“I did,” replied the skipper promptly. “What of that?”
“What of that?” repeated the old engineer, dumbfounded by this return shot. “Why, sir, the engines can’t stand it. That is all, if you must have it!”
“Can’t stand what?”
“They can’t stand all this driving and racing, with the propeller blades half out of water every second revolution of the shaft. No engines could stand it, with such a heavy sea on and the ship rolling and pitching all the time like a merry-go-round at Barnet Fair. The governor is no good; and, though Grummet or Links have their grip on the throttle valve all the while to check the steam, and I’ve every stoker and oiler on duty, the bearings are getting that heated that I’m afraid of the shaft breaking at any moment. Full speed, sir? Why, we can’t do it, sir, we can’t do it!”
“Nonsense, Stokes,” said the skipper good-humouredly. “You must do it, old fellow.”
“But, I tell you, Cap’en Applegarth, the engines can’t stand it without breaking down, and then where will you be, I’d like to know?”
“I’ll risk that.”
“No, cap’en,” snorted the old chief, doggedly. “I’m responsible to the owners for the engines, and if anything happened to the machinery they’d blame me. I can’t do it.”
The skipper flew up to white heat at this.
“But, Mr Stokes, recollect I am responsible for the ship, engines and all, sir. The greater includes the less, and, as captain of this ship, I intend to have my orders carried out by every man-jack on board. Do you hear that?”