"Yes, sir," said the new mate.
"Is that lumber over the side yet?"
"Quick, for Gawd's sake," said Simpkins, and the reluctant men of science commenced sliding the boards over.
"It's going, sir," answered Simpkins.
"Goin'!" said Prowse, when he got his hands on the after poop rail. "Goin'! I should say so! What a crowd! Oh, you miserable things, I'll shape you; I'll get you into condition; I'll make sailors of you. Get two of these hoosiers on to the pumps and see if she's leakin' very bad, and then we'll make sail. This 'ere Kamma Funder won't make a quick passage, but by the time we're picked up, or sail 'er 'ome, I'll make you chaps fit to ship in the worst Cape Horner that ever sailed."
He turned away, but stopped.
"And when the deck's clear, Simpkins, you can let 'em eat what they can get. There's plenty of biscuit, but mighty little else. Now then, you Stars, pump!"
And the astronomer and entomologist pumped for their lives, while the sea round about the waterlogged barque was whitening rapidly with many thousand feet of Nova Scotian lumber. For when the captain was out of sight, Simpkins was encouraging, and talked what he told them was "horse" sense.
"You wants to get back 'ome to your families, don't you," he asked, "and to your instruments and your usual ways of livin'? Why, of course you does. Then buck up, and pitch in, and learn to do your dooty. I'm not a hard man. I can make allowances. I know you didn't ship to do this. But it's your luck, and you must. Now then, that'll do the deck. Just lay into this pump all of you, and I'll sound 'er again."
And as good luck would have it, there soon appeared some reason for hoping that the leaks in the Kamma Funder had closed.