Mayne gave orders, derrick-booms swung from the stumpy masts, pulleys rattled, and heavy cases rose from the holds.  The boats, however, could not get abreast of the forward hatch and the cases had to be moved across slippery iron plates to the after derrick that hoisted them overboard.  It was exhausting work, and the heat was intolerable.  The white crew threw off their soaked clothes and toiled half-naked in the sun that burned their skin, but Adam left the awning and went about in the glare.

At first, the mates grumbled with indignant surprise.  Their employer was breaking rules; working the cargo was their business and nobody else must meddle.  Besides, they had not met a shipowner able to superintend the job.  One who ventured a protest, however, stopped in awkward embarrassment when Adam gave him a look, and the others soon admitted that few captains knew more about derricks and slings.  Nevertheless, Kit was anxious as he watched his uncle.  He knew Adam would pay for this and wondered how long he could keep it up.

At noon, the peons refused another load and when Adam addressed them in virulent Castilian, coolly pulled the boats away from the ship.  When they had rowed a short distance they stopped and one got up.

“More is not possible, senor,” he said.  “To work in this sun is not for flesh and blood.  After we have slept for an hour or two, we will come back.”

Adam felt for his pistol, but hesitated, with his hand at his silk belt, and Kit thought he looked very like a Buccaneer.

“It might pay to plug that fellow, and I’d have risked it when I came here in the Mercedes.  Still, I guess Don Hernando has enough trouble.”

Mayne, standing behind him, grinned.  “I reckon that fixes the thing.  Don’t know I’m sorry the dagos have lit out; my crowd are used up and ready to mutiny.”

For two hours the tired crew rested while the water sank and the steamer resumed her awkward list.  Then the boats came back and the men crawled languidly about the slanted deck, until Adam went among them with bitter words.  The sea breeze was blowing outside, but no wind could enter the gap in the trees, and foul exhalations from warm mud and slime poisoned the stagnant air.  Kit’s head ached, his eyes hurt, and his joints were sore; he felt strangely limp and it cost him an effort to get about.

All the while the winches hammered and pulleys screamed as the cases came up and the empty slings went down.  The heat got suffocating and the slant of masts and deck made matters worse, because the men must hold the derricks back with guys while the heavy goods cleared the coamings of the hatch.  Much judgment was needed to drop them safely in the boats.  Men gasped and choked, quarreled with each other, and growled at the mates, but somehow held on while the tide ebbed and the sun sank nearer the mangroves’ tops.  It dipped when the breathless peons pushed the last boat away from the Rio Negro’s side, and the noisy machines stopped.