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Go and tell the captain there's nothing the matter, and Miss Denning that there's no cause for alarm. Lock up the wild beast, Brymer! I thought he was a little weak and wanted feeding up. Leave him to me, and I'll feed him down."
Another shot came from the ship, whose lanterns showed where she lay, while, but for the golden oil the oars stirred on the surface of the water, our boat must have been invisible, though that bullet was sufficiently well aimed to strike the side of the boat with a sharp crack. "That will do. In oars!" cried Mr Brymer, when we were about a hundred yards away. "How can you be such a coward?"
Apparently it was nearly five feet long, and its sides flashed in the clear water where it was not foaming with the lashing of the captive's vigorous widely-forked tail. "Bonito," cried the captain. "No, no, albicore," said Mr Brymer. "Suppose we wait till it's fully caught," said Mr Frewen, smiling at Miss Denning, when I saw her brother give him an angry look.
Mr Brymer was shaking the pistol about threateningly, as he rocked to and fro over the cook, who as he knelt clasped his hands in agony, and I heard him say something very indistinctly, for he was sobbing about his wife and child.
"None o' them games, Mr Dale, sir," said a gruff voice in my ear, as I clung to the bulwark, and a cold perspiration gathered on my forehead. "Anything the matter?" cried Mr Brymer. "Not much, sir," growled the sailor; "on'y Mr Dale, here, trying to dive down into the hold to look for the fire."
"There," he said, "take that to Mr Brymer, and tell him to give it a good stir round, or we shall be killing some of the scoundrels, and letting others off scot free." "Yes," I said, looking with no little interest at the powder which he had turned out of the tiny scales he had used. "The cook is sure to stir it well too. But, Mr Frewen, will that little pinch or two of stuff be enough?"
"And the pistol cocked itself, jumped up into his hand, and then went off and wounded Dale. Is it much, doctor?" said Mr Brymer. "No, only his ear cut, fortunately," said Mr Frewen, holding a handkerchief to my head. "An inch more and our amiable, treacherous young friend would have had to be tried for murder. Who's that?" "Me," growled Neb Dumlow. "Want help, sir?" "No.
I turned to look toward the forecastle, near which Mr Frewen was standing with Mr Brymer, and they were evidently listening attentively, while Mr Preddle and Mr Denning were close up to the bulwarks on the starboard side, I being to port.
With us though it was different, for giving orders to Bob Hampton to trim the sails, Mr Brymer told me to take hold of the sheet of the mizzen, and he seized the rudder, so that the next minute we were gliding through the water.
"Halloa!" cried Mr Brymer "a spy! Who's that Walters?" "No, sir; it is I." "And what are you doing there, listening?" "I was watching the phosphorescence of the sea, sir, and you came and stood close to me and began talking." "And you heard?" said Mr Frewen. "Every word, sir." "And do you know that we were talking about Mr Denning?" said the mate. "No; you were talking about the captain."
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