“You may take it,” said Greaves shortly.
“Beg pardon, cap’n,” said Hals, the cook, knuckling his forehead, and contriving a clumsy sea bow with a scrape of a spade-shaped foot, “how long might dot ship hov been in der cave?”
“How long? Since 1810.”
“Who see her, cap’n,” said Bol.
“I did.”
“And did you see der dollars?” said Hals, again knuckling his brow and again scraping his foot.
“Yes; but you now know the motive of the voyage, and there’s an end. If any man is not satisfied let him say so. We can make shift, no doubt, with fewer hands, and the fewer the crew the larger each man’s share. Note that. The fewer——” and he repeated the sentence. “I have agreements in my pockets for each of you, in which Heer Bartholomew Tulp, the charterer of this brig and the promoter of this expedition, agrees to divide the sum of sixty-one thousand dollars—supposing the ship to be still in the cave and the money to be still on board of her—in which Mr. Tulp, I say, agrees to divide sixty-one thousand dollars among the crew who return home in the ship, the proportions according to their ratings to be determined.” He put his hand upon his breast. “But, before I hand you these documents, I must know that you are satisfied with the intention of the voyage.”
“We are satisfied,” was the answer delivered by a number of voices, as though one man had spoken.
On this, without saying another word, he pulled out a little bundle of papers, and, glancing at each—all being inscribed with the respective names of the men—he handed one to Yan Bol, and a second to Friend, and a third to Meehan, and so on, until every man saving the fellow at the wheel had a paper.
“Give this to Street, Mr. Fielding,” said Greaves; and, taking the paper, I went to the wheel and gave it to the man who grasped the spokes.