Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop. Fenn George Manville

Roberts thoughtfully. “Oh, but I don’t know,” he continued, as if snatching at anything that told for the success of the expedition; “you know what Anderson often tells us.”

      “I know what he says sometimes about our being thoughtless boys.”

      “Yes, that’s what I mean, old fellow; and it isn’t true, for I think a deal about my duties, and as for you – you’re a beggar to think, just like the monkey who wouldn’t speak for fear he should be set to work.”

      “Thanks for the compliment,” said Murray drily.

      “Oh, you know what I mean. But I suppose we can’t think so well now as we shall by and by. I mean, older fellows can think better, and I suppose that the skipper and old Anderson really do know better than we do. It will be all right, old fellow. They wouldn’t let themselves be led into any trap; and besides, look at the Yankee – I mean, look at his position; he must be sharp enough.”

      “Oh yes, he’s sharp enough,” said Murray. “Hear him talk, and you’d think he was brought up on pap made of boiled-down razor-strops.”

      “Well, then, he must know well enough that if he did the slightest thing in the way of playing fast and loose with us, he’d get a bullet through his head.”

      “Yes – if he wasn’t too sharp for us.”

      “Oh, it will be all right,” cried Roberts. “Don’t be too cautious, Franky. Put your faith in your superior officers; that’s the way to succeed.”

      “Then you think I am too cautious here, Dick?”

      “Of course I do,” cried Roberts, patting his brother middy on the shoulder. “It will be all right, so don’t be dumpy. I feel as if we are going to have a fine time of it.”

      “Think we shall have any fighting?”

      “Afraid not; but you do as I do. I mean to get hold of a cutlass and pistols. I’m not going to risk my valuable life with nothing to preserve it but a ridiculous dirk. Don’t you be downhearted and think that the expedition is coming to grief.”

      “Not I,” said Murray cheerily. “I suppose it’s all right; but I couldn’t help thinking what I have told you. I wish I didn’t think such things; but it’s a way I have.”

      “Yes,” said his companion, “and any one wouldn’t expect it of you, Franky, seeing what a light-hearted chap you are. It’s a fault in your nature, a thing you ought to correct. If you don’t get over it you’ll never make a dashing officer.”

      “Be too cautious, eh?” said Murray good-humouredly.

      “That’s it, old chap. Oh, I say, though, I wish it was nearly night, and that we were going off at once. But I say, where’s the Yankee?”

      “What!” cried Murray, starting. “Isn’t he alongside in his boat?”

      “No; didn’t you see? He came aboard half-an-hour ago. Old Bosun Dempsey fetched him out of his lugger; and look yonder, you croaking old cock raven. We always have one jolly as sentry at the gangway, don’t we?”

      “Of course.”

      “Very well, look now; there are two loaded and primed ready for any pranks the lugger men might play; and there are the two cutters ready for lowering down at a moment’s notice, and it wouldn’t take long for Dempsey to fizzle out his tune on his pipe and send the crews into them.”

      “Bah! Pish! Pooh! and the rest of it. What do you mean by that? Look, the lugger is a fast sailer.”

      “Well, I dare say she is, but one of our little brass guns can send balls that sail through the air much faster. So drop all those dismal prophecies and damping thoughts about danger. Our officers know their way about and have got their eyes open. The skipper knows about everything, and what he doesn’t know bully Anderson tells him. It’s all right, Franky. Just look at the lads! Why, there’s Tom May smiling as if he’d filled his pockets full of prize money.”

      “Yes,” assented Murray, “and the other lads have shaped their phizzes to match. But let’s get closer to the lugger.”

      “What for?” said Roberts sharply.

      “To have a good look at her Indiarubber-cultivating crew.”

      “Not I!” cried Roberts. “If we go there you’ll begin to see something wrong again, and begin to croak.”

      “No, no; honour bright! If I do think anything, I won’t say a word.”

      “I’d better keep you here out of temptation,” said Roberts dubiously.

      “Nonsense! It’s all right, I tell you. There, come along.”

      Chapter Five.

      Trusting a Guide

      The two lads made for where they could get a good view of the lugger swinging by a rope abreast of the starboard gangway, and as they passed along the quarter-deck, the shrill strident tones of the American’s voice reached them through one of the open cabin skylights, while directly after, Murray, keen and observant of everything, noted that the two marines of whom his companion had spoken were standing apparently simply on duty, but thoroughly upon the alert and ready for anything, their whole bearing suggesting that they had received the strictest of orders, and were prepared for anything that might occur.

      Roberts gave his companion a nudge with his elbow and a quick glance of the eye, which produced “Yes, all right; I see,” from Murray. “I’m afraid – I mean I’m glad to see that I was only croaking; but I say, Dick, have a good quiet look at those fellows and see if you don’t find some excuse for what I thought.”

      “Bah! Beginning to croak again.”

      “That I’m not,” said Murray. “I only say have a look at them, especially at that fellow smoking.”

      “Wait a moment. I have focussed my eye upon that beauty getting his quid ready – disgusting!”

      “Yes, it does look nasty,” said Murray, with the corners of his lips turning up. “The regular Malay fashion. That fellow never came from these parts.”

      “Suppose not. Why can’t the nasty wretch cut a quid off a bit of black twist tobacco like an ordinary British sailor?”

      “Instead of taking a leaf out of his pouch,” continued Murray, “smearing it with that mess of white lime paste out of his shell – ”

      “Putting a bit of broken betel nut inside – ” said Roberts.

      “Rolling it up together – ” continued Murray.

      “And popping the whole ball into his pretty mouth,” said Roberts. “Bah! Look at his black teeth and the stained corners of his lips. Talk about a dirty habit! Our jacks are bad enough. Ugh!”

      “I say, Dick,” whispered Murray, as the Malay occupant of the boat realised the fact that he was being watched, and rolled his opal eyeballs round with a peculiar leer up at the two young officers.

      “Now then,” was the reply, “you promised that you wouldn’t croak.”

      “To be sure. I only wanted to say that fellow looks a beauty.”

      “Beauty is only skin deep,” said Roberts softly.

      “And ugliness goes to the bone,” whispered Murray, smiling. “Yes, he looks a nice fellow to be a cultivator of the indiarubber plant.”

      “Eh? Who said he was?” said Roberts sharply.

      “His skipper. That’s what they all are. Splendid workers too. Do more than regular niggers.”

      “Do more, no doubt,” said Roberts thoughtfully. “But they certainly don’t look like agricultural labourers. Why, they’re a regular crew of all sorts.”

      “Irregular crew, you mean,” said Murray. “That one to the left looks like an Arab.”

      “Yes, and the one asleep with his mouth open and the flies buzzing about