Denman politely bowed his acknowledgments, and asked the ratings of the searchlight men.
"Wireless operators," they answered.
"You seem well-equipped and well-chosen men," he said, "to run this boat, and to lead the government a lively dance for a while. But until the end comes, I hope we will get on together without friction."
In the absence of the masterful Jenkins, they made embarrassed replies—all but Forsythe, who remained silent. For no sudden upheaval and reversing of relations will eliminate the enlisted man's respect for an officer.
Daylight had come, and Jenkins, having cleared the last of the buoys, called down the men at the searchlights.
"You're wireless sharps, aren't you?" he asked. "Go down to the apparatus, and see if you can pick up any messages. The whole coast must be aroused."
The two obeyed him, and went in search of the wireless room. Soon one returned. "The air's full o' talk," he said. "Casey's at the receiver, still listening, but I made out only a few words like 'Charleston,' 'Brooklyn,' 'jail,' 'pirates,' 'Pensacola,' and one phrasing 'Send in pursuit.'"
"The open sea for us," said Jenkins, grimly, "until we can think out a plan. Send one of those sogers to the wheel."
A "soger"—one who, so far, had done no work—relieved him, and he mustered his men, all but two in the engine room, to a council amidships. Briefly he stated the situation, as hinted at by Denman and verified by the wireless messages. Every nation in the world would send its cruisers after them, and no civilized country would receive them.
There was but one thing to do under the circumstances—make for the wild coast of Africa, destroy the boat, and land, each man to work out his future as he could.