That instant a loud British cheer rang over the
water, given by the blue-jackets, who could be seen clustering in
the rigging like bees.
"I told our skipper judgment would overtake us," said the Yankee.
"Say, mister," he added, in another tone, "seeing that the game's
up, suppose we have a glass of iced champagne downstairs?"
The lieutenant hesitated. To drink with the mate of a slaver!
But--iced champagne!
Slowly he moved toward the companionway. "I don't mind if I do,"
he said, at length; "and you may as well bring up your papers with
the drinks, for I shall carry them on board the Petrel. Of course
you understand that you are my prize."
And having set a guard at the hatchways, the lieutenant descended
the cabin stairs.
The iced champagne was duly forthcoming, and under its genial
influence Lieutenant Brabazon began to feel something like pity
for the young mate who had been so early seduced into the paths of
crime. Probably he had a mother or a sweetheart somewhere in the
States who imagined that he was already on his way home, whereas
now his character was ruined, even if he escaped a long term of
imprisonment.
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