Part 11 (1/2)

The tide was still at the flood and the two adventurers made fast progress toward the _Chesapeake_. Choosing a favourable opportunity as the vessel dipped, they grasped her martingale, climbed up on the bowsprit, and ran along the bowsprit to the to'gallan'-fo'castle. On the deck below a dead man lay in the scuppers, and such a horrible stench pervaded the vessel that McGuffey was taken very ill and was forced to seek the rail.

”Scurvy or somethin',” Mr. Gibney announced quite calmly. ”Here's the devil to pay. There should be chloride of lime in the mate's storeroom--I'll scatter some on these poor devils. Too close to port now to chuck 'em overboard. Anyhow, Bart, me an' you ain't doctors, nor yet coroners or undertakers, so you'd better skip along an' build a fire under the donkey aft. Matches in the galley, of course.”

”I wish she was a schooner,” McGuffey complained, edging over to the weather rail. ”It'd be easier for us two to sail her then.

I'm only a marine engineer, Gib, an' while I been goin' to sea long enough to pick up something about handlin' a vessel, still I'll get dizzy if I go aloft--an' I'm sure to get sick. You'll have to do all the high an' lofty tumblin'--an' how in blue blazes us two're goin' to sail a square-rigger into port is a mystery to me.”

”Leave the worryin' to your Uncle Gib, Bart. You can take the wheel an' steer, can't you? She has enough sail practically set now to make her handle good. Look at them courses hangin' in the buntlines an' the yards braced a-box! All we got to do is to square 'em around--but never mind explanations. I'll show you how it's done after we get steam up in the donkey. I'd prefer a wind about two points aft her beam, but never let it be said that I turned up my nose at a good stiff nor'west trade. I've sunk pretty low, Mac, but I was a real sailor once an' I can sail this old hooker wherever there's water enough to float her. It's just pie--well, for heaven's sake, Mac, what are you standin' around for? Ain't I ordered you to get steam up in the donkey? Lively, you lubber. After you've got the fire goin', we'll place leadin'

blocks along the deck, lead all the runnin' gear to the winch head, an' stand by to swing them yards when I give the word.”

Mr. Gibney trotted down to the main deck and prowled aft. On the port side of her house he found two more dead men, and a cursory inspection of the bodies told him they had died of scurvy. He circled the s.h.i.+p, came back to the fo'castle, entered, and found four men alive in their berths, but too far gone to leave them.

”I'll have you boys in the Marine Hospital to-night,” he informed the poor creatures, and sought the master's cabin. Lying on his bed, fully dressed, he found the skipper of the _Chesapeake_. The man was gaunt and emaciated.

The freebooter of the green-pea trade touched his wet forelock respectfully. ”My name is Gibney, sir, an' I hold an unlimited license as first mate of sail or steam. I was pa.s.sin' up the coast on a good-for-nothin' little b.u.mboat, an' seen you in distress, so me an' a friend swum over to give you the double O.

You're in a bad way, sir.”

”Two hundred and eighty-seven days from Hamburg, Mr. Gibney. Our vegetables gave out and we drank too much rain water and ate too much fresh fish down in the Doldrums. Our potatoes all went rotten before we were out two months. Naturally, the s.h.i.+p's officers stuck it out longest, but when we drifted in here this morning, I was the only man aboard able to stand up. I crawled up on the to'-gallan'-fo'castle and let go the starboard anchor. I'd had it c.o.c.k-billed for three weeks. All I had to do was knock out the stopper.”

While Mr. Gibney questioned him and listened avidly to the horrible tale of privation and despair, McGuffey appeared to report a brisk fire under the donkey and to promise steam in forty minutes; also that the _Maggie_ was hove to a cable length distant, with her crew digging under the deckload of vegetables for the small boat. ”Help yourself to a belayin' pin, Bart, an'

knock 'em on the heads if they try to come aboard,” Mr. Gibney ordered nonchalantly.

”Do I understand there is a steamer at hand, Mr. Gibney?” the master of the _Chesapeake_ queried.

”There's an excuse for one, sir. The little vegetable freighter _Maggie_. She'll never be able to tow you in, because she ain't got power enough, an' if she had power enough she ain't got coal enough. Besides, Scraggs, her owner, is a rotten bad article an'

before he'll put a rope aboard you he'll tie you up on a contract for a figger that'd make an angel weep. The way your s.h.i.+p lies an' everything, me an' McGuffey can sail her in for you at half the price.”

”I can't risk my s.h.i.+p in the hands of two men,” the sick captain answered. ”She's too valuable and so is her cargo. If this little steamer will tow me in I'll gladly give her my towline and let the court settle the bill.”

”Not by a million,” Mr. Gibney protested. ”Beg pardon, sir, but you don't know this here Scraggs like I do. I couldn't think of lettin' him set foot on this deck.”

”_You_ couldn't think of it? Well, when did _you_ take command of _my_ s.h.i.+p?”

”You're flotsam an' jetsam, sir, an' practically in the breakers.

You're sick, an', for all I know, delirious, so for the sake o'

protectin' you, the sick seaman in the fo'castle an' the owners, I'm takin' command.”

The master of the _Chesapeake_ reached under his pillow and produced a pistol. ”Out of my cabin or I'll riddle you,” he barked feebly.

Mr. Gibney departed without a word of protest and proceeded to make his arrangements, regardless of the master's consent. As he and McGuffey busied themselves, laying the leading blocks along the deck, they glanced toward the _Maggie_ and observed Captain Scraggs hurling crates of vegetables overboard in an effort to get at the small boat quickly. ”He'll die when the freight claims come in,” Mr. McGuffey chortled. ”Poor ol' Scraggsy!”

”How're we goin' to git that durned anchor up, Gib?”

”We ain't goin' to get it up. We're goin' to knock out a shackle in the chain an' let her go to glory.”

”Anchors is expensive, Gib. Mebbe they'll deduct the price o'

that anchor from our salvage.”

”By Jupiter, you're talkin', Mac. We'll just save that anchor, come to think of it.”

”How?”