"Eh! what! who in the name of Jupiter are you?"
"You'd better come aboard, sir, and I'll explain," said Desmond with a
smile.
The harbor master mounted the side, rapping out sundry exclamations of
astonishment that amused Desmond not a little.
"Don't talk like a native! H'm! Queer! Turn him inside out! No nonsense!"
"Well, here I am," he added, stepping up to Desmond. "My name's Johnson,
and I'm harbor master. Now then, explain; no nonsense."
Desmond liked the look of the little man. He was short and stout, with a
very large red face, a broad turn-up nose, and childlike blue eyes that
bespoke confidence at once.
"My name is Desmond Burke, sir, and I've run away from Gheria in this
grab."
"The deuce you have!"
"Yes, sir. I've been a prisoner there for six months and more, and we got
off a few nights ago in the darkness."
"H'm! Any more Irishmen aboard?"
"Not that I'm aware of, sir."
"And you got away from Gheria, did you? You're the first that ever I
heard did so. Nothing to do with Commodore James, eh?"
"No, sir. I don't know what you mean."
"Why, Commodore James started t'other day to take a good sea-look at
Gheria. There's an expedition getting ready to draw that rascally
Pirate's teeth. You saw nothing of the squadron? No nonsense, now."
"Not a thing, sir. We were blown out to sea, and I suppose the commodore
passed us in the night."
"H'm! Very likely. And you weathered that storm, did you? Learned your
seamanship, eh?"
"Picked up a little on board the Good Intent, sir.
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