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Updated: May 23, 2025
Sharpman drew a well-filled wallet from his pocket, took two bills from it, folded them together, and placed them into Craft's trembling fingers. "There," he said, "that's all right; we won't say anything about that till we come into our fortune." Old Simon pocketed the money, mumbling his thanks as he did so.
This time the solid shot struck the water a bare fifty feet ahead of the strange craft's bows as she forged on through the waves, her bow stirring up a gleaming white foam. "That ought to stop her!" muttered Lieutenant Jack Benson, impatiently. "I don't believe it is going to, though, sir," reported Ensign Fullerton, studying the other vessel through his night-glass.
I shall never consent to a stick of this good craft's going into the galley-fire as long as I can see my way clear to prevent it. I would burn cargo before I would burn my craft." Roswell wondered at this pertinacity; but he trusted to the pressure of the coming season, and changed the subject.
From the irregular way in which the walls were formed, he quickly decided that the pit was a natural one. The streaks, he thought, might have been due to lava flow. His agent proceeded to drive straight over the rim and down the slope into the pit. His engine was quite stopped; like Smith, the geologist wondered just how the craft's wheels were operated.
The aim was a splendid one, but the elevation was scarcely sufficient, for the shot struck the craft's weather bulwarks fair between the masts, making the splinters fly. "Excellent!" I exclaimed. "Admirable! Don't alter your elevation, Thompson, for we are nearing him fast. Try again, as quick as you like."
"Where's the vessel?" "Right ahead, sir, and standing down this ways, if I see straight." I stood up on the stern locker and looked ahead. Sure enough, a white speck showed on the northern horizon, but I couldn't see enough of the craft's sails to tell which way she headed.
The people back in the court-room had risen to their feet, to look down into the bar, and the constables were trying to restore order. It all took place in a minute. Then Ralph began to talk again: "Rhymin' Joe said so; he said I was Simon Craft's grandson; he told " Sharpman interrupted him. "Come with me, Ralph," he said, "I want to speak with you a minute."
They approached it so closely that Cyril expected that in another moment the craft would take ground, when, at a shout from the captain, the men in the boat started off parallel with the shore, taking the craft's head round. For the next three-quarters of an hour they pursued a serpentine course, the boy standing in the chains and heaving the lead continually.
The gale soon reached its height; the sea, lashed into fury, seemed one mass of foam, and broke over us so frequently that every instant I expected the boat to be swamped. Two men baling could scarcely keep her free. Our only chance was to run before it, for the strength of the crew no longer availed to keep our small craft's head to wind.
"There's a strange yarn going the rounds of this here craft's fo'c'sle," said he, "about your bein' on a sort of v'yage of discovery a'ter your father, sir." I said, "Certainly; it was perfectly true." "Well, sir," said he, "maybe I might be able to help you in your search.
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