“But, you fool, they’ll up steam and be after us before we’ve got half-way there.”
“Not they,” replied the strategist, “you wait an’ see. You keep your eye on the old Oskosh and you’ll see somethin’ funny in a minute.”
He ceased rowing, so did Davis, and the boat rocked on the swell, then, as he got the mast stepped and the sail shaken out, Davis, whose eyes were fixed on the far-off ship, gave an exclamation of surprise.
“Why, she’s lying awfully low in the water.”
“Yes,” said Harman quite simply. “I’ve opened the sea-cocks.”
“You’ve what?” cried the other.
“Opened the sea-cocks when I went below. The Chinks haven’t twigged yet that she’s sinkin’, she’s goin’ peaceful as a dyin’ Christian. Look”—a column of steam was rising from the funnel of the sinking ship—“they’ve twigged it now, but they don’t know what’s sinkin’ her, and if they did they haven’t enough sense to know what to do. B’sides, it’s too late. Look, they’re gettin’ out the boats; now help me to dump these durned cases and bring the sheet aft.”
Davis did as he was told, then as the boat lay over, making a long board for Levisca, he suddenly leant forward towards Harman, his face injected with blood.
“You’ve done it, haven’t you?” shouted Davis.
“Yes, b’gosh I have,” said Harman complacently, his eyes fixed on the Oskosh sinking by the head and with her stem high in the air.