"Come back, Mr.
Baker!" called the master's quiet voice. He obeyed unwillingly. There
was a minute of silence, then a deafening hubbub arose. Above it Archie
was heard energetically:--"If ye do oot ageen I wull tell!" There were
shouts. "Don't!" "Drop it!"--"We ain't that kind!" The black cluster of
human forms reeled against the bulwark, back again towards the
house. Ringbolts rang under stumbling feet.--"Drop it!" "Let
me!"--"No!"--"Curse you... hah!" Then sounds as of some one's face being
slapped; a piece of iron fell on the deck; a short scuffle, and some
one's shadowy body scuttled rapidly across the main hatch before
the shadow of a kick. A raging voice sobbed out a torrent of filthy
language...--"Throwing things--good God!" grunted Mr. Baker in
dismay.--"That was meant for me," said the master, quietly; "I felt
the wind of that thing; what was it--an iron belaying-pin?"--"By Jove!"
muttered Mr. Creighton. The confused voices of men talking amidships
mingled with the wash of the sea, ascended between the silent and
distended sails-seemed to flow away into the night, further than
the horizon, higher than the sky.
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