Three men on the steamer, from inside the chart-house, watched the boats go away; and one of them, the donkeyman, was wondering what kind of fool to call himself for being left.
CHAPTER XIII.
THREE FOR TWENTY-SEVEN.
“Now, my lads,” said Kettle, “you’ve got to hump yourselves, or we’ll have the steamer swamping beneath us. It’ll be touch and go, anyway. Mr. Onslow, you will have the deck all to yourself—after you’ve done your job on the forehold, of course; and you’d better jump lively after that at once. Every gill of water tells now, and it strikes me if we get very much more of the Mexican Gulf on board the decks will blow up, and she’ll go down like kentledge ballast.”
Onslow darted away through the doorway.
“And now, Mister Sullivan, understand that although I still continue to rate as skipper of this craft, for the present I’m going to work as fireman and coal-trimmer. You will be chief engineer; and I’m the sum total of your crew; and between us we’ve got to do the work of seven horses and one mule. Are the bilge-pumps clear?”
“Yes, sor.”
“And has she still a good head of steam?”
“She has. None’s been blown off.”