“The deil run away with him,” said Martin. “If he’s backin’ this barque fer nothin’ but plain, honest trade, I’m no man fer him. She ware a pirit once, why not again? I slip before dark. Will ye be the mon to follow, ye giant Jones, or be ye nothin’ but a beefy lout like what ye look?”
The big fellow scowled at this.
“Ef you are the better man, show me to-night,” said he.
The boat had now drawn up alongside, and the bearded fellow in charge stood up and hailed the quarter-deck, where Howard, Hawkson, and the rest were leaning over the rail watching him. Hicks and Renshaw bowed and removed their hats in deference to the young lady, but Hawkson and the skipper stood stiff.
“Didn’t expect to see you, Howard,” cried the trader. “They haven’t hung you yet! How is it? Rope scarce? Lines give out? This is my daughter,--and you’ll be damn civil to her if you’ll do any business with me. Swing over your ladder, and don’t keep me waiting. I won’t wait for you or any other bull-necked Britisher.”
Hawkson had already had Mr. Gull swing out the accommodation ladder from the poop, and the second mate simply lowered it an inch or two as the whale-boat swept up.
“Take in them oak gales,” roared Yankee Dan, whacking the stroke oarsman over the knuckles with a light cane he carried. Then pulling savagely upon the port tiller-rope, the boat swung up alongside the ladder under full headway.
“Stop her,” he bellowed.
It looked as though she would go rasping along the whole length of the barque with the impetus, but the blacks were instantly at the rail, grasping and seizing anything in their powerful hands, while one man forward, who had banked the bow oar, stood up with a huge hook and rammed its point into our side to check her. She brought up so suddenly that the trader was almost thrown from his feet.
“Come aboard, Whiskers, an’ don’t tear all our paint off,” said Hawkson, swaying the man-ropes so they fell aboard.