The Missus espied a Kanaka sprawled in the waist; half-leaning against the try-works, he was asleep in the westerning sun. She strode to him and aroused him with a sturdy kick in the ribs.
"Do your sleepin' daown below, ye scouse!" she roared. "This is no berth-deck. Yeou, Corny! Who went in Mr. Mendez' boat when he took the Cap'n ashore?"
"Six of the Kanakas, ma'am," responded the black boat-steerer.
"Hm! Then they'll not run off. All ready for sea, Mr. Leman?"
"All ready, ma'am."
"The minute yeou sight that boat, break aout the signal for the tug. When the boat comes alongside, yeou tell the cap'n that we've been ordered to shift anchorage. That'll keep the girl and her fool husband quiet, I reckon!"
"Yes, ma'am. And then?"
"Cast off the tug aoutside the Lion's Gate an' lay a course for Unalaska."
"But, ma'am—how about Frenchy? We ain't got no cook 'cept him!" Mr. Leman rubbed his fringe of whiskers in evident perturbation over putting to sea without a cook. "You know, ma'am, Boatswain Joe wired about him gettin' left behind."
"Never mind 'baout Dumont." Mrs. Pontifex's lips set in a grim line. "He's got his orders, and I wired money to him. He'll go to Unalaska by steamer and wait there until we put in."