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"I feel able enough to go about, and my mates'll think I'm shirkin' dooty." "There's not a man a-board as'll think that o' Dick Darvall," growled the boatswain, who had just entered and heard the last remark. "Right, bo's'n," said Brooke, "you have well expressed the thought that came into my own head." "Have ye seen Samson yet, sir?" asked the boatswain, with an unusually grave look.
"And supposing he can't?" "Well, then, he'll go out next week, I expect, unless he gets on the drink. He's a terrible chap to drink." "And if he starts to drink, when will he go?" "Lord knows. They'll have to send in after him. His mates'll be pretty near starved by now, anyhow. He's been in town, foolin' round that girl at the Royal this three weeks.
"Don't you be uneasy about that, Mr Vandean, sir," said the stroke oarsman; "me and my mates'll smuggle the young nigger gent aboard somehow, even if I has to lend him my duds." "You leave off cutting jokes, Tom Fillot, and pull hard." "Ay, ay, sir," cried the man, chuckling, and he and his fellows made the boat skim through the glowing water.
"I hurt myself when I hit him. Well, Murphy, all right, if you can control them. I can see that I might have to shoot them all if I shot one, and that wouldn't do." "No, of course not, sir. I'll l'arn a few of them to steer, and the mates'll be rid of it." So, under these conditions they worked the ship across the western ocean.
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