“Be careful with your fire. I split open some of the boxes, as I told you, to make sure of their contents. Take tools and nails and battens with you for securing the riven cases. Be yourself in the lazarette while this is doing.”
“Right, sir. Where will you have the cases stowed aboard us?”
“Oh, in the lazarette. I was prevented by my fall,” he exclaimed, “from examining the rest of the cargo. Do you that when the money is transhipped. I will act on your report if the weather allows. But should there come a change when we have got the money, then damn your cocoa and tin—we’ll be off.”
“Shall I remain in the ship during the trips, or take charge of the boat?”
“Take charge of the boat, but see all your men in first.”
I faintly smiled, for here was a direction that was a little particular, methought.
“Help me on deck, now, Fielding, and then go to work.”
I thought to myself: “It is no time, this, to speak of Yan Bol. The matter must stand.”
He leaned upon me, and, with pain and difficulty, gained the deck. All the men but one had come out of the boat, and the ship’s company, saving that man and Jimmy and the fellows at the wheel and masthead, were assembled in the gangway. They hung together in a little crowd. Impatience burnt like fire in them—impatience and expectation and anxiety, now complicated by the injury their captain had met with. When we made our appearance they stared and shuffled, one and all, as though they were mutineers, scarce masking a madness of bloody intention, and about to make a rush aft to its execution. Is not the insanity that drink will run into the veins and brains a sweet little cherub compared with the demon that enters the soul of man out of the coin of gold or silver?
“Captain,” cried Yan Bol, “I shpeaks for all handts. You vhas not hurt much, all handts hope?”