“Yaassir, dat he has.”
“There’s rat-poison by the box in the fore-hold,” I said.
It was a wild and grotesque idea, but it shows the straits we were put to when we even considered such a thing. It would not do to have anything happen to Benson or his mate Johnson until the men forward were thinned out. Further consideration of the scheme showed its futility, for it would be impossible to carry out anything so destructive, owing to the different watches and messes. I was sorry I had spoken, for it put an idea into the moke’s head which well-nigh proved fatal to all.
One day shortly afterward the men complained of their food and took occasion to flog the cook for not providing better.
The poor fellow was haled to the main rigging and his hands made fast to the sheer-pole, his feet just clearing the deck. Then every man of the complaining crowd took a few whacks at his bare back with a stiff piece of ratline stuff. He made no outcry, but fell fainting to the deck when cut down. When he came around again I saw the white of his eye and noticed the peculiar gleam, which boded no good for some one.
Two days later we passed the Argentine steamer, from Buenos Ayres to Liverpool. She was one of those new screw vessels, and the absence of the big side paddle-boxes made her look very shipshape. She was going along about ten knots and her decks were crowded with passengers. Now and then a white dress fluttered in the breeze.
As we drew near Benson came to me.
“How fast do we go, Mr. Gore?” said he.
The Arrow was heeling down and tearing along steadily now under everything we could put on her, for the trade was steady and held perfectly fair at east-southeast.
“I believe we are going a bit faster than the steamer,” I ventured.