"Keep away! No loafers wanted!" came back loudly.
"Stuck in the mud, are ye?" thundered the Captain. "Some lubbers don't know how to handle a ship. I want to get some word of the Narragansett, Captain Silas Pickering, New Haven. Can any of you wreckers tell me—"
"Mate, hold on; it's old Captain Kroom."
"I say, Kroom," shouted another voice from the deck of the Goshawk, "Pickering's on board. The insurance men are in charge of this craft. That feller's nothing but her old mate. There's been more thieves—"
"Come aboard, Kroom," broke in the mate. "You're all right, but we've had the worst kind of luck."
"No, you haven't," returned Kroom, as the Elephant swept alongside the Goshawk. "I've been worse wrecked than you are. Why, you are going to save the hull and cargo!"
"That's so," said the mate, leaning over the rail; "but we lost all our sticks. Everything that was on deck. Pickering? We took him on at Liverpool. His ship had to be refixed, and the owners sold her, and he won't go aboard a steamer if he can help it."
"I guess there's the right stuff in him, then," said Captain Kroom, with energy; but the mate went on:
"He's awful, though. Some fellers came aboard soon after we struck, and they stole his kit, and there's lots of things missing. He's been sittin' 'round with a gun on his lap ever since, watching for thieves."
"Kroom," came loudly from behind the mate, "what do you want of me?"