By the time the hatches had all been closed and securely fastened, the captain came up out of his cabin, where he had been busy with his chart. A few rapid orders, which Guy, as usual, failed to comprehend, were issued, and the ship stood off on another course.
“The old man isn’t letting grass grow under his feet,” said Flint to Guy, as he came down out of the top. “He’s going to get rid of them fellows.”
“What is he going to do with them?” asked Guy.
“He’s going to put ’em ashore. We’re heading for some port now.”
“Are we?” exclaimed Guy, highly delighted at this piece of news. “I wish we were there now,” he added, sinking his voice to a whisper, and looking all about to make sure that there was no one within hearing. “You wouldn’t see me in half an hour from this time. I am going to desert.”
“And I don’t blame you,” said Flint.
“You will go with me, won’t you?”
“What are you going to do?” asked the sailor; “find another ship?”
“No, sir,” said Guy emphatically. “If I ever put my foot on the deck of another vessel as a foremast hand, I hope she will go to the bottom with me. I am going to stay ashore; you may depend upon that.”
“Then I don’t see what good it will do me to go with you, Jack. I’d have to ship again at once, for I’ve got no money, and I couldn’t find any work to do ashore, not being a landsman. I might as well stay here. Now that I know we’ve got no ghosts aboard I shall like the Santa Maria as well as any other ship.”