“Right, capen,” said Sam, “but—”
“Well, what?” said the Cuban, looking sharply round as if in search of danger; but the shore was on every side verdant and beautiful, the sea calm and bright, and nothing to show the horrors of the ship but a few spots of blood upon the white deck.
“I was on’y going to say as if I was skipper I should put off the start till the morning.”
“Why?” said the Cuban, looking at him searchingly.
“The sun’ll be down afore we could work out of this snug place so as to ketch the breeze, and there’s a rock there, and a rock there, and a couple more to starboard, and three off yonder to port. I shouldn’t like to take off a bit of the schooner’s keel, or poke a hole in her bottom, with all that silver aboard. A man likes to obey orders, capen: but when he’s got a stake in the safe running of the cargo, it makes him partickler like.”
“You’re right,” said the Cuban. “At daybreak, then.”
“Daybreak it is,” said Sam, giving his trousers a hitch; and taking out a little silver pipe, he blew a shrill note. “All hands ahoy!” he roared, and as the men collected, he set to work clearing away the lumber, coiling ropes ship-shape, hoisted a boat that had been down over the side, and then altered his mind and had it lowered again. “We shall want it for towing her head round in the morning,” he said, and so busied himself so as to have everything well forward, while the Cuban looked on with an approving eye.
“You shan’t be forgotten for all this, Sam Oakum,” he said.
“Thankye, capen, thankye,” said Sam, as the Cuban walked forward, and the old sailor filled a pipe for an extra luxury, just as it was getting dark.
“Here, you black-faced son of a coal-hole, give’s a light,” cried Sam, loudly, as he went to the galley where ’Pollo was busy preparing tea for all on board.