolted up on deck. The skipper, after shouting for him in some of the most alluring swear words known on the high seas, went raging up on deck, where he found the men standing in a little knot, looking very ill at ease.

“Bill,” said the skipper uneasily, “what’s the matter with that damned cook?”

“‘E’s ‘ad a shock, sir,” said Bill, shaking his head; “we’ve all ‘ad a shock.”

“You’ll have another in a minute,” said the skipper emotionally. “Where’s the boy?”

For a moment Bill’s hardihood forsook him, and he looked helplessly at his mates. In their anxiety to avoid his gaze they looked over the side, and a horrible fear came over the skipper. He looked at Bill mutely, and Bill held out a dirty piece of paper.

The skipper read it through in a state of stupefaction, then he handed it to the mate, who had followed him on deck. The mate read it and handed it back.

“It’s yours,” he said shortly.

“I don’t understand it,” said the skipper, shaking his head. “Why, only yesterday he was up on deck here eating his dinner, and saying it was the best meat he ever tasted. You heard him, Bob?”

“I heard him, pore little devil!” said the mate.

“You all heard him,” said the skipper. “Well, there’s five witnesses I’ve got. He must have been mad. Didn’t nobody hear him go overboard?”

“I ‘eard a splash, sir, in my watch,” said Bill.

“Why didn’t you run and see what it was?” demanded the other.

“I thought it was one of the chaps come up to throw his supper overboard,” said Bill simply.

“Ah!” said the skipper, biting his lip, “did you? You’re always going on about the grub. What’s the matter with it?”

“It’s pizon, sir,” said Ned, shaking his head. “The meat’s awful.”

“It’s as sweet as nuts,” said the skipper. “Well, you can have it out of the other tank if you like. Will that satisfy you?”

The men brightened up a little and nudged each other.

“The butter’s bad too, sir,” said Bill.

“Butter bad!” said the skipper, frowning. “How’s that, cook?”

“I ain’t done nothing to it, sir,” said the cook helplessly.

“Give ’em butter out o’ the firkin in the cabin,” growled the skipper. “It’s my firm belief you’d been ill-using that boy; the food was delicious.”

He walked off, taking the letter with him, and, propping it up against the sugar-basin, made but a poor breakfast.

For that day the men lived, as Ned put it, on the fat of the land, in addition to the other luxuries. Figgy duff, a luxury hitherto reserved for Sundays, being also served out to them. Bill was regarded as a big-brained benefactor of the human race; joy reigned in the foc’sle, and at night the hatch was taken off and the prisoner regaled with a portion which had been saved for him. He ate it ungratefully, and put churlish and inconvenient questions as to what was to happen at the end of the voyage.

“Well smuggle you ashore all right,” said Bill; “none of us are going to sign back in this old tub. I’ll take you aboard some ship with me–Eh?”