“We’ve got to have a crew, Mr. Harris, and that’s all there is to it,” said Captain Riggs. “You say the Greek got cut?”
“Dead as a door-nail, cap’n. Went out for lamp-wicks and got hisself slit open in a gin-mill, the fool! We’re turrible short-handed, cap’n.”
“Who cut him?”
“Hanged if I know. The police say the lampman, but the lampman didn’t leave the ship until after the bo’sun was done for, near as I can make it out. But the police have the lampman locked up for it, and I’m too busy to bother my head. First we know they’ll want all the crew for witnesses. There’s some monkey-business goin’ on, too.”
“Now, what do you mean?” demanded the captain, losing patience.
“Just what I’m sayin’ of—thar’s a furriner sittin’ on the dock watchin’ everything that goes over the side. Looks like a Rooshan Finn to me. What sort of a charter we got, cap’n? This ain’t no blockade-runnin’ game, is it? You got orders for Port Arthur? If you have, I’m out—I don’t want no Japs blowin’ me up unless I’m paid for it.”
“Mr. Harris, you are talking nonsense. We are chartered for Hong-Kong. My orders are to get to sea to-night, no matter how I do it, and you ought to be able to scrape up a crew at the Sailors’ Home for the asking. We’ll manage all right with the chinks on deck, if we can get some good helmsmen. You can’t expect to get out with a battleship crew this trip. Get the cargo in her and send the Dutchman ashore for men who can take the wheel.”
The mate went out, and I stepped into the saloon and presented my ticket to the captain. I was rather surprised to find such an old man in command, for he was gray and stooped, but he surveyed me over his glasses with kindly eyes, although I knew he was being harassed with difficulties in getting routine established on board the Kut Sang, for she had been in dry-dock and everything seemed topsyturvy.
“Glad to meet ye, Mr. Trenholm,” he said. “I’m up to my scuppers with business. Maybe we’ll sail to-night and maybe we won’t, but your room is No. 22, starboard side, well aft, all to yourself. Two more passengers to come yet, according to the list. Didn’t know I was to have passengers this trip, so I can’t tell what the accommodation will be, but we’ll try and make things homelike if they ain’t like a liner. You got a valley?” He pointed to Petrak, who stood behind me with my baggage on his shoulder.
“Hardly that,” I laughed. “He says he’s a sailor with a Manila thirst in his throat and no job.”
Petrak swung his burden to the deck and squared his shoulders, making a gesture, which he intended as a salute to the captain.
“Petrak’s my name, sir,” he said, addressing Captain Riggs. “I’ve been bo’sun, sir, discharged out of the Southern Cross when she was sold in Singapore, and shipped out in the H.B. Leeds that went down in a typhoon. Junk picked us up, sir, what was left of us, and I lost all my discharges and can’t get a ship out of here. I’m smart, sir, and strong, if I do look small. It’s because I ain’t had no wictuals to speak of, sir.”