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Updated: June 4, 2025
"In South America?" "I had British Honduras in mind, or Canada. I'd like to keep in the Empire." A noise below interrupted the conversation. The two youths looked down. The deck plan of the tug lay flat and empty save for the inert form of Gaskin. The noise came from inside the cabin and arose to a shouting. It was a drunken ribald sound. A suspicion flashed on Leonard's mind.
At that moment, Gaskin entered the door with suppressed excitement showing through his usually imperturbable manner. "Hi Hi beg pardon, Mister Madden. Hi, don't want to interrupt, but " he rubbed his hands with a little bob "but would you 'ave th' goodness to step outside for a look, sir. Hi think th' Minnie B is on fire."
Leonard turned to his map showing the drift of the dock; she was swinging farther and farther out of the trade routes every day. The probability of a rescue steadily decreased. "In the future, Gaskin, cut rations one third." The cook covertly swabbed his fat jowl. "Yes, sir are we about to " he checked his question. "Yes, sir," he agreed instead.
A man's answer to that question determines whether he is a man or a thing. Before Leonard could reach any sort of decision, Gaskin rang his gong for dinner. The boy arose and walked buoyantly towards the mess hall. He was hungry, too. Ever since he had cut rations, he had been eating the same fare as the men.
Then he became a little uncertain whether or not he had ever observed any such phenomenon. He glanced down on the dark deck and could faintly discern the form of the cook. "Gaskin!" he called sharply, "Gaskin!" To his surprise the drunken fellow stirred and made some mumbling reply. "Get up. I want to know whether or not you can see anything."
When he had finished his meal, the youth arose with the intention of going to the sailors' mess house to see about the watches. He had no sooner stuck his head out of the door, however, than a whisk of spray leaped at him out of the darkness and drove him inside. He was preparing to venture out again, when Gaskin opened a locker and brought out an oilskin.
Heat, that grew more terrific as the dock drifted southward; hunger, that gnawed like rats at the empty stomachs of the crew; withering heat, aching hunger, growing despair that was life on the floating dock. Of all the crew only Gaskin remained in good condition. It would have required more than a hero to cook food and go hungry, but the crew made no such allowances.
In 1750 he was in the Baltic trade on the Maria, owned by Mr. John Wilkinson of Whitby, and commanded by Mr. Gaskin, a relative of the Walkers. The following year he was in a Stockton ship, and in 1752 he was appointed mate of Messrs. Walker's new vessel, the Friendship, on board of which he continued for three years, and of which, on the authority of Mr.
Then, under the unbelieving eyes of the crew, the little vessel ran completely into the larger one and was gone. The light vanished instantly. Utter blackness fell over the dazzled eyes of the watchers. There were gasps, explosive curses of bewilderment, amazement. The little boat had disappeared into the larger. Impossible! Gaskin began his shrill laughter again.
Greer himself stared, then moved forward automatically to continue his onslaught, when Hogan grabbed him. "Come on back," cried the Irishman. "Th' scoundrel has lift ye no ixcuse to fight him any more. He says he's a thafe, but I don't belave Come git a wash and let's wrap up yer hand." At that moment the dignified voice of Gaskin came from the forward pontoon.
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