“The will of the Lord is not to be set aside,” he went on, with solemn and pious cheerfulness.  “I would not risk so many lives for a man in irons.  If, however, he will recognize the laws of the Almighty, I shall turn him adrift and trust that my mercy will not meet with ingratitude.  You had better get my men ready, and if you can, take the trunks and cabin fixings in a boat.  They might come to wrong here.  My daughter will show where the things are I should like saved.  As for myself, I shall stay where duty calls me, and will take this ship into some port and save her cargo, or go down in her.  If I lose her, I lose my all, and with a wife and family I had better be gone with it.  The Lord will temper the wind to the shorn lambs.”

I called to Hans and Johnson to pass up the prisoner, and he soon stood on the Sovereign’s poop, where he glared around him and made some inaudible remarks.  The third mate, who stood near by, was about to speak to him when Captain Sackett stepped forward.

“My man,” said he, “your captain has asked me to keep you here and help me work this ship in.  You’ve been a master yourself, they tell me, so you will appreciate my difficulty.  The Lord, however, always helps those who help themselves, and with his help we will land this vessel safe in port.”

Andrews looked at the stout skipper sourly for a moment.  Then he gave a deep snort and spat vulgarly upon the deck at his host’s feet.

“What kind o’ damn fool have I run up ag’in now, hey?” he mused in a low tone, as though speaking to himself, while he looked the skipper over.  “Am I dreamin’, or do I eternally run up ag’in nautical loonatic asylums?  That’s the question.”

“My dear fellow, you don’t seem to relish the fact that you must serve aboard here,” said Sackett.  “There’s nothing irrational in trying to save a vessel when it’s your plain duty to do so.  The Lord sometimes dismasts us to try us.  We must not give up our duty because we have hardships to encounter.  Your captain cannot take care of so many people, probably, and wishes you to stay here with me.  If you will pass your word to do your share of the work, as I believe you will, I shall cast off those irons this instant and put you second in command.  There will then be five of us, all able-bodied men, to get her in to the Cape.”

“Of all the slumgullion I ever had stick in my craw, this beats me,” observed the prisoner, in his even tone, without taking his eyes off Sackett.  “I pass my word, an’ you turn me loose to do my duty.  Well—­say, old man, can you tell me of a miracle you reads out o’ your Bible?  I wants to make a comparison.”  Here he gave a loud snort and grinned.  “There’s an old sayin’ that any port is good in a storm,” he went on, “an’ likewise any ship in a calm.  I rise to it, old man.  I’ll be your mate; for, if things ain’t all gone wrong, I’ll sail straight inter Heaven with ye.  Cast me loose.”