This was only the beginning. The blubber-room was never entirely empty, and during the next three weeks four hundred barrels of oil were added to those in the hold. Of course the labor was severe, the crew being small, but the men had plenty to eat, were kindly treated and the amount of work they turned off was surprising. Calamity kept the captain posted in all that was going on, and he growled lustily—being an old sailor he couldn't help it—and wondered why he had not been blessed with such luck, and why the crew had not worked as well for him as they did for the new captain.
One bright morning, following a hard night's work at trying-out, while Frank was leaning over a water-bucket, rubbing his hands and face with a piece of hard soap, the man at the mast-head announced that there was a sail in sight, and in response to the usual inquiry, added: "Broad off the wheather beam. Topsail schooner. Sets low in the water and spreads lots of canvas."
"Do you hear that, Lucas?" cried Frank, gazing about through eyes that were almost hidden in soap suds. "Jump up there, quick!"
The latter cleared his eyes by the aid of a piece of canvas that served him for a towel, and watched the movements of the old boatswain's mate as he hurried aloft. He saw him level his glass, hold it to his eye for a moment and then begin to scramble down again. That was enough for Frank. "Mr. Gale," said he, so delighted and excited, that he could hardly stand still, "my connection with the Tycoon is nearly ended now. My friends are close by."
"I am glad for your sake, sir, and sorry for my own," replied the mate. "We've had a pleasant ship and the best of luck since you've been on the quarter-deck."
"And I have been very well contented," said Frank; "but I wasn't while I was in the forecastle, I tell you. It isn't often that a shanghaied man becomes master of the ship that runs away with him, is it?"
"I never heard the like before, sir."
"And probably you never will again. Well, Lucas!"