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Updated: June 11, 2025
During the next hour no one on deck had to tell these men, toiling far below the water-line, that wind and sea had risen. They had warnings enough. Within their steel-incased quarters every bolt and rivet sounded the overstrain forced upon it. In the engine-room the oiler could no longer move from the throttle.
The governor is no good; and, though Grummet or Links have their grip on the throttle valve all the while to check the steam, and I've every stoker and oiler on duty, the bearings are getting that heated that I'm afraid of the shaft breaking at any moment. Full speed, sir? Why, we can't do it, sir, we can't do it!" "Nonsense, Stokes," said the skipper good-humouredly. "You must do it, old fellow."
The Captain now brought a suit of soiled mechanic's clothes and a clipper and razor, and in a half hour the prim Admiral in his fancy uniform had been reduced to the likeness of an oiler. His face roughly shaved, but pale and sallow, gave a very good simulation of illness of mind and body. "He will remain like that for at least twelve hours," said Grauble. "I gave him a heavy dose."
"Select your man, Weeks." "Bingham," said the oiler. The names of the other four men who had been selected were called in turn, and each of them selected his partner, each one of course choosing his best friend, if he had not already been appropriated.
"That I brought on board!" exclaimed the skipper of the Florence. "Yes, sir: and I thought you had gone ashore with them," added the oiler. "I brought no men on board, Sampson! What are you talking about?" demanded Christy impatiently. "Didn't you bring two gentlemen on board, and didn't one of them want to measure the carriage of the big gun?" "No! I did not!
Down in the yard I found Oiler, my orderly, and our little Ford ambulance, number fifty-three. One electric light, of that sickly yellow color universal in France, was burning over the principal entrance to the hospital, just giving us light enough to see our way out of the gates.
"My name is Dolly, sir." "Dolly? That is a girl's name." "My whole name is Adolphus, sir; but everybody calls me Dolly, and I can't help myself," replied the oiler soberly, as though he had a real grievance on account of the femininity of his nickname. "The two schooners are not quite loaded, sir, but they are very nearly full. They had some trouble here, among the hands."
He wanted, she guessed, to call her attention in some explicit way. "You git me some kind of a rag," he bade her. "I'm goin' to clean up this old musket. You might's well hand me that oiler, too, off'n the sink shelf. I can't git about any too well." She brought him the cloth and the oiler and went away to the sink again, determined not to be drawn into any uneasiness of questioning.
Rip seeing what he was doing, dropped a hand on Weeks' shoulder, holding the oiler in check. A hump moved, slid down the rounded side of the log into the narrow aisle of deck between two piles of wood. It lay quiet, a bright scarlet blot against the gray. Then Weeks did move, throwing his net over it and jerking the draw string tight, at the same time pulling the captive toward him over the deck.
"If I was you, skipper, I'd hold my temper until I got to port; then I'd git jingled an' forgit my troubles inexpensively," somebody advised him. Scraggs turned. In a little square hatch the head and shoulders of Mr. Bartholomew McGuffey, chief engineer; first, second and third assistant engineer, oiler, wiper, water-tender, and coal-passer of the Maggie, appeared.
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