“Here’s a chest for the captain,” I said, “it has--”
“It goes in his cabin,” said the long man, interrupting. “Them’s his instructions.”
“What’s in it?” asked Hawkson.
“Just common slops,” said the long skipper, “though he’s paid a shillin’ or two more’n them cheap goods is worth. As fer me, I wouldn’t vally the whole contents o’ that chest ekal to the powder an’ lead to blow ’em ter Davy Jones,--an’ I don’t mind sayin’ it loud enough to be heard. He’s got a lock on it big an’ strong enough ter hold solid gold, an’ he’s kept the key. Pass a line an’ we’ll heave it up. I must be goin’. Reckon I’ll clear in a couple of hours.”
A couple of men dropped a line, which was quickly bent to one of the handles of the chest, and in a few moments it was aboard the barque. The small boat hung alongside for some minutes, while the long skipper swore and cursed at Sile for not having been more careful about the barque’s paint, as the chest scratched it a little. Then, hearing the men carrying the affair below, he waved his cigar, which shone in the darkness, and shoved off.
CHAPTER XXIII.
WHAT THE CAPTAIN’S CHEST HELD
“You may lower down that signal, Haywood,” said Hawkson, after I had watched the long skipper disappear in the darkness.
Glancing aloft, it was too dark to see what signal he meant, so I hesitated, knowing all our bunting was generally hauled down at sunset.
“That pennant flying from the gaff,” said Hawkson, noting my slowness. “That’s been flying all afternoon for Mr. Gull on the Desertas. Signal agreed on to call him in. We’re bound out to-morrow, but didn’t have to tell the whole island about it.”
I went to the spanker-boom and sought the signal halyard. Then I hauled down the pennant, which I remembered noting during the day, but gave no particular thought. Rolling it up, I started forward to turn in when Hawkson stopped me.