"Me neither. Let's get up in the bow."
So, treading very softly, they made their way to the bow and crouched there as comfortably as possible. Hardly fifteen minutes had passed when there came a tramp of feet from the wharf, and a confused murmur of voices. Looking down the deck, by the gangway light the two boys could see Captain Hollinger and "Liverpool" Peters waiting. Swanson had disappeared, as it was his watch below.
The noise of feet swelled up into a steady stamping; then, as Mart and Bob got to the rail and looked over, they made out the figures of eight or ten men in the dim glow from the gangway. But, to their great disappointment, there was no fight whatever, and neither did any of the new arrivals seem to be intoxicated. Instead, all halted at sight of the two waiting officers, and the boys saw the stoop-shouldered Jerry Smith come forward and touch his hat.
"We've come aboard, sir, all shipshape and Bristol fashion."
"Very good, quartermaster," replied Captain Hollinger briskly. "Mr. Peters, if you'll see that these men sign articles, we'll be off at the turn of the tide. I'd better come with you, while you send someone after Mr. Swanson. We'll want all hands—"
"On deck, sir," came the voice of Swanson, and Mart looked aft to see the burly mate come to the gangway. Captain Hollinger nodded and led the way below, followed by the first mate and the crew, all of whom seemed to be decent-looking fellows, and far from what Swanson had so gloomily predicted. But, as they vanished, the boys saw the stoop-shouldered figure of Jerry Smith stop abruptly by the gangway; then came Swanson's voice once more, aggressive and heavy.
"Look a-here, Shark Smith! I don't know what your game is aboard this craft, but you lay a fair course or I'll trim you. Savvy that? This ain't the old Coralie, not by a long shot. I'm workin' honest now, an' you ain't goin' to get me from behind neither, like you got poor Bucko Tom!"
Mart, watching in wild astonishment, saw old Jerry crouch abjectly. Then with the mate's final words the old man straightened up as if in accusation. His white hair shone dimly in the light.
"You're right, Joe Swanson, you're right!" he said in his quiet voice, that carried clearly and distinctly to the boys at the forward rail. "But if it was me as got Bucko Tom, who was it got the officers o' the Melbourne, eh? No, no, Joe Swanson! I'm a new man now, and let's forget the past. Fish tell no tales, Joe; fish tell no tales. I'm an old man, but I'm quartermaster o' this packet. I'm an old man, but I'm a new man inside—"
And turning abruptly, muttering as if he was actually out of his head, old Jerry Smith shuffled to the companionway and vanished. For a moment Swanson stared after him as if in surprise, then Mart felt his chum's hand on his arm.