Bert grinned too, in the direction of the third hand, Shiner Bright, and his words came from between two rows of broken black stumps of teeth: "Ah. Some say good ole Dookey. That right. Shiner?"
Shiner merely jerked his head upward. He was a physical giant, well over six feet tall, and massively built, but Fate had played a cruel joke when she named him Bright, for he seldom spoke or showed any feeling. He waited with an ox-like patience while other men exchanged ideas in words which, to him, were a meaningless buzz of sound.
"Still," Dukey was saying, "we got to get a wriggle on, though, if we're going to clean up here. Bert, you stop here and have a good look round. Me and Shiner'll get aboard the after-end, have a look round the cabins and that."
" 'Arf a minute, Skipper," said Bert, rummaging amid the tangle of ropes at the foot of the foremast. "What you make o' this?" And he held up an empty bully-beef tin which had been roughly hacked open. "Funny place to find a thing like this."
"Look here, mate, we got better things to look for than that. We ain't got time for old tins. You git below and turn out them sea-chests."
"Right you are, Dukey. Funny, though, all the same."
Soon the Skipper and the silent third hand were scrambling up the sloping deck of the after-part, while the Mate searched busily and methodically through one sea-chest after another, making a neat pile on the mess-table of everything of value — coins, notes, tobacco-plugs, watches and trinkets. He heard the bump of the boat again, and the sturdy figure of the Skipper filled the doorway. His face was a dark red and his voice trembled with a thick fury: "Bert," he said, "there's something queer what I don't like about this here hooker. You want to see the Captain's safe. Some thieving beggar has gone and split it all open like a kipper. Nothing left but two busted cash-boxes, a few bits of paper, and some little envelopes, all tore up. Look 'ere!" He thrust a handful of crumpled paper under the nose of the Mate, who was the only reader aboard. Bert put on his steel-rimmed spectacles and shuffled through the papers. Finally he gave a low whistle of surprise.
"Know what this is, Dukey ? This must have been one o' these emigrant packets; this 'ere's a list o' gold and joolery what the passengers left the Captain for safe keeping. All them little envelopes had jools in 'em once."
Dukey's agony increased, and he shook his fists in front of his face in desperation: "Well, where are they, then? Look 'ere, Bert: this packet must have gone aground Tuesday night. We first seen her masts Wednesday forenoon, same time as we seen those capsized lifeboats ; nothing's been near her till this morning, when the old Liverpool turned up. Well now, the Captain would hardly break up his own safe, and the Customs chavvy wouldn't either, so who did? Who the hell did, and where is he now?"
Bert pointed to the ragged line of Essex smacks approaching from the north. "We ain't got long to find out, Skipper. Them beggars from the Colne'll be here in an hour." He stroked the bright ginger stubble on his lean chin, thinking hard and looking round at the littered deck. "Suppose one feller was left behind 'ere," he said. "Come low water, he could go where he liked, do what he liked. Well then, where is he now? He ain't down here. . . . 'Arf a tick!" His keen eye had caught the red-gold gleam of new copper on the deck, and he stooped down to pick up a copper nail. "Now there's another funny thing. What's a new copper tack doing on deck?"
"Could have been there since before she grounded."
"Then how is it it ain't been trod on or washed off. Look here, there's a reg'lar trail of'em to the ship's side. Suppose we have a look where they come from?" He stepped over the coaming into the carpenter's shop.
Dukey exploded with irritation: "What's the matter with you, mate? I always reckoned you was well-britched in the head. Never known you act so blessed daft, beggaring about with old tins and nails."
"Never mind, Skipper," said Bert, emerging on deck with the barrel of nails. "Let's have a look in here while we're at it." He shot the contents of the barrel on to the boards. The tightly-crammed money-bag lay there among the nails, and Bert unfastened it with trembling fingers.
"Gaw!" There was a simultaneous gasp from the three men as the tide of gold poured out. Until now the patient Shiner had merely looked open-mouthed at each speaker in turn; now he, too, caught their excitement and knelt down with them to finger the bright coins. It was while he was doing this that his eye caught sight of a full kit-bag, half-covered with ropes, under the bulwark by the foremast shrouds. " 'Ere, look, Bert," he said, pointing. " 'Notherbag!"
"What we got here, then?" said Bert, opening it. "Couple of sextants, chronometer with the glass smashed, couple of telescopes, deck-watch. Few quids' worth there, too, Dukey."
"What the hell do I care about old clobber like that," said Dukey, still running the gold lovingly through his hands, "when I got this lovely stuff to play with? Bert, me dear old matey, I always said you'd got a good headpiece. Didn't I always say that, Shiner? Beggared if you didn't ought to be Prime Minister in the guvment."
"Ah," said the Mate, "but you're forgetting we ain't found the jools, though. I'll lay they're worth more than that bagful. This 'ere looks like a trail, you know," he said, running his eye thoughtfully across the deck and up the shrouds. "Up there." He pointed to the foretop. "If there's anyone left alive, that's where he must be. Find him, we'll perhaps find them jools." He swung himself up into the rope ladder, and began to mount.
Dukey called out scornfully: "You're off your head, Bert. Look at all that old clutter up there. There ain't room for a sparrer, let alone a man."
But still the little wiry figure went steadily upwards.
Chapter X
The Mate's cry came floating thinly down from above: "Here he is, Dookey. He's up here!"
"Dead?" bellowed Dukey.
"Don't know. Passed out, like. Looks in a bad way. 'Ang on, I'll put a bowline on him and let him down."
Soon the three men were again kneeling on the deck, looking down into the reddened, chapped face of the apprentice. "Hel-lo!" said Dukey in surprise, "an orficer! A little old brassbounder. He must have got 'em — crafty young swab. Is he alive, Bert?"
The Mate had thrust his hand inside Jim's coat. "Yeah, Dookey. His heart's still beating a bit. Best have a look at his pockets. He might have the jools on him." Almost at once he gave a long "a-a-h" of delight as he drew out the stout buff envelope. "Hold your hands out, Skipper." He up-ended the package, and a glittering stream of gold and precious stones formed itself into a still lake in the hollow of the huge, calloused, tarry hands. In the stunned silence that followed all the men felt the clutch of wonder mixed with something like fear, as the dead Jordan had. It was a prize to stun a wealthy man; to these poor men, accustomed to living hand to mouth, and ignorant of any luxuries except those of the crudest and cheapest kind, it was like a blow between the eyes. Shiner knelt speechless, his jaw hanging slackly down; Dukey stared unmoving, speaking incoherently: "Bless my heart and soul if you ain't a wonder, Bert... Crafty young swab... We can all retire, mates, never see the blessed sea n' more... Only we have to give 'im to share."