"A Yankee ship's gone down the river,
Her masts and yards they shine like silver.
How d'you know she's a Yankee clipper?
By the Stars and Stripes that fly above her.
And who d'you think is captain of her?
One-eyed Kelly, the Bowery runner.
And what d'you think they had for dinner?
Belaying-pin soup and monkey's liver."
There was a chorus between each line of "Blow boys, bully boys blow," which the others took up and yelled at the tops of their voices. In fact, the men were in such high spirits that, on the smallest provocation, they would have raised three cheers for the skipper—but the provocation was not given.
Calamity paced up and down the bridge, grim and taciturn as ever, his hands buried in the pockets of his monkey jacket. About a cable's length astern was the Satellite, with Mr. Dykes lolling on the bridge and making mental calculations as to the number of dollars that would fall to his share when the final settlement was made. Like their comrades on the Hawk, the crew was busy making the ship spick and span, nor were their anticipations less cheerful. Even the prisoners on both vessels were perking up at the prospect of being released from the hot and stifling quarters where they had spent so many weary days.
Perhaps the only gloomy members of the expedition were the Captain himself and Dora Fletcher. The latter was sitting in her cabin gazing thoughtfully out of the open port. Since that evening when Calamity had asked her to marry him and she had refused, he had not mentioned the subject again; his manner, indeed, seemed to indicate that he had dismissed the matter from his mind. With feminine inconsistency she now fervently wished that Smith had never told her the secret of the Captain's identity, for then everything would have been quite simple. Yet she tried to comfort herself with the thought that it was better as it was, better that she should know the truth before it was too late and she found herself faced by a situation with which, she assured herself, she was totally unfitted to grapple. Involuntarily the girl sighed. So this was to be the end of her one and only romance. Rightly or wrongly, she had rejected the love she desired above all else and the one man with whom she would have gladly mated.
Meanwhile the Hawk and her consort were drawing nearer to Singapore, and presently, in answer to a signal, a pilot-boat approached, and, standing off, lowered a boat which quickly came alongside the yacht. The pilot, a grizzled, weather-beaten man, scrambled out of the stern-sheets and climbed on board.
"Well I'm jiggered!" he exclaimed as the Captain stepped forward to greet him, "if it ain't Calamity."
"The same, Abott," answered the latter as they shook hands, for this was not the first time by a good many that the pilot had taken him into Singapore.
"But, bless my soul, skipper, this is the hooker that you wafted out of Singapore."
"It is," answered Calamity. "But come along to my cabin and have a drink, Abott. I'd like to have a little pow-wow with you."
Nothing loth, the pilot accompanied him to the cabin, where Calamity, after carefully locking the door, brought out a bottle and some glasses from a cupboard.