It was plain to him that there had been a special deal, that Booker was carrying an extra heavy risk on his cargo. What if he should tackle Mr. Jackson? Jackson might listen to him, might even believe there was something in his warning, but he was a pariah and Mr. Booker was a gentleman. Then he had nothing whatever to offer as proof. His word against that of the owner? No, that wouldn't do at all.
He thought the matter over and finished off the bottle of rum while doing so. The more he drank the more he became convinced that the only thing to do was to follow Mr. Booker's wishes. The only thing was how would he do the job. How was it possible to sink a ship, blow her up, without killing all hands? He would not kill any one. No, he would not stoop to that. He must have time to think over the matter. It would require some nice adjustment to carry off the affair properly and not land in prison for life. He wondered whether McDuff knew anything of the deal. It was not likely; Mr. Booker had never made a confidant of the Scotchman, though the fellow had a close head and never talked, drunk or sober. James slept over it and took the train for Port Antonio, arriving there in the afternoon. He at once made his way to the docks and boarded the Enos without being quizzed, though several persons seemed to show surprise at his presence. The story of his deserting his ship was now public property.
"I'm rare glad to see ye," said McDuff. "I'd na take ye for th' sneak they say ye are, Mr.—Mister James. I've been told ye wanted a place as mate wid the ould hooker. How is it?"
"Yes, I'll go as mate for you, Scotty," said James, thinking of the peculiar accent his former mate laid upon the word Mister. It was just as well to let the fellow know at once how much respect he felt for him. Then there would be no trouble in the future. He had served under him for several years, and it would swell his head, of course, to have command.
"I'm thinkin'—Mister—Meester James, that'll be about time ye took a reef in your tongue-lashin's. When ye have th' honour to speak to me, ye canna call me out of me name—that's Captain McDuff, sir—don't forget the SIR."
"No, Mack, I won't forgit it, an' don't you forgit who's talkin' to you either. If you do we'll have trouble—and Mr. Booker don't want any more of it in his ships—see? Let's have a drink, for the sake of old times?"
McDuff appeared to think a moment. It would hardly do to dress his mate now while at the dock. James would not stand it. He would drink—and wait.
"They handle that stuff mighty careless like," suggested James, gazing out of the stateroom door at the men loading cargo. "Seems to me if that's dynamite there's apt to be trouble—but then you only have it once," he added reflectively.
"That's the cargo, but not all dynamite. I dinna ken how much—but we pull out before dark. See to the gear aft—Meester James—an' remember the trouble I had with that old stern line last voyage. Ye wouldna gie me a new wan."
"Where do we go?" asked James.