rotten before we were out two months. Naturally, the ship's
officers stuck it out longest, but when we drifted in here this
morning, I was the only man aboard able to stand up. I crawled up
on the to'-gallan'-fo'castle and let go the starboard anchor. I'd
had it cock-billed for three weeks. All I had to do was knock out
the stopper."

While Mr. Gibney questioned him and listened avidly to the
horrible tale of privation and despair, McGuffey appeared to
report a brisk fire under the donkey and to promise steam in
forty minutes; also that the _Maggie_ was hove to a cable length
distant, with her crew digging under the deckload of vegetables
for the small boat. "Help yourself to a belayin' pin, Bart, an'
knock 'em on the heads if they try to come aboard," Mr. Gibney
ordered nonchalantly.

"Do I understand there is a steamer at hand, Mr. Gibney?" the
master of the _Chesapeake_ queried.

"There's an excuse for one, sir. The little vegetable freighter
_Maggie_. She'll never be able to tow you in, because she ain't
got power enough, an' if she had power enough she ain't got coal
enough. Besides, Scraggs, her owner, is a rotten bad article an'
before he'll put a rope aboard you he'll tie you up on a contract
for a figger that'd make an angel weep. The way your ship lies
an' everything, me an' McGuffey can sail her in for you at half
the price."

"I can't risk my ship in the hands of two men," the sick captain
answered. "She's too valuable and so is her cargo. If this little