reason at all why you should not do those things. I advise you to fill on the ship at once, and steer as you were heading when you had the misfortune to lose your skipper and mate. Do you know what that course was?”
“Oh yes,” answered Enderby; “the course was north-east, a quarter east.”
“Very good,” said I. “Let that be the course until I shall have had an opportunity to take a set of sights to determine the ship’s position. I suppose Captain Stenson had a sextant, chronometer, and all necessary navigation tables aboard?”
“Yes, sir,” said Billy. “They’re all in his state-room. If you’ll come with me I’ll show them to you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “What I am chiefly interested in, just now, is the chronometer. Do you happen to know when it was last wound, Billy?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the boy; “last Sunday morning. Father used always to wind it every Sunday morning directly after breakfast.”
“Good!” I remarked. “Then everything will be quite all right. And now, bosun, what about berthing me? Where can you stow me?”
“No difficulty at all about that, sir,” answered Enderby. “The Old Man’s state-room is the place for you, because his instruments and charts and books are all in there; and, as of course you’ll want the place to yourself, Billy can shift over into the mate’s state-room, which is also vacant.”
“An excellent suggestion,” I remarked.
“All right,” agreed Enderby; “then we’ll call that settled. Steward!”
And when that functionary appeared the boatswain continued:
“Joe, this is Mr Blackburn, our new skipper. You’ll take your orders from him in future; and — Joe, see that things are straightened up in those two state-rooms, the beds made, and so on.”
The steward very cheerfully assented, and Enderby and the carpenter then rose to go on deck, quickly followed by myself. The two men went for’ard and joined the little crowd assembled on the forecastle, to whom, as I of course surmised, they forthwith proceeded to relate what had passed in the cabin. Whatever it may have been, it seemed to afford the hearers satisfaction, for they smiled and nodded approval from time to time, as the story was being told; and when at length it was ended they all came aft and, while one hand hauled down the ensign and stowed it away, another stationed himself at the wheel, and the remainder tailed on to the braces, swung the headyards, boarded the foretack, and trimmed the jib and staysail sheets, getting way upon the ship and bringing her to her former course; after which, without waiting for any order from me, they set the port topgallant, topmast, and lower studding-sails. This done, the boatswain and carpenter came aft to where I stood and inquired whether what had been done met with my approval; to which I replied in the affirmative.
“And now, sir, about the watches,” remarked Enderby. “Before the night afore last, the mate took the port watch, and I the starboard; but now that the mate’s gone, how would it be if I was to take the port and Chips the starboard watch? Would that suit ye, sir?”
“Yes,” I said, “that would be an excellent arrangement, I think. By the way, how many do you muster in a watch?”
“Four in each, includin’ me and Chips,” answered the boatswain.
“Um! none too many, especially considering the part of the world to which you are bound,” I remarked. “You will have to keep a sharp eye upon the weather, and call me in good time if you should be in the least doubt as to what you ought to do. Has either of you ever been this way before?”
They had not, it appeared.
“And what about your forecastle crowd?” I asked. “Are they all good, reliable men? Some of them are foreigners, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” answered Enderby, lowering his voice and drawing me away from the vicinity of the man at the wheel. “Yes, worse luck, our four A.B.s are all foreigners. Not that I’ve got anything very special to say against ’em. They’re good sailor-men, all of ’em; but the fact is, sir, I don’t like bein’ shipmates with foreigners; I don’t like their ways, and some of ’em has got very nasty tempers. There’s Svorenssen, for instance — that big chap with the red hair and beard — he’s a Roosian Finn; and he’ve got a vile temper, and I believe he’s an unforgivin’ sort of feller, remembers things against a man — if you understand what I mean. Then there’s ‘Dutchy’, as we calls him — that chap that pushed hisself for’ard when we hoisted in your boat — he’s an awk’ard feller to get on with, too; hates bein’ ordered about, and don’t believe in discipline. He and Svorenssen will both be in my watch, and I’ll see to it that they minds their P’s and Q’s. The other two aren’t so bad; but they’d be a lot better if Svorenssen and Dutchy was out of the ship.”
“Ah, well,” I said, “we are five Englishmen to four of them. If they should take it into their heads to be insubordinate I have no doubt we shall know how to deal with them. And now, I should like to have a look at the log-book. I suppose you know where it is kept?”
“Yes,” answered Enderby, “the skipper used to keep it in his cabin. Billy’ll give it you, and show you all you want to see. He knows where his father kept everything. Oh! and I forgot to mention it, but supper’ll be on the table at seven o’clock.”
“Righto!” I returned as I wheeled about and headed for the companion.
Chapter Four. I take Command of the “Yorkshire Lass.”
“Billy, my boy, where are you?” I called, as I entered the cabin.
“Here I am, sir,” replied the lad, emerging from what had been his father’s state-room. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”
Billy Stenson was certainly an amusing and very lovable little chap as he stood there before me, alert and bright-eyed, reminding me somehow of a dog asking for a stick to be thrown into the water, that he may show how cleverly he can retrieve it. If Billy had possessed a tail I am certain that at that moment it would have been wagging vigorously.
“Yes, Billy,” I said. “I should like to see the ship’s log-book. Enderby tells me that you know where it is kept, and can find it for me. And I should like another look at the chart that you showed me a little while ago. Also, if you can put your hand upon that agreement between your father and Mr Barber, I should like to look through it — with any other papers there may be, bearing upon the matter. The story is a very remarkable one, and I feel greatly interested in it.”
“Yes, sir,” said Billy. “I’ll get you the log-book, and the chart, and the agreement. And I think you’d like to see Father’s diary too, sir. When he met Mr Barber, and they began to talk about goin’ huntin’ for the treasure, he started to keep a diary, writin’ down in it everything that Mr Barber told him about it; and there’s a drawin’ in it that Mr Barber made — a sort of picture of the place, showing how it looked, so that they might know it when they saw it again.”
“Ah!” said I. “I should certainly like to see that diary, if you care to show it me. The perusal of it will be most interesting and will probably tell me all that I want to know.”
A few minutes later I was seated at the table, with the chart spread open before me, the log-book open, and the diary at hand, ready for immediate reference. The log-book, however, had nothing to do with the story of the treasure;
