“What ye laughin’ at?” yelled Sam
Hall in his ear. “Are ye drunk at the sight
of the money, man?”
There was no answer. Hall caught him by the shoulder
to rouse him, but Klopp’s head merely sagged
far to one side, though his glazed eyes still seemed
to be fixed upward upon the same spot on the ceiling
at which he had been staring before.
“What is it?” cried one or two. “What
does he see?”
“Death, you fools!” answered Hovey.
“And how the devil will we bring the Heron
to land without an engineer?”
“Make Campbell run the ship,” said Cochrane.
“You can’t make a Scotchman do
anything.”
“Persuade him, then,” went on Cochrane.
“He’d sell his soul for a drink of that
whisky. But if you can’t persuade him, I’d
trust to those fellows to make him do what you want.”
And he pointed to the firemen.
“I’ll let ’em play their little
game till they’re tired of it,” answered
Hovey, “an’ then we’ll bring up Campbell
an’ try what we can do with him.”
The “little game” had now become a wild
debauch. Except for the few unfortunates who
had been detailed by Hovey to guard the prisoners and
see that the fugitives in the wireless house made no
attempt to rush the main cabin as a forlorn hope,
every man of the crew was gathered in the captain’s
cabins or on the deck nearby. The fireroom was
deserted; the engines stopped; the Heron floated
idly on the swell of the sea; but heedless of this
the mutineers celebrated their victory.
They divided their attention between drinking and
gambling. They seemed feverishly eager to throw
away their piles of gold. Some of them flipped
coins at ten dollars a throw. Others tossed dice.
One group of four sat around a greasy pack of cards
betting on which man would draw the first jack.
Those who lost did not envy the winners. They
looked about; gold was on all sides, heaps of it;
if their hands were empty, their eyes were rich.
Sam Hall lost his entire share within an hour, betting
recklessly. He approached a gigantic fireman who
squatted by the wall with a canvas bag clutched in
one hand and a broken bottle in the other. The
whisky had run out on the floor, but the fellow was
too far gone to know the difference, and from time
to time he raised the empty bottle to his lips.
“Money gone,” said Hall. “Gimme!”
And he held out his hand.
The fireman, with a vast grin, delved his hand into
the bag and brought it forth loaded with gold, which
Hall took without a word and returned to his game
of rolling dice, one throw at five hundred dollars
a throw. In ten minutes he went back to the fireman
with a double handful of corns.
“Principal an’ interest,” grunted
the big sailor, and dumped his gold into the canvas
bag which, filled to overflowing, spilled a dozen coins
upon the floor.
