"She's coming in; I think I know the hooker," the captain remarked. "Shallow-draught, coasting tank; goes anywhere she'll float for twenty tons of freight. The skipper, no doubt, expects Montgomery's got a few hogsheads of oil, and it's possible he'll sell us some coal. The parcels-vanners are pretty keen to trade."
"We want coal," said Lister and turned abruptly.
The pump jarred and stopped, the swollen suction pipe shrank, and the splash of the discharge died away. For some time Lister was occupied and when he restarted the engine and looked about again the steamer was steering for the hulk. She was a small vessel, going light, with much of her rusty side above water. A big surf-boat hung, ready for lowering, at her rail and a wooden awning covered her bridge-deck. When the throb of her engines slackened two or three white men leaned over her bulwarks and looked down at the hulk with languid curiosity. Their faces were haggard and their poses slack. The stamp of the fever-coast was plain.
The telegraph rang, the engines stopped, and a man on the bridge shouted: "Good morning! You have taken on an awkward job!"
His voice was hollow and strained, and by contrast Brown's sounded full and hearty.
"We're getting ahead all the same. Where are you for?"
"Sar Leone, after we call at Montgomery's."
"Then you can fill your bunkers, and our coal's getting short. Can you sell us some?"
The other asked how much Brown wanted and how much he would pay. Then he beckoned a man on the deck to come up, and turned to Brown again.
"We might give you two or three surf-boat loads, but I'll see you when we come back. We must get up the creek and moor her before the tide ebbs."