"That's what people get for picking up deserted ships and taking them into port. If the cargo is valuable, the salvage will run pretty heavy."
As they left the fo'c'sle and walked aft, they passed the side of the ship against which they had bumped the night before. Several ropes, from the tangle of cordage on the deck, lay over the side, some of them loose and trailing in the water, and others attached to broken yards.
"We were lucky to have slammed into the ship at just that point," observed Dick. "There were plenty of ropes for us to get hold of, and if I hadn't grabbed that rope, last night, we'd have gone under, sure as fate." He dropped his axe. "We'll leave that here, for now," he went on, "while we go aft and continue looking around."
They climbed the steps leading to the poop deck. The cabin roof rose out of the deck, and there was a row of little windows around the top of the cabin wall.
In the stern of the brig, directly back of the cabin, was the charthouse. This room was quite commodious and was furnished with heavy glass windows that had resisted the fury of the storm that had, in other ways, damaged the brig so heavily. There were two bunks in the charthouse, a deep locker, and a table. The air inside was damp and heavy, but by leaving the door open and opening the windows the atmosphere soon cleared.
"Here iss a goot blace to shleep, anyvays," remarked Carl, with a good deal of satisfaction. "Oof ve can findt a lod oof grup, den I bed you ve ged along finer as silk. Oof id vasn't for Matt, I couldn't care oof ve floated to China."
"We're not going to leave the gulf, matey," averred Dick, decidedly. "We're going to get out of this fix as soon as we can."
"Yah, meppy dot vas pedder," agreed Carl. "Vat's der name oof dis poat? All poats haf names, don'd dey?"
"We'll try and find out," said Dick.
Leaving the charthouse, he lowered himself by the rope of one of the davits—from which a dory had presumably been suspended—and read the lettering on the brig's stern.