Austin drew the lanyard, and when the ensign blew out on the hot air Union down, the mailboat stopped, and, considering that they were steamboat men, her crew had a white gig over in a very creditable time. She came flying towards the Cumbria with four negroes at the oars, and when she slid alongside a young mate in trim white uniform came up a rope.
"You might have slung me the ladder down," he said, gazing about him in blank astonishment. "Paint is evidently scarce where you come from. I've seen smarter craft in a wrecker's yard. Still, I can't stop here talking. What do you want?"
"A doctor, for one thing," said Austin, to gain time.
"We have half the crew down in the forecastle."
The mate walked to the rails and shouted to his boat-boys, while, when the gig slid away, he pointed up at the drooping flags as he turned to Austin.
"I suppose it's artistic, the colouring, I mean," he said.
"Still, it's a trifle difficult to make out by either code." Austin laughed. "Come into my room and have a drink. There are one or two things I want to ask you."
Five minutes later he spread a mildewed chart on the table as they sat with a bottle of Jacinta's wine before them.
"Now," he said, "if you will tell me exactly where we are, I'd be much obliged to you."
"You don't know?" and the mate looked at him curiously.