“No, I have not seen him,” said the skipper. “He must have gone on shore again. I cannot understand it. I do not know the man,” he added. “I wrote him to get me six men, and told him I would sign them on board. I heard him come alongside with you, but when I came out of the cabin I saw no boat alongside, and we got under weigh at once.”
“Thank you, captain,” said the Swede, “Slagan and I will meet again some day.”
“Halloa, halloa, there! What’s all this row about?” sang out from the forecastle accompanied by a heavy thumping.
The mate started to ran forward, and all hands turned to behold a remarkable sight.
Out of the forecastle bolted three men. Casting their eyes in the direction of the land, they rushed aft, passed the seamen, and were about to mount the poop-ladder, when the mate barred the way.
“Get down out of this, you skunks!” he roared, “who are you fellows, and where do you come from?”
“You know jolly well who I am,” roared the biggest of the three, “and you had better land us as quick as you can, or it will be a bad job for you, so I tell you.”
The mate looked at him in silence for a moment, then the skipper chimed in.
“Who the deuce are you?” demanded Captain Monk, “and what are you doing aboard my ship?”
“What are you trying to get at, captain?” cried the crimp furiously. “You know very well who I am; I’m Dan Slagan. I brought you six men last night, and when we took them into the forecastle——”