The two vessels drew close together. Jack had the destroyer's launch lowered, climbed in and crossed to the Ventura, where a ladder was lowered for him. On deck he was greeted by a grizzled old sailor, who introduced himself as Captain Griswold.
"Come to my cabin, sir," he said to Jack. "We can talk there without being interrupted."
Jack followed the captain of the Ventura below, and took a seat the latter motioned him to. The captain set out liquor and cigars, but Jack waved them away.
"I neither smoke nor drink, thanks," he said.
Captain Griswold shrugged his shoulders and put a match to a cigar.
"Well, what can I do for you, Captain?" he asked.
"First," said Jack, "did you get the number of the submarine?"
"I did. The U-87, Commander Frederich, the captain styled himself; and if there ever was a murderer unhung, he's the man."
"Why?" asked Jack curiously.
"Because he proposed setting my passengers and crew adrift in small boats, without water or provisions, before sinking my ship. And when I told him that I had him figured correctly—that he intended to shell the lifeboats—the cold-blooded scoundrel admitted it! That's why we had the nerve to jump him on deck. I figured we might as well die on the Ventura as in the lifeboats—and we had a chance of taking him to Davy Jones' locker along with us."