“Well, beam engines or no beam engines, we’ll have a pretty rough time if she comes down and catches us within a cable’s length of the _Yan-Shan_,” said Blood. “However, there’s no use in fetching trouble. Let’s go and have a look at the lazaret; I want to see how we stand for grub.”
Chopstick Charlie was the name Blood had christened the coolie who acted as steward and cabin hand. He called him now, and out of the opium-tinctured gloom of the fo’c’s’le Charlie appeared, received his orders, and led them to the lazaret.
None of the crew had shown the slightest emotion on seeing Blood take over command of the schooner and Ginnell swabbing decks. The fight that had made Blood master of the _Heart of Ireland_ and Ginnell’s revolver had occurred in the cabin and out of sight of the coolies, but even had it been conducted in full view of them it is doubtful whether they would have shown any feeling or lifted a hand in the matter.
As long as their little privileges were regarded, as long as opium bubbled in the evening pipe, and pork, rice, and potatoes were served out one white skipper was the same as another to them.
The overhaul of the stores took half an hour, and was fairly satisfactory. When they came on deck, Blood, telling Charlie to take Ginnell’s place as look-out, called the latter down into the cabin.
“We want to have a word with you,” said Blood, as Harman took his seat on a bunk edge opposite him. “It’s time you knew our minds and what we intend doing with the schooner and yourself.”
“I’m glad you agree. Well, when you shanghaied me on board this old shark boat of yours, there’s little doubt as to what you intended doing with _me_. Harman will tell you, for we’ve talked on the matter.”
“He’d ’a’ worked you crool hard, fed you crool bad, and landed you, after a six months’ cruise, doped or drunk, with two cents in your pocket and an affidavit up his sleeve that you’d tried to fire his ship,” said Harman. “I know the swab.”
Ginnell said nothing for a moment in answer to this soft impeachment; he was cutting himself a chew of tobacco. Then at last he spoke.
“I don’t want no certifikit of character from either the pair of you,” said he. “You’ve boned me ship, and you’ve blacked me eye, and you’ve near stove me ribs in sittin’ on me chest and wavin’ me revolver in me face. What I wants to know is your game. Where’s your profits to come from on this job?”