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"And I wants to know, in the name of the crew, whether this 'ere biscuit as is all alive with maggots, is the stuff we poor fellows forward should be made to put into our mouths?" cried Growles. "What's that you're talking about, you mutinous rascals?" cried the captain; "stop a bit, and I'll answer you."
Putting on my shirt it was now perfectly dry I descended from my perch to the rock, and there stood eagerly watching the boat. Again a thought occurred to me, that she might, after all, be the "Emu," and in another few minutes I might be in the clutches of old Growles and the boatswain, and my other persecutors. But as I strained my eyes to discern their countenances.
When there was a breeze the heat was supportable enough, but when it fell calm we could scarcely bear our clothes on, and went about in shirts and trousers, with bare feet, and were glad to have the opportunity of getting into the shade. The pitch boiled up out of the seams, and old Growles declared that he could cook a beefsteak on the capstan-head, if he only had a beefsteak to cook.
To our disappointment no one was allowed to go on shore. The captain and second mate almost immediately took a country boat and pulled for the landing-place. "I suppose they intend to send us off some grub," said old Growles, in a voice loud enough for them to hear; but they took no notice, and pulled on. We waited in anxious expectation for the arrival of the provisions, but no boats appeared.
Still he didn't move, or propose to obtain any refreshment for me. As my lack-lustre eyes looked up at him, I recognised Gregory Growles, the old seaman to whom I had at first spoken with my cutter under my arm. No wonder that he didn't recollect me in my present forlorn and dirt-begrimed condition. At last the seaman against whom I leant told one of his messmates to get me some water.
I remembered the description that Mr Butterfield had given me of the captain of the "Emu." I thought, perhaps, that he had committed some dreadful crime, and was being thus punished for it. The only one of the crew whom I remembered, Gregory Growles, was certainly a bad specimen of humanity.
I looked about exceedingly puzzled, for I could not give the name of one of them. "I thought so," said Growles. "You had better go to school again, and learn a little more before you think of topping the officer over us." "I only want to become a midshipman," I said; "I could soon learn when I got to sea." "We have no midshipmen on board the `Emu," said Growles.
"You may go on deck now, youngster," said old Growles; "but remember, as you value your life, that you don't tell the captain or any one else who put you down here. You played the stowaway once, and you must say you did so again, 'cos you didn't want to go ashore and live among the injins.
As soon as I had finished my meal I tried to see if I could force open the door, but I could discover no tool of any description. I made up my mind therefore to wait patiently till the opportunity offered of getting out. Perhaps the next time old Growles or the boatswain would come alone, or they might send some one else; or, should my friends be searching the ship, I might make them hear me.
I had great difficulty in penning the letter; and while I was kneeling down at the chest, old Growles came in and mocked at me, and another fellow asked me whether I was sending a love-letter to my dearie, and a third gave me a knock on the elbow, which spattered the ink over the paper and nearly upset the ink-bottle. Still I wrote on. "Ship `Emu, somewhere off Cape Horn.
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