“When do we get our next grub, sir?” Nosey Murphy asked, as the steward served the supplies down to him from the poop.
“At midday,” I answered. “And as long as you and your gang are good, you’ll get your grub three times each day. You can choose your own watches any way you please. But the ship’s work must be done, and done properly. If it isn’t, then the grub stops. That will do. Now go for’ard.”
“One thing more, sir,” he said quickly. “Bert Rhine is awful bad. He can’t see, sir. It looks like he’s going to lose his face. He can’t sleep. He groans all the time.”
* * * * *
It was a busy day. I made a selection of things from the medicine-chest for the acid-burned gangster; and, finding that Murphy knew how to manipulate a hypodermic syringe, entrusted him with one.
Then, too, I practised with the sextant and think I fairly caught the sun at noon and correctly worked up the observation. But this is latitude, and is comparatively easy. Longitude is more difficult. But I am reading up on it.
All afternoon a gentle northerly fan of air snored the Elsinore through the water at a five-knot clip, and our course lay east for land, for the habitations of men, for the law and order that men institute whenever they organize into groups. Once in Valparaiso, with police flag flying, our mutineers will be taken care of by the shore authorities.
Another thing I did was to rearrange our watches aft so as to split up the three storm-visitors. Margaret took one in her watch, along with the two sail-makers, Tom Spink, and Louis. Louis is half white, and all trustworthy, so that, at all times, on deck or below, he is told off to the task of never letting the topaz-eyed one out of his sight.
In my watch are the steward, Buckwheat, Wada, and the other two topaz-eyed ones. And to one of them Wada is told off; and to the other is assigned the steward. We are not taking any chances. Always, night and day, on duty or off, these storm-strangers will have one of our proved men watching them.
* * * * *