Hicks came up at that moment and strode through the staring group, and I thought it about time to depart.
Curtis had disappeared, and a fellow handed Captain Howard his cutlass. The old sailor’s face remained as unmarked by passion as a piece of iron, while he called the official names that would have made a dog wince, and he thrust his cutlass back in its scabbard with easy carelessness. Then he called for something to drink, and seated himself comfortably again to enjoy it. I slipped off down the road, and he evidently forgot all about the incident and the part I took in it before I was out of sight. As I reached the landing, where we had left the small boat, I noticed the big man, the skipper of the Yankee trader, directing two of his crew to lift a large box. He apparently did not see me in the gloom of the evening, for it was now getting quite dark, and he ordered his men about in rough tones.
“You, Sile, fling your end aboard, and don’t get them slops wet, whatever you do. That Cap’n Howard don’t want no wet slops a-comin’ aboard his ship. Says he’s paid nine shillin’ sixpence fer them jumpers wot’ll sell fer five shillin’ anywhere outside London docks.”
I approached and stood by, looking on. Suddenly he noticed me.
“Hello, mate,” said he, “be ye a-goin’ aboard yer ship?”
There seemed little use staying ashore.
“Yes, I reckon I will when I get a boat,” I answered.
“Well, hop right in there. I’ve got a bit o’ goods fer yer cap’n, and so long as I’ve got tew take ’em aboard, I’ll take ye along with ’em.”
I stepped into the boat, and was followed by four surly cutthroats, who sullenly took up the oars. The captain followed.
“Shove off!” he growled, and the men sent her clear. Then two natives appeared and clamoured for some payment, following the boat into the water.