“Get clear, you Guineas!” growled the tall man, giving one a rap over the head with the boat-hook, and the other a sharp crack on the knuckles, where he held the gunwale. This caused them to let go and retreat to the beach, spluttering a string of strange oaths, which the men heeded not the least, but let fall their oars, and in a moment had the boat heading out in the roadstead in the direction of The Gentle Hand.
“I s’pose you uns ain’t goin’ out fer a day or two yet?” said the tall skipper, after he had seated himself in the stern-sheets.
“I believe we’ll clear to-morrow,” I answered. “Our crew out on the Desertas must have bucanned enough goat to last half the tribes of the Senegal six months.”
“This feeding them blamed niggers is the very devil,” said he, seeming to be remarkably communicative for a captain who was talking to a strange sailor. “Them coons has ter be kept fat. Just as soon as they begin to pine, they goes almighty fast. Now there’s ole Zack Richards, who’s too mean to lay out anything except boiled rice. Why, he left a trail o’ dead men clean acrost to Cuba, an’ there warn’t an hour between bodies a-followin’ in his wake. You say you’re well heeled with grub?”
I told him everything was first-class aboard The Gentle Hand.
“Got plenty o’ rocks, hey? Plenty o’ real money ter back the game, hey? I s’pose they keeps a safe aboard, with iron doors an’ regular money lock, under the cabin. Never seen the cash outfit, hey?”
“No,” said I; “I’m only the gunner aboard, although I shipped as mate. I never got a chance to see what’s aft.”
“You’re most uncommon clever for a gunner, sink me! but I took ye for first officer, at least. ’Course you’ve been mate an’ master, too, for that matter. I c’u’d see that easy. I was just a-tellin’ Sile, when you came over to-day, what a crackin’ mate they had on that barque.” Here he looked hard at the surly man with the stroke oar, who nodded and spat abundantly over the side to emphasize his corroboration.
“Must be somethin’ of a wessel when she has fellers like you below mate’s ratin’. She is a good-lookin’ barque, but I reckon she’s pretty old. We’ll swing up on the port quarter best, and you can hail the deck. Tell ’em here’s a chest o’ slops fer Captain Howard wot goes in his cabin. He sent ’em off in this boat, an’ I won’t charge him nuthin’ fer freight.”
I bawled for a line, and Hawkson’s head appeared over the taffrail.