"A damn sight!" agreed Jack.
"Jack," said Fetuao, "I go home now, and never see you no more. Good-by, Jack!"
She raised her little hand, which the sailor clasped in his big one. Her tender, troubled eyes met his own; her mouth quivered; her fingers tightened on his palm.
"Jack," she said suddenly, "you come along us, Jack."
"Do you mean it, puss?" he said eagerly. "Do you mean it?"
"Oh, Jack, you come, too," she pleaded.
"You come—that's good!" cried the old chief.
Jack, in a dream, looked above him and met the sour glances of Hansen and Bates, whom the noise had brought to the ship's rail; then he looked below into the girlish face upraised to his. For better or worse, his resolution was taken. They might keep his chest; they might keep his wages; their stinking ship might sink or swim for all he cared. They were welcome to what Jack Wilson left behind him, for Jack Wilson at last was FREE! He dropped lightly into the boat beside Fetuao, and with one arm around her naked waist he shouted to the natives to shove off.
"Fo'e!" cried the chief, and the paddles moved again.
Above their heads the astounded captain clutched the arm of the astounded mate, and pointed wildly after the deserter.