telling, and he’ll have the same notions about loot as your own Krooboys.  The Coast nigger hereabouts has got a fancy that any ship on the beach is cumshaw for himself, and you’ll not knock it out of him without some hard teaching.  No, Mr. Sheriff, to call in that one-eyed head-man and his friends—­who it makes me hot to think I had to sing and dance to not six hours back—­would only pile up the work ahead of us.  Much best tackle the ship as she is.”

“What!” said Sheriff.  “Do you mean to say we can retake her?  You don’t know what those boys are like.  I tell you they were fair demons when we left, and they’ll be worse now, because they are certain to have got liquor inside them by this.  It’s not a bit of use your counting on these deckhands and stokers in the boat.  They’re not a penn’oth of use, the whole lot of them.”

“Well,” said Kettle diffidently, “I’d got my eye on that packet of cartridge beside you on the thwart.  If they were four-fiftys—­”

“They are—­let’s look—­four—­five—­nought.  Yes, well?”

Captain Kettle pulled a well-cleaned revolver out of his waist-cloth.  “I’ve carried this empty for a whole year now, sir, but I don’t think I’ve forgot my shooting.”

“I can speak here,” said the Mate.  “I’ve heard of his usefulness that way on the Congo.  When Captain Kettle lets off his gun, Mr. Sheriff, it’s a funeral.  By gum, if he’s a way of getting the ship again, I’m on for helping.  Look!  There’s that steward’s boy, Tins, going into my room this minute.  I’ve a suit of clothes there that have never been put on, and he’ll have them for a cert if we don’t look quick.”

“Now then, Captain,” said Sheriff, “if there’s anything going to be done, get a move on you.”

Kettle paddled the dug-out alongside, and stepped into the lifeboat.  His eye glittered as he tore open the wrapping of the cartridges and reloaded his revolver.  It was long since he had known the complacent feel of the armed man.

“Now,” he said, “there’s one more thing.  I’m not in uniform, but I hold a master’s ticket, and I’ve got to be skipper.”

“You can take the berth for me,” said the Mate.  “I’ll say outright it’s a lot above my weight.”

“And I’ve offered it to you already,” said Sheriff.  “Go on, man, and give your orders.”

Captain Kettle’s first desire was to get back to the steamer whence the boat had come, and this the mixed crew of foreigners at the oars had scruples about carrying out.  But Kettle and the Mate got furiously at work on them with their hands, and in less than a minute the men were doing as they were bidden, except, that is, a trio who were too badly wounded to sit up, and who were allowed to wallow on the floor gratings.

The Mate straddled in the stern and steered her with an oar, and the white painted boat pulled heavily toward the stranded vessel.  The Krooboys in possession were quick to see her coming.  A mob of them gathered on the bridge deck, gibbering and shouting, and threatening with their hands; and even before the boat drew within range, they commenced a vigorous fusilade of coal lumps.  Kettle had all a cleanly man’s dislike for these dirty missiles, and he halted the boat just beyond the limit of their fire, and stood up himself, and sighted the revolver over the crook of his left elbow.