Sam’s feet hit the icy rail, and away he went, skating half the length of her quarter and coming down—bam! on the seat of his oilskins.
“Hurt you, Sammie?” came sympathetic voices from the deck of the Buccaneer.
“Never jarred me,” affirmed Sam, and waved his hand at the discomfited master of the tugboat.
“Yes,” commented Crump, looking over to the tug, “that does for his salvage. And now I’ll put her alongside, Sammie, and we’ll try your dory-taykle scheme.”
When Crump had his tackles rigged he called out: “I’ll hoist the men up and let ’em drop aboard. Only you run an end of a halyard from the bark, Sammie, to haul ’em well inboard.”
“And tell ’em what I said about not missing, Skipper.”
“I’ll give ’em written instructions,” said Crump to that.
“Just like putting fish out on the dock, ain’t it?” hallooed the first man, while he was still in the air. Down he came—plump! and his teeth rattled when he hit the upheaving deck.
“Hurry up, a few more of you, and help to put out the fire here—this no place for jokes.”
When he had seven men, Sam waved an arm to Crump. “No more, no more, Skipper.”