"Is anybody else near here?"
"No," and Peterson took a careful look around.
"Supposing we seize the ship—in the name of the Russian Government? They have a Japanese cargo on board, the captain cannot deny it. We can take the ship, sail her to some Russian port, and win both prize money and glory. Is it not a grand scheme?"
"Ha, that is fine!" Carl Peterson's eyes glowed voraciously. "Ostag, you are a man after my own heart! We might become rich!"
"Then you like the plan?"
"Yes—providing we can make it work. But it is a big undertaking. If we were caught we might swing from a yardarm for it."
"We can make it work—I have another plan for that. I have thought it out completely. We can—but more later," and Ostag Semmel broke off abruptly, as several sailors entered the forecastle. A little later he began to complain in broken English to a sailor named Jack Wilbur that he was suffering from a severe stomach ache.
"Sorry to hear on it," said Wilbur, who was a very mild foremast hand. "Anything I can do for you?"
"I dink not," answered Semmel. "I dink de poor grub ve git mak me feel pad."
"Didn't notice that the grub was poor," answered Wilbur.