“But my God, man!” I said.  “Couldn’t you tell the difference between that and water?”

“I thought it tasted funny, boss, but I wasn’t used to claret.”

And then we had to laugh again, and I thought old Tom would die.

“A nigger’s stomach and his head,” said the Commandant, “are about the same.  I really don’t know which is the stronger.”

And Tom started laughing so that I believe, if the wind had been blowing that way, you could have heard him in Nassau.

The captain didn’t die, though he came pretty near to it.  In fact, he took so long getting on his feet, that we couldn’t wait for him; so we had practically to look out for a new crew, with the exception of Tom, and Sailor.  The Commandant proved a good friend to us in this, choosing three somewhat characterless men, with good “characters.”

“I cannot guarantee them,” he said; “that’s impossible, but, so far as I know, and the parson’ll bear me out, they’re all quiet, good-living men.  The engineer’s in love, and got it bad; he is engaged to be married, and is all the gladder of the good pay you’re offering—­more than usually comes their way—­and that always keeps a man straight, at least until after he’s married.”

The Commandant was a splendid fellow, and he had a knowledge of human nature that was almost Shakespearean, particularly when you considered the few and poor specimens he had to study it by.

As we said good-bye, with a spanking southwest breeze blowing, I could see that he was a little anxious about me.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, “for you must remember none of us can take care of you.  There’s no settlement where you’re going—­no telegraph or wireless; you could be murdered, and none of us hear of it for a month, or for ever.  And the fellows you’re after are a dangerous lot, take my word for it.  Keep a good watch on your guns, and we’ll be on the look out for the first news of you, and anything we can do we’ll be there, you bet.”

And so the Maggie Darling once more bared her whiteness to the breeze, and the world seemed once more a great world.

“It’s good to be alive, Tom,” I said, “on a day like this, though we get killed to-morrow.”

Tom agreed to this, so did Sailor; and so, I felt, did the Maggie Darling, the loveliest, proud-sailed creature that ever leaned over and laughed in the grasp of the breeze.

CHAPTER VII

In Which the Sucking Fish Has a Chance to Show Its Virtue.

The breeze was so strong that we didn’t use our engine that day.  Besides, I wanted to take a little time thinking over my plans.  I spent most of the time studying the charts and pondering John P. Tobias’s narrative, which threw very little light on the situation.  There was little definite to go by but his mark of the compass engraven on a certain rock in a wilderness of rocks; and such rocks as they were at that.