“I don’t know,” Grant answered evasively.
“He bettah not. He bettah not,” said Sam fiercely. “We’s had enough hard luck on account ob dat man already.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” said Grant trying to quiet the excited negro.
“It was! It was!” Sam fairly shouted, at the same time trying to stand up in the skiff.
“Sit down, Sam,” ordered Fred sharply.
“Ah won’t sit down,” the cook cried menacingly. “Ah won’t do nothin’ if dat Finn am gwine git in dis heah boat. Ah tells yo’ all we’s had enough hard luck on account of dat man.”
“You’ll sit down or get out of the boat,” said Grant threateningly. “We won’t take any fooling here either.”
Sam subsided, but he still mumbled to himself incessantly.
“All right, get aboard,” John called to Petersen, though he took care not to call him by name.
Petersen threw the painter and jumped into the stern of the life-boat. The four oarsmen dug their blades into the water and the little craft shot forward. The other boats had also left and the Josephine was now a blazing mass of wood. Sparks shot high into the air and in all directions only to fall with a hiss into the angry waters of the sea. The roar of the flames could be heard even above the noise of the storm which seemed to be increasing in intensity.