"Strike me blind," observed Bo's'n Joe gloomily, "if they ain't gone an' got poor Frenchy!"
No one else spoke1 for a bit. Mr. Leman spat2 over the rail and stared at the fog in the direction of the unseen Japanese ship. The Missus had gone to her cabin when the body was hauled aboard. Captain Pontifex stood looking down at the form, still incased in its diving-suit; and his pallid3 cavernous features were venomous with rage.
"I'd sooner have lost anyone aboard rather than Dumont—except the Missus," he said softly. "And to think they must have got him just after he got Dennis."
"Aye," said Bo's'n Joe.
It was very evident how Frenchy had come by his fate. Transfixing his body, fastened so firmly within him that no easy pull would remove it, was a long-bladed knife with shark-skin handle—palpably a Japanese knife.
"Well," the Skipper turned away, "see that he's sewed up proper, Mr. Leman, and we'll bury him shipshape. Attend to repairing that dress, too."
When the skipper had disappeared aft, Bo's'n Joe looked at Mr. Leman.
"What's the Skipper got on his mind? He ain't goin' to stand by and see Frenchy killed without doin' anything?"
Mr. Leman reflectively tugged5 his whiskers, and squinted6 down his broken nose.
"Not him, Bo's'n—not him! 'Ready to work to-morrow', says he. Just wait till to-night, Bo's'n! If something don't happen to them Japs, I miss my guess. Leave it to him and the Missus! If this blasted fog don't break, he'll show 'em a thing or two."
The Pelican7 swung idly to her anchors all that afternoon.
It was easy for those aboard her to deduce exactly how Dumont had come to his end. The knife told the whole story. The flurry at the end of the lines, Dumont's frantic8 signal to be hoisted9, all explained perfectly10 that he had encountered a diver from the enemy ship. The Japs had diving apparatus11, of course.
Sullen12 resentment13 and fury filled the Pelican, from skipper to meekest14 Kanaka. All aboard had been wildly excited over salvage15 and treasure; because of this fact, Pontifex had a solidly united crew behind him in whatever he might attempt. Frenchy had not been particularly loved, but his murder showed that the enemy meant business—and in defence of their treasure-trove the crew of the Pelican were only too anxious to fight.
As the afternoon wore on, the fog thickened rather than lessened16. At the end of the first dog-watch all hands were called and Frenchy was committed to the deep, with the usual bucket of slush.
Someone observed that there was no chance of laying the ghost of Dennis in this customary fashion; within five minutes the remark had gone through the brig. No one cared particularly how Dennis had perished, but everyone was superstitious17 in the extreme. Mr. Leman allowed an anxious frown to disturb his flat countenance18, and even the skipper, upon hearing the rumour19, appeared disturbed.
"Not that I give two hoots20 for any ghost," he confided21 to the Missus, "but it makes a bad spirit aboard ship. Nonsense! A ghost doesn't come back, anyway."
"I've heard 'baout that happening," said the Missus gloomily but firmly. "And what folks believe in is apt to come true. You mark my words!"
"Then" and the skipper brightened—"they say that a death aboard ship always brings wind—so we'd better get busy with those Japs before the fog lifts!"
This latter superstition22 was equally well known aboard, and predictions were that before morning the fog would be gone. Within another hour, however, everybody aboard was too busy to bother further with superstitions23.
When darkness began to fall, with no sign of activity from Captain Pontifex, open grumbling24 began to spread along the deck, It was silenced by the Skipper in person, who appeared and ordered two of the whaleboats lowered.
"Mr. Leman," he commanded quietly, the entire crew listening tensely, "you'll take command of one boat. Lay aboard her six of those oil-bags from the store-room. Muffle25 the oars26. Take a compass and mind your bearings. Two of you men lay aft, here."
Two of the white hands hastened aft and followed the Skipper down the companion way. In five minutes they reappeared, struggling beneath the weight of the pride of the whaling fleet—-the green-striped tea-jar. It was minus the big scarlet27 geranium plant, and should have been light; but it seemed most unaccountably heavy.
"Easy, there!" snapped the Skipper.
"Corny, reeve a rope through that block at the mains'l yard and sling28 the jar into the boat—not Mr. Leman's boat, but mine. Bo's'n, lay down there and place her in the bow."
Ericksen seemed not to relish29 his task in the least, but he obeyed. In ten minutes the jar was safely stowed in the other whaleboat; from this boat all whaling gear was now removed, six oars alone being left.
"In with you, Corny," commanded the Skipper. "You and Ericksen with four Kanakas will row me out. Mr. Leman, precede us very slowly; when you sight that Jap, lay that oil on the water and then stand back to pick us up."
He turned to salute30 the Missus with a chaste31 kiss upon the cheek.
"Good-bye, my dear! You insist upon taking the third boat?"
"I reckon I can do as well as yeou," returned the Missus impassively. "Good luck!"
"Same to you," answered the Skipper.
Six men were at the oars in Mr. Leman's boat, four more in that of the skipper. Mrs. Pontifex ordered the forward boat down, and the five remaining men into her. To them she handed rifles, then turned to the trembling steward32.
"I'm leavin' yeou to tend ship," she stated firmly. "There's a shot-gun beside the helm; if anybody else boards, yeou let fly! No telling but some o' those Japs might ha' worked araound by the shore—but we'll give 'em something else to think abaout."
With that, she descended33 into her boat, compass in hand, ordered her rowers to give way, and vanished into the darkness of the fog—not following the Skipper, but departing at a tangent from his course.
The steward hastened to the quarter-deck, secured the shot-gun, and perched upon the rail.
The Cockney was by no means lacking in acuteness. He had been cleaning up a muss in the stern cabin for the last half-hour; he knew that this muss was the debris34 from several ammunition35 packets, broken from the packing-case of ammunition that had been hauled in upon the morning previous. He knew that the scarlet geranium had been transplanted into a keg. He knew that this keg had previously36 been full of gunpowder37; he knew likewise that the skipper had laboriously38 fashioned a fuse—and that the tide was now going out.
So as he perched upon the starboard taffrail and scrutinized39 the blank fog, the steward had a fairly certain idea of what to expect.
"Gawd 'elp them yeller swine!" he observed reflectively. "Skipper's going to lye out that oil; it'll drift around 'em wi' the tide. That's what 'e was w'iting for, the hold fox! When the oil 'as got hall haround that ship, skipper sends 'is boat at 'er. Ho! Then 'e gets off in Mr. Leman's boat, first lightin' the fuse. Then 'e lights the oil. Oil an' fuse—and then the jar o' powder—blime, but 'e's a fox, a ruddy fox! Ho! And then the Missus she takes a 'and—only I bet skipper 'e don't know as 'ow that fusee is dry! Thinks it's wet as when 'e made it, 'e does! Well, wait an' see——"
His reflections ended in a chuckle40. The steward, having no personal anticipation41 of danger, cared not a snap what went on out in the mist; in fact, he looked forward to a very enjoyable time.
The ti............