I was leaning over the rail after the interview in the cabin, puzzling about crimps, and looking at the shark—or one just like him—who still followed us, when I heard Mr. Emory, who was on watch, order the men up into the shrouds to shorten sail. I did not see why this should be done, for the sky was blue, dotted here and there with small woolly clouds that showed only a tendency to skurry about a little, like frisking lambs. Perhaps the men didn’t understand, either, for the bosen, Frenchy, blew his whistle presently and they left their work about half finished, and came down. Then they gathered in a group at the bow and I saw Mr. Emory go forward and talk earnestly to Frenchy, who seemed excited and gesticulated at the men, the cabin, himself and the world in general. Mr. Emory left him after a few moments and disappeared into the cabin, where I knew the Captain and Edith Gale were matched in a rubber of whist against the Admiral and Ferratoni, who had been coerced into learning the game.
I left my place at the ship’s side. I did not believe in the old shark superstition, and I had little respect for a creature that would follow a ship thirty-five hundred miles for table-scraps when he could get a fish dinner any time for the trouble of catching it. I did want to know about the men, though—why they had been taking in sail, and why they had quit and gathered in a group over the forecastle. Mr. Emory was talking to Captain Biffer when I came in.
“They refuse to obey orders,” he was saying, “unless we turn around and put into Montevideo. They claim they need more clothing for the cold weather south. The sky looks rather queer, and I set them to reefing down so’s to be ready for one of those Pampeiros that Mr. Larkins says come up in a minute down here. When they got about half through, Frenchy stopped them. They’re out forward, now.”
“Did you tell them we had plenty of warm clothing aboard?” asked Gale.
“I told them. It isn’t the clothing. They simply want to desert the ship.”
“Is Mr. Larkins on the bridge?” asked Captain Biffer.
“He comes on at eight bells—in about five minutes, now.”
“Very well; go back to the bridge, Mr. Emory, I’ll deal with this situation.” Then to Edith Gale “Don’t be alarmed, ma’am.”