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Updated: June 6, 2025
Mark shrank for a moment but seized the rope the next, and slid down so quickly that his hands felt uncomfortably warm, and he reached the deck as Billy Widgeon was unfastening the rope from round Jimpny's chest. "Nice sorter sailor that, Captain Strong," said Mr Gregory sourly. "Yes," said the captain quietly. "Don't send him aloft again. Let him help the cook." "Help the cook!
Mark saw the wisdom of the proceeding, and the load was shared as they went on through the loose sand, the lad's heart sinking at the thought of Jimpny's words, and he wondered what would be the result if it should prove to be true that the pirates had landed and attacked the party in Crater Bay.
Mark ran to meet him, to see, as he drew nearer, that Jimpny's face and hands were bleeding and his shirt hanging in strips from his shoulders, while his staring eyes and open mouth showed him to be suffering from excess of terror.
There was some excuse, for Mr David Jimpny's personal appearance was not much improved by the composite sailor suit he wore. His trousers were an old pair of the captain's, and his jacket had been routed out by the boatswain, both officers being about as opposite in physique to the stowaway as could well be imagined.
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