The rough sailor scratched his head.
“Well, maybe you’re telling the truth,” he grunted. “But, dang me, if I can get the hang of it. You might belong to any country almost by the cut of your jib; you say you’ve fixed things up with the blessed Japs, and you’re running a cargo of coal for the blessed Rooshians. It’s queer, mortal queer, that’s all I can say. Howsomdever——”
I took out a flask of three-star brandy, and passed it to the doubting mariner.
He put it first to his nose, then to his lips.
“Ah! Nothing wrong about that, Mister,” he pronounced, as he handed back the flask.
“It’s a fifty-pound job for yourself, no matter what becomes of the cargo,” I insinuated.
The worthy seaman’s manner underwent a magic change.
“Port your helm!” he yelled out suddenly and sharply to the man at the wheel. “Keep her steady nor’-east by nor’, and a point nor’. Full steam ahead! All lights out! And if one of you lubbers so much as winks an eyelid, by George, I’ll heave him overboard!”
The crew, who had shown a good many signs of uneasiness since my coming over the side, seemed to think this last hint worth attending to. They slunk forward to their duties, leaving the captain and myself to pace the quarter-deck alone.
We steamed swiftly through the darkness till we began to see the search-lights of the Japanese fleet like small white feathers fluttering on the horizon.