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By the one-pounder amidships stood Ensign Bagley, the oiler, the two firemen, and the cook. The little boat gasped and throbbed and rolled helplessly from side to side. Lieutenant Bernadou did not stop for an examination. He knew his boat was uncontrollable. The Hudson was a short distance off still pounding away with her guns. It was hailed and asked to take the Winslow in tow.
"He's twice the man you are. Is it your horse?" "Yes." Little Hawk turned away with a grunt of satisfaction, and mounting his pony, rode off towards the junction. What the Indian meant Alex learned when, with their prisoner between them, he and the oiler approached the boarding-train, and met Little Hawk returning with Superintendent Finnan. "That him!" said the Indian briefly as they drew near.
"Now, do you see the two stars about half way between the horizon and the zenith?" "Ay, ay, sir!" answered Weeks, the oiler. "The Band of Orion." "Quite right, Weeks," added Christy. "Fort Morgan lies about west of us; and a course from there in the direction of the two stars will bring you to the coast and the boat.
The engineer sauntered down the declivity, smoking his cigar, and making himself as much at home on the enemy's territory as though he had been the commander of the Confederate fort. Christy was not kept long in waiting, and the first pair that reported to him were Weeks and Bingham. No. One. The former was the oiler who had been selected on account of his ingenuity and good judgment by Graines.
She might burn coal in her furnaces instead of oil-fuel, and every ounce of coal had to be shovelled on board from a collier by manual labour, whereas, in an oil-driven destroyer, one simply went alongside a jetty or an "oiler," connected up a hose, and went to bed while a pump did all the work.
Nippers asked of an oiler who stood, nonchalant, somewhat contemptuous, looking over the side at the seething, vociferous cattlemen. Not wasting a word on us, the oiler pointed aft over his shoulder, with a grimy thumb. We found a dark entrance like the mouth to a cave, that led down below. In our hurry we lost our footing on the greasy ladder and tumbled all the way to the bottom.
"Are you a sailor as well as a machinist, Weeks?" asked Christy. "I am not much of a sailor, sir, though I have handled a schooner. I have been a boatman more or less of the time all my life," replied the oiler modestly. By this time No. Two, Lane and McGrady, reported, but French and Lines kept their distance, in conformity with the spirit of their orders. "Nos.
The second clerk, who was also the second head wit, yelped like a suddenly squelched concertina and was quiet. The new-comer, after a grave study of the knock-kneed one's person, resumed his narrative. "Then oiler on a cattle steamer. Ever been on a cattleman?" "Huh!" The head clerk was scowling tremendously. "No? You ought to try one sometime.
The cowman's revolver had fallen from his belt. Alex caught it up and pressed it against the back of the man's head. "Stop it! Let go!" he cried. "I'll certainly shoot!" The man half relaxed, and glared up sideways. Alex brought the muzzle to his eyes, and slowly he freed his hold on the oiler. "Oh, very well," he muttered with a curse. "You win."
The bird had flown. Michael J. Murphy went in and sat down on Mr. Henckel's settee, for he was very weak and dizzy; and at least nobody could shoot at him in there. "Come, come, Michael," he croaked, "no going out this voyage. You have work ahead of you. Pull yourself together and let us count noses. Now then, there were two firemen, two coal passers, one oiler and Mr. Uhl on watch.
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