Part 7 (1/2)

he roared. ”Get to h.e.l.l out o' this, you peris.h.i.+n' son of a swab!” he added to a fireman who was making a surrept.i.tious effort to get at the hot water.

”d.a.m.n your 'ot water, you pasty-faced dough-walloper!” retorted the fireman.

Then followed a scuffle, more profanities, and the fireman performed an acrobatic feat which landed him in the scuppers.

”Put your lousy 'ead in 'ere again and I'll murder you,” said the cook.

”I won't 'ave no bloomin' bad language in 'ere,” he added warningly to the others. ”There's a d.a.m.ned sight too much of it on this bug-trap.”

He again lifted up his voice in song.

”And sinners plunged beneath the flood, Lose all their guilty sta--a--ains.”

He paused to administer a cutting admonition to one of his a.s.sistants.

”Lose all their guilty stains,” he trilled forth, pouring the hot water in which potatoes had been boiled, into the iron kettle that held the crew's tea.

In another part of the s.h.i.+p, under the lee of the forecastle a second and somewhat different meeting was in progress. Jasper Skelt, ex-boatswain of the _Esmeralda_, was addressing half a dozen men in fierce whispers, emphasising his remarks with violent gestures of the head and hands. The men listened, placidly smoking their pipes and occasionally turning a nervous glance towards the bridge to make sure that they were not being observed by the Captain.

”What proof have we that this boat is a licensed privateer?” Skelt was saying--or rather, whispering--”only the Captain's word. We ain't seen his Letters of Marque and ain't likely to. Why?”

The orator paused as if for a reply. It came.

”'Cause the first man 'as asked to see 'em 'ud get murdered,” said one of the audience.

For a moment Skelt was disconcerted by the subdued laughter which followed this answer. But he pulled himself together and went on:

”No; and I'll tell you why we ain't likely to see his Letters of Marque: because he ain't got any.”

This statement, delivered with all the confidence of one who knew, produced an effect. The men stared at each other with puzzled faces.

”'Ow the blazes do you know?” asked one of the men angrily.

”Because the British Government haven't granted any for this war,”

answered the agitator. ”They're chartering merchant steamers and arming 'em themselves. Commerce-destroyers they call them, but they're really Government-owned privateers.”

”Who told you so?” queried a sceptic.

”Don't ask me, read the papers and see for yourself,” answered Skelt.

”Ho yus, I forgot all about me Sunday paper!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed another member of the audience sarcastically. ”Boy, give me a _Lloyds_ and the _Observer_.”

A roar of unrestrained laughter went up at this witticism, and the orator had some ado to master his wrath.

”It's all very well to laugh about it now,” he said heatedly. ”But wait till later on; wait till this lunatic who calls himself a Captain sinks one or two vessels; wait till he's called upon to show his papers--then you'll change your tune, my merry clinker-knockers!”

”What the 'ell does it matter to us, anyway?” asked someone.

”I'll tell you, my innocent babe. If we start in to sink s.h.i.+ps, commit murder and rob the cargoes without having the proper authority--that is Letters of Marque--we're not privateers at all; we're blooming, G.o.d-d.a.m.n pirates, that's what we are,” answered Skelt. ”What's more, if any brainless swab here doesn't know what the punishment is for piracy, I'll have much pleasure in telling him.”

”'Anging, ain't it?”