The Claverhouse had nearly completed loading, and the kindly emissaries of her captain had reported nothing of a disturbing character, until one morning a steamer came in and was moored alongside the Claverhouse. Yaunie was the pilot, and after completing his work he went aboard the Claverhouse and asked to see the captain.
"He is not astir yet," said the steward.
"I must speak with him at once," said Yaunie.
The captain, overhearing the conversation, called out, "All right, come to my room."
"Well, Yaunie, what news this morning?" asked the captain.
"Ah, it is very bad news," replied Yaunie. "That fool Farquarson," pointing to where the other steamer lay, "speaks all the time about what happened when you went from the port without permission. He say that he was aboard the gunboat asking for a torpedo channel-pilot, and that he could not get one because they were firing at you all the time. They asked him the name of the steamer, but he told some other. I say to him he was wrong, but he say no; and he will jabb, as you call it."
"Well, Yaunie, what's to be done? What is the remedy?"
"What's to be done—I don' know what you call the other. I say, get the steamer loaded quick and away. I don' tink trouble, but O Chresto! his tong go like steam-winch, and you much better Black Sea dan here."
"Very excellent advice, Yaunie. Now let us go on deck."
A sudden inspiration came to the captain, which caused him to exclaim—