"Boat's inside the lagoon, sir," hailed down Mac, who sat by the skylight doing sentry while the others worked.
"Time we were on deck, then, Mr. Goddedaal," said Wicks.
As they turned to leave the cabin, the canary burst into piercing song.
"My God!" cried Carthew, with a gulp, "we can't leave that wretched bird to starve. It was poor Goddedaal's."
"Bring the bally thing along!" cried the captain.
And they went on deck.
An ugly brute of a modern man-of-war lay just without the reef, now quite inert, now giving a flap or two with her propeller.
Nearer hand, and just within, a big white boat came skimming to the stroke of many oars, her ensign blowing at the stern.
"One word more," said Wicks, after he had taken in the scene.
"Mac, you've been in China ports? All right; then you can speak for yourself. The rest of you I kept on board all the time we were in Hongkong, hoping you would desert; but you fooled me and stuck to the brig. That'll make your lying come easier."
The boat was now close at hand; a boy in the stern sheets was the only officer, and a poor one plainly, for the men were talking as they pulled.
"Thank God, they've only sent a kind of a middy!" ejaculated Wicks. "Here you, Hardy, stand for'ard! I'll have no deck hands on my quarter-deck," he cried, and the reproof braced the whole crew like a cold douche.
The boat came alongside with perfect neatness, and the boy officer stepped on board, where he was respectfully greeted by Wicks.
"You the master of this ship?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Wicks. "Trent is my name, and this is the Flying Scud of Hull."
"You seem to have got into a mess," said the officer.
"If you'll step aft with me here, I'll tell you all there is of it," said Wicks.
"Why, man, you're shaking!" cried the officer.
"So would you, perhaps, if you had been in the same berth," returned Wicks; and he told the whole story of the rotten water, the long calm, the squall, the seamen drowned; glibly and hotly; talking, with his head in the lion's mouth, like one pleading in the dock. I heard the same tale from the same narrator in the saloon in San Francisco; and even then his bearing filled me with suspicion. But the officer was no observer.
"Well, the captain is in no end of a hurry," said he; "but I was instructed to give you all the assistance in my power, and signal back for another boat if more hands were necessary.
What can I do for you?"
"O, we won't keep you no time," replied Wicks cheerily.
"We're all ready, bless you--men's chests, chronometer, papers and all."
"Do you mean to leave her?" cried the officer. "She seems to me to lie nicely; can't we get your ship off?"
"So we could, and no mistake; but how we're to keep her afloat's another question. Her bows is stove in," replied Wicks.
The officer coloured to the eyes. He was incompetent and knew he was; thought he was already detected, and feared to expose himself again. There was nothing further from his mind than that the captain should deceive him; if the captain was pleased, why, so was he. "All right," he said. "Tell your men to get their chests aboard."
"Mr. Goddedaal, turn the hands to to get the chests aboard," said Wicks.
The four Currency Lasses had waited the while on tenter- hooks. This welcome news broke upon them like the sun at midnight; and Hadden burst into a storm of tears, sobbing aloud as he heaved upon the tackle. But the work went none the less briskly forward; chests, men, and bundles were got over the side with alacrity; the boat was shoved off; it moved out of the long shadow of the Flying Scud, and its bows were pointed at the passage.
So much, then, was accomplished. The sham wreck had passed muster; they were clear of her, they were safe away; and the water widened between them and her damning evidences.
On the other hand, they were drawing nearer to the ship of war, which might very well prove to be their prison and a hangman's cart to bear them to the gallows--of which they had not yet learned either whence she came or whither she was bound; and the doubt weighed upon their heart like mountains.
It was Wicks who did the talking. The sound was small in Carthew's ears, like the voices of men miles away, but the meaning of each word struck home to him like a bullet. "What did you say your ship was?" inquired Wicks.
"Tempest, don't you know?" returned the officer.
Don't you know? What could that mean? Perhaps nothing: perhaps that the ships had met already. Wicks took his courage in both hands. "Where is she bound?" he asked.
"O, we're just looking in at all these miserable islands here," said the officer. "Then we bear up for San Francisco."
"O, yes, you're from China ways, like us?" pursued Wicks.
"Hong Kong," said the officer, and spat over the side.
Hong Kong. Then the game was up; as soon as they set foot on board, they would be seized; the wreck would be examined, the blood found, the lagoon perhaps dredged, and the bodies of the dead would reappear to testify. An impulse almost incontrollable bade Carthew rise from the thwart, shriek out aloud, and leap overboard; it seemed so vain a thing to dissemble longer, to dally with the inevitable, to spin out some hundred seconds more of agonised suspense, with shame and death thus visibly approaching. But the indomitable Wicks persevered. His face was like a skull, his voice scarce recognisable; the dullest of men and officers (it seemed) must have remarked that telltale countenance and broken utterance.
And still he persevered, bent upon certitude.
"Nice place, Hong Kong?" he said.
"I'm sure I don't know," said the officer. "Only a day and a half there; called for orders and came straight on here. Never heard of such a beastly cruise." And he went on describing and lamenting the untoward fortunes of the Tempest.
