"So do I, Missy," said Andrews. "I can't think of any good a-coming to the old man by staying aboard a craft half sunken like this one. I think your girl is giving you good advice, Captain Sackett."
"I think you heard me state just how I felt about the matter, Mr. Andrews," replied the captain. "If you're disposed to quit, you can go in the boat."
"Oh, no," said the ruffian, "I intend to stay." And he lent such emphasis to the last word that Sackett gave him a sharp glance to see if he meant anything more.
In half an hour the steamer was passing abreast, and we were in the boat rowing hard to head her off. We set a signal on our mast forward, and pulled desperately, but she never even slowed down, passing along half a mile distant on the calm ocean. She must have seen us, for the day was bright and cloudless as could be. We hailed and waved until she was a speck to the westward, leaving us alone again save for the sunken ship under our lee.
"It's just the way with a Dago," said Jenks. "They always leaves a fellow just when they shouldn't, and when I first seen that yaller flag I felt pretty sure we'd come in fer somethin' like this."
No one said anything further, for our disappointment was sharp. Even Phillippi, the Portuguese, took no offence at the allusion to Dagos, but rowed in silence back to the Sovereign.
"It seems like you can't leave us," said Andrews, sourly, when we returned. "There ain't much room aboard this hooker, an' I don't see why you forever turn back to her when you ain't wanted here."
Jenks climbed up the mizzen channels, which were now no higher than the boat's bow, and made the painter fast on deck without remark. Chips followed him closely.
"If ye mane there's no room aboard fer us, thin why in hell don't ye git out th' way an' rid th' ship av a useless ruffian," said the Irishman.
Andrews scowled at him, but changed his look into a sour smile.