It did not take over ten minutes for the crew to select the men who were to command them. They had evidently made up their minds just whom they wanted, and each one proposed was accepted by acclamation. O'Brien was chosen captain; no one could do better than he did in the fight with the schooner, and the men were sure that he could do equally well in a contest with another vessel. Zeke was chosen first mate, Zeb Short second, and Wheaton, who did not know the first thing about a ship, was appointed captain's steward.
"What will I have to do?" asked Wheaton; whereupon all the crew broke out into a hearty laugh.
"You will have to see that I get enough to eat," said the captain. "I will wager that I do not go hungry while you are in office."
"Well, if it is all the same to you, Captain, I won't take it," said Wheaton. "Let me be a foremast hand. I shipped to fight——"
"You will have all the fighting you want to do as steward," said Captain O'Brien. "Everybody will be on deck then."
After a little more argument Wheaton was induced to take the position, and the election of officers went on. The last one that was chosen was the man who had fed Enoch while he was a prisoner in the brig; Ezra Norton was his name, and he was told to look out for the ammunition. He had served on board the schooner and knew pretty nearly where to go to find the charges for the guns. After that the crew were divided into watches, and in obedience to Zeke's order: "All you starbo'lins below!" went down to their bunks to sleep until twelve o'clock.
Just at daylight the next morning—it was Enoch's watch on deck now—there was great commotion on the schooner, for the lookout who was sitting on the cross-trees shouted down two words that sent a thrill to every heart. It did not create a hubbub or take the form of words, but it set them to scanning the horizon and exchanging whisperings with one another—
"Sail ho!"
"Where away?" shouted Zeke, who happened to be the only officer on deck.
"Straight ahead," was the answer.