"Hadn't we a hundred times better stay by the brig?" cried Carthew.

"They would give us a hand to float her off."

"You'll make me waste this holy day in chattering!" cried Wicks. "Look

here, when I sounded the well this morning, there was two foot of water

there against eight inches last night. What's wrong? I don't know; might

be nothing; might be the worst kind of smash. And then, there we are in

for a thousand miles in an open boat, if that's your taste!"

"But it may be nothing, and anyway their carpenters are bound to help us

repair her," argued Carthew.

"Moses Murphy!" cried the captain. "How did she strike? Bows on,

I believe. And she's down by the head now. If any carpenter comes

tinkering here, where'll he go first? Down in the forepeak, I suppose!

And then, how about all that blood among the chandlery? You would think

you were a lot of members of Parliament discussing Plimsoll; and you're

just a pack of murderers with the halter round your neck. Any other ass

got any time to waste? No? Thank God for that! Now, all hands! I'm going

below, and I leave you here on deck. You get the boat cover off that

boat; then you turn to and open the specie chest. There are five of us;

get five chests, and divide the specie equal among the five--put it

at the bottom--and go at it like tigers. Get blankets, or canvas, or

clothes, so it won't rattle. It'll make five pretty heavy chests, but we

can't help that. You, Carthew--dash me!--You, Mr. Goddedaal, come below.

We've our share before us."

And he cast another glance at the smoke, and hurried below with Carthew

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