“Thank you, Harry, for affording me this very important item of information,” said I. “You are a good sort of fellow, and you may depend upon it that I will not forget the service you have done me. And so that scoundrel Dirk would leave the lady and me to drown, would he, after all that I have done for him? Very well! Now, Harry, neither Miss Onslow nor I will be left aboard here to drown, you may take your oath of that. It is clear to me, now, that it must be war to the death between the forecastle and the cabin, and I shall take my measures accordingly. The question is: Which side—cabin or forecastle—do you intend to be on? If you choose to join me, I will do what I can for you; and if you elect to throw in your lot with those murderers for’ard, I will still bear you in mind, so far as I can, consistently with the lady’s and my own safety.”
“Thank’ee, sir,” answered the fellow. “If I might make so bold, sir, what do you intend to do?”
“That,” said I, “I can only tell you in the event of your coming over on my side.”
“Very well, sir,” returned he, “I’ll think it over while you’re tikin’ a rest, and let you know when you come on deck agine.”
And therewith I went below and, flinging myself into my bunk, at once fell into a profound and dreamless sleep that lasted until I was awakened by the discordant clank of the pumps, about four bells in the forenoon watch, when I found Miss Onslow patiently awaiting me in the cabin, with another hot meal all ready for my delectation.
It was apparent to me, immediately upon awaking, that the gale had broken; and when I went on deck I found that the sky had cleared to windward, showing here and there fast—widening patches of blue sky, while the wind had already dropped to the strength of a strong breeze; the sea, however, showed little diminution of height, although it was no longer so steep, nor was it now breaking dangerously; but the brig was rolling as furiously and more sluggishly than ever; and the clear water that gushed from the pumps told a tale that there was no mistaking. I noticed that five men were now working at the pumps—the cook and steward being two of them—and all hands were growling together, and cursing both loud and deep as they toiled at the brakes.
“Well, lads,” said I, approaching them, “what is the news from the pumps? Is there any hope of getting them to suck?”
“Suck?” exclaimed one of them, in tones of ineffable disgust. “No, they’ll never suck no more in this world. There’s up’ards o’ three feet o’ water in the hooker, now, and she’s gainin’ on us at the rate o’ two inches an hour while we pumps at her. She’s bound to the bottom, she is; and I only hopes she’ll keep afloat long enough to let us get the boats afloat without smashin’ of ’em to smithereens alongside. Whereabouts is the nearest land, mister; and how fur off is it?”
“Ask me after I have taken my sights at noon—it looks as though I shall be able to get the sun to-day—and I will tell you,” said I. Then, finding the men sulky, and quite tired of listening to their curses, I went aft and relieved the wheel, remaining there until about a quarter of an hour to midday, when, the sky having cleared, I sang out for somebody to relieve me while I “shot the sun.” It was Harry who came at my call; and as he took over the wheel he remarked, just loud enough for me to hear, and staring away to windward as he spoke:
“I’ve made up my mind, sir; I’m with you and the lidy. I ain’t agoin’ to have no more truck with them other chaps; they’re no better than murderers; they’ve mide up their minds to leave you and the lidy aboard; and there’s no movin’ of ’em from that.”