his knees and begged Joe
Westlake to grant him his life.

"Clap him under hatches," exclaimed the old man-of-warsman, and Plum
and another, lifting the hatch cover, popped Mr. Sloper down among the
ballast again.

By this time the afternoon had very considerably advanced, the wind
had dropped, and it was already dark when the _Tom Bowling_ let go her
anchor off Gravesend. The cabin lamp was lighted, and old Joe and Plum
sat down to a hearty meal, after which they smoked their pipes and
dipped a ladle into a silver bowl of rum punch of Westlake's own
brewing.

"D' ye mean, captain," said Plum, "that the little chap in the hold
shall have any supper?"

"Well, Peter," answered old Joe, "I've bin a-turning of it over in my
mind, and spite of his 'rageous conduct I dunno, after all, that it
would be right to let him lie all night without a bite of something.
Call Bob."

This man, whose surname was Robins, arrived. Joe told him to get a
lantern and cut a plate of beef and bread and mix a small mug of rum
and water.

"Ye can tell the little chap, Bob," said old Joe, speaking with one
eye shut, "that we're only a-feeding of him up so as to get more
satisfaction out of his hexecution to-morrow morning. You can say that
sailoring is a rather monotonous life, and that if he'll die game we
shall all feel obliged for the hentertainment he'll afford us."

Whether Bob Robins communicated this speech to Sloper I cannot say. It
is certain, however, that he took the lantern and the tailor's supper
into the hold and stood over the little man whilst he ate and drank.
When the retired tailor had finished his repast he asked Robins if he
was to be kept locked up in that black hole all night without anything
to lie on but shingle.

"What did you fire at us for?" said Bob.

"I never fired at you. I was firing for my own diversion," answered
Mr. Sloper.

"D' ye load with stones for your divarsion, as ye call it?" said Bob.

"There was no stones when you came along," cried the tailor. "Why did
you aggrevate me by firing in return?"

"What did you want to fire at all for?" said Bob, almost pitying the
trembling little creature as he showed by the lantern light in the
cutter's small black hold.

"I was celebrating a hanniversary," answered Mr. Sloper, who
maltreated his _h's_ as badly as old Westlake.

"And what sort of a hanniversary calls for gun firing?" said Bob,
holding up the lantern to the tailor's face.

"It was the h