The captain gave a gruff laugh.

"Dammy, you're the right sort!" he muttered, looking aloft at the
rigging with that contempt for foreign tackle which is essentially the
privilege of the British sailor.

Cable gave certain orders, announced that he would send four men on
board in the afternoon to bend the running tackle "ship-shape and
Bristol fashion," and refused to remain on board the _Olaf_ for
luncheon.

"We've got a bit of steak," he said, conclusively, and clambered over
the side into his boat. In confirmation of this statement the odor of
fried onions was borne on the breeze a few minutes later from the small
steamer to the large one.

The men from Sunderland came on board during the afternoon--men who,
as Captain Cable had stated, had only one language and made singularly
small use of that. Music and seamanship are two arts daily practised in
harmony by men who have no common language. For a man is a seaman or
a musician quite independently of speech. So the running tackle was
successfully bent, and in the evening the weather moderated.

There was a half-moon, which struggled through the clouds soon after
dark, and by its light the little English steamer sidled almost
noiselessly under the shadow of her large companion. Captain Cable's
crew worked quickly and quietly, and by nine o'clock that work was begun
which was to throw a noose round the necks of Prince Bukaty, Prince
Martin, Captain Petersen, and several others.