CHAPTER VII

THE DERELICT

“Her cargo’ll have shifted,” said the third mate, “and when she got that list her people will have felt frightened and left her.”

“She’s a scary look to her, with her yard-arms spiking every other sea,” said Captain Image, “and her decks like the side of a house.  I shouldn’t care to navigate a craft that preferred to lie down on her beam ends myself.”

“Take this glass, sir, and you’ll see the lee quarter-boat davit-tackles are overhauled.  That means they got at least one boat in the water.  To my mind she’s derelict.”

“Yard-arm tackles rigged and overhauled, too,” said Captain Image.  “She’ll have carried a big boat on the top of that house amidships, and that’s gone, too.  Well, I hope her crew have got to dry land somewhere, or been picked up, poor beggars.  Nasty things, those old wind-jammers, Mr. Strake.  Give me steam.”

“But there’s a pile of money in her still,” said the third mate, following up his own thoughts.  “She’s an iron ship, and she’ll be two thousand tons, good.  Likely enough in the ’Frisco grain trade.  Seems to me a new ship, too; anyway, she’s got those humbugging patent tops’ls.”

“And you’re thinking she’d be a nice plum if we could pluck her in anywhere?” said Image, reading what was in his mind.

“Well, me lad, I know that as well as you, and no one would be pleaseder to pocket L300.  But the old M’poso’s a mailboat, and because she’s got about a quarter of a hundredweight of badly spelt letters on board, she can’t do that sort of salvage work if there’s no life-saving thrown in as an extra reason.  Besides, we’re behind time as it is, with smelling round for so much cargo, and though I shall draw my two and a-half per cent, on that, I shall have it all to pay away again, and more to boot, in fines for being late.  No, I tell you it isn’t all sheer profit and delight in being skipper on one of those West African coast boats.  And there’s another thing:  the Chief was telling me only this morning that they’ve figured it very close on the coal.  We only have what’ll take us to Liverpool ourselves, without trying to pull a yawing, heavy, towing thing like that on behind us.”

Strake drummed at the white rail of the bridge.  He was a very young man, and he was very keen on getting the chance of distinguishing himself; and here, on the warm, windless swells abeam, the chance seemed to sit beckoning him.  “I’ve been thinking, sir, if you can lend me half a dozen men, I could take her in somewhere myself.”