He was almost in a state of collapse.
Benson looked at the man, and in the faint light of far-off day still below the horizon the boat's crew saw him wink.
"We'll vote on it, if you owns up. What d'ye say, chaps?"
"Aye, we'll vote," said the men. "Say, did you do it?"
But Smith saw how the voting would go, and refused to speak. They heard six bells come across the water from many ships. And then they heard seven. There was a grey glint in the east. The sand-dunes on the verge of the Ocean Park whitened as they pulled for the Harvester. They heard the clank of her windlass brakes and the bull voice of her mate, as he encouraged his men to do their best by threatening them with three months of hell afloat.
Smith offered Benson two thousand dollars.
"I wouldn't part with you except to Sant for all you ever robbed men of," said Benson—"and what that is, on'y you knows. Pull, boys; her cable's up and down. No, hold on a moment; he must be wet, of course."
In spite of his struggles they put him over the side and soused him thoroughly. When they pulled him on board again, he sat cursing.
"Now, boys, bend your backs."
And when he came up alongside the Harvester she was just moving under the draught of her loosed topsails.