Best gave a cheery shout and passed her, steering straight into the broad track of crimson that already reeked on the sea ahead.
"What is it ?" he cried.
But he heard only a smothered curse from Frere, and then his consort pulled hard to overtake him.
It was, in fact, nothing of consequence--only a prisoner "giving in".
"Curse it!" says Frere, "What's the matter with you?
Oh, you, is it ?--Dawes! Of course, Dawes.

I never expected anything better from such a skulking hound.

Come, this sort of nonsense won't do with me.

It isn't as nice as lolloping about the hatchways, I dare say, but you'll have to go on, my fine fellow." "He seems sick, sir," said (with) compassionate bow.
"Sick! Not he.Shamming.Come, give way now! Put your backs into it!" and the convict having picked up his oar, the boat shot forward again.
But, for all Mr.Frere's urging, he could not recover the way he had lost, and Best was the first to run in under the black cloud that hung over the crimsoned water.
At his signal, the second boat came alongside.
"Keep wide," he said.

"If there are many fellows yet aboard, they'll swamp us; and I think there must be, as we haven't met the boats," and then raising his voice, as the exhausted crew lay on their oars, he hailed the burning ship.
She was a huge, clumsily-built vessel, with great breadth of beam, and a lofty poop-deck.