Part 25 (1/2)

”Gib, will you ever sink that Greaser?” Captain Scraggs sobbed hysterically.

”Don't want to sink her,” the supercargo retorted. ”She's a nice little schooner. I'd rather capture her. Maybe we can use her in our business, Scraggsy,” and he continued to shower the enemy with high bursting shrapnel. When the two vessels were less than two miles apart the one-pounders came into action. It was pretty shooting and the wicked little sh.e.l.ls ripped through the old _Maggie_ like buckshot through a roll of b.u.t.ter. Mr. Gibney slid flat on the deck beside his gun and Captain Scraggs sprawled beside him.

”A feller,” Mr. Gibney announced, ”has got to take a beatin'

while lookin' for an openin' to put over the knockout blow. If the old _Maggie_ holds together till we're within a cable's length o' that schooner an' we ain't all killed by that time, I bet I'll make them skunks sing soft an' low.”

”How?” Captain Scraggs chattered.

”With muzzle bursts,” Mr. Gibney replied. ”I'll set my fuse at zero an' at point-blank range I'll just rake everything off that schooner's decks. Guess I'll get half a dozen cartridges set an'

ready for the big scene. Up with you, Admiral Scraggs, an' hold the fuse setter steady.”

”I'm agin war,” Scraggs quavered. ”Gib, it's sure h.e.l.l.”

”Rats! It's invigouratin', Scraggsy. There ain't nothin' wrong with war, Scraggsy, unless you happen to get killed. Then it's like cholera. You can cure every case except the first one.”

They had come inside the minimum range of the Mexican's long gun now, so that only the one-pounders continued to peck at the _Maggie_. Evidently the Mexican was as eager to get to close quarters as Mr. Gibney, for he held steadily on his course.

”Well, it's time to put over the big stuff,” Mr. Gibney remarked presently. ”Here's hopin' they don't pot me with rifle fire while I'm extendin' my compliments.”

As the first muzzle burst raked the Mexican Captain Scraggs saw that most of the terrible blast of lead had gone too high.

Nevertheless, it was effective, for to a man the crews of the one-pounders deserted their posts and tumbled below; seeing which the individual in command lost his nerve. He was satisfied now that the infernal _Maggie_ purposed ramming him; he had marvelled that the filibuster should use shrapnel, after she had ranged with sh.e.l.l (he did not know it was percussion shrapnel) and in sudden panic he decided that the _Maggie_, mortally wounded, purposed getting close enough to sink him with sh.e.l.l-fire if she failed to ram him; whereupon the yellow streak came through and he waved his arms frantically above his head in token of surrender.

”She's hauled down her rag,” shrieked Scraggs. ”Be merciful, Gib.

There's men dyin' on that boat.”

”Lay alongside that craft,” Mr. Gibney shouted to the helmsman.

The schooner had hove to and when the _Maggie_ also hove to some thirty yards to windward of her Mr. Gibney informed the Mexican, in atrocious Spanish well mixed with English, that if the latter so much as lifted his little finger he might expect to be sunk like a dog. ”Down below, everybody but the helmsman, or I'll sweep your decks with another muzzle burst,” he thundered.

The Mexican obeyed and Captain Scraggs went up in the pilot house and laid the terribly battered _Maggie_ alongside the schooner.

The instant she touched, Mr. Gibney sprang aboard, quickly followed by Captain Scraggs, who had relinquished the helm to his first mate.

Suddenly Captain Scraggs shouted, ”Look, Gib, for the love of the Lord, look!” and pointed with his finger. At the head of the little iron-railed companion way leading down into the engine room a man was standing. He had a monkey wrench in one hand and a greasy rag in the other.

Mr. Gibney turned and looked at the man.

”McGuffey, for a thousand,” he bellowed, and ran forward with outstretched hand. Captain Scraggs was at Gibney's heels, and between them they came very nearly dislocating Bartholomew McGuffey's arm.

”McGuffey, my _dear_ boy,” said Captain Scraggs. ”Whatever are you a-doin' on this heathen wars.h.i.+p?”

”Me!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. McGuffey, with his old-time deliberation.

”Why, I'm the chief engineer of this craft. I had a good job, too, but I guess it's all off now, and the Mexican Government'll fire me. Say, who chucked that buckshot down into my engine room?”

”Admiral Gibney did it,” said Scraggs. ”The old _Maggie's_ alongside and me and Gib's filibusters. Bear a hand, Mac, and help us clap the hatches on our prisoners.”

”Thank G.o.d,” said Mr. Gibney piously, ”I didn't kill you. Come to look into the matter, I didn't kill anybody, though I see half a dozen Mexicans around decks more or less cut up. Where you been all these years, Mac?”

”I been chief engineer in the Mexican navy,” replied McGuffey.

”Have you captured us in the name of the United States or what?”