“Dere law----” but the rest was lost to my ear by the Dutchman getting into the companion way. He emerged, looking very pale, greasy, even fatter than he had before shown; scowled when he met my glance, stared around him with the bewilderment of a newly-released man, and called out, “Vere is der schip?” He saw her as he spoke, shaded his eyes while he looked at her, and, falling back a step, exclaimed, “I vhas not going home in dot schip.” “That is the ship, and you are going home in her,” said Greaves. “The boat is alongside, and Mr. Fielding waits for you to jump in.” “You vhas sorry for dis by an’ by. Do you inten’ dot I should drown by your sending me to dot footy hooker? Who has been on boardt her?” he shouted, looking around him with a frown; “you, sir?” cried he to me. “Vot vhos dot oonder her taffrail? I must know vot dot vhas before I stir!” “It’s nothing that will hurt you,” answered Greaves, who, as I might see, dared not meet my gaze for fear of laughing. “Vhat vhas it, I ask? I hov a right to know;” and here the poor fat fellow, for whom I was beginning to feel a sort of pity, made spectacles of his thumbs and forefingers, and put them to his eyes to stare at the cask and repeated, “Vhat vhas it? Sir, oblige me by handing me dere glass.” “Mr. Van Laar,” said Greaves, “I should regret to use force, but if you don’t instantly get into that boat I shall have you lifted over the side and dropped into her.” “Who vhas it dot has been on boardt? Vhas it you, sir?” cried the Dutchman, again addressing me. “Dos she leak? Vot vhis her cargo? Vot are her stores? I have had no dinner, and you are sending me to a schip dot may be stone proke.” All this while the crew of the brig, saving those in the boat, had been standing in the fore-part, looking on. I thought to find some signs of sympathy with Van Laar among the Dutch seamen, but if sympathy were felt, it found no expression in their faces or bearing. The grinning had been broad and continuous, but now I caught a murmur or two of impatience that might have signified disgust. “Will you enter the boat?” cried Greaves. Van Laar began to protest. “Aft here, some of you,” exclaimed Greaves, “and help Mr. Van Laar over the side.” The Dutchman immediately went to the rail, crawled over it, breathing heavily, then pausing when he was outside, while he still grasped the rim, and while nothing was visible of him but his fat face above the rail, he roared out: “Down mit dot beastly country, England! Hurrah for der law! Hurrah for der right! Ach, boot I vhas sorry for you by an’ by.” He then dropped into the boat, I followed, and we shoved off. Galloon barked at the Dutchman as we rowed away. Van Laar talked aloud to himself, constantly wiping his face. His speech was Dutch, and I did not understand what he said. Presently he broke out in English: