The belief that they had come off victorious in their skirmish with
Cappy Ricks cheered Matt Peasley and his mate for the first two weeks
out from Puget Sound; after which the creosote commenced to season their
food, and then the victory began to take on the general appearance of
a vacuum. However, thanks to a clean keel and fair winds, they made a
smashing passage and their sufferings were not unduly prolonged.
Immediately on his arrival at Antofagasta the young skipper reported by
cable to his owners, thereby eliciting the following reply from Cappy
Ricks:
“You stole ship. If you value your ticket bring her back with
cargo agent provides.”
Naturally this somewhat cryptic cablegram roused Matt Peasley's
curiosity. He could not rest until he had interviewed the agent--and
after that sop to his inquisitiveness he returned to the Retriever
a broken man. The loyal and disgusted Murphy read the trouble in the
master's face.
“What new deviltry's afoot now, Matt?” he demanded, in his eagerness and
sympathy forgetting the respect due his superior.
“Green hides, Mike!” the skipper answered, in his distress failing to
notice the mate's faux pas and making one himself. “Green hides, old
pal; and they stink something horrible. Back to Seattle with the dirty
mess, and then another cargo of creosoted--”
“King's X!” yelled Mr. Murphy. “I crossed my fingers the minute your
face appeared over the rail. I quit--and I quit as soon as this piling
is out. I tell you I won't keep company with green hides. No, sir; I
won't. I tell you I will--not--do it! Why, we might as well have a dead
hog in the hold! Captain Matt, I hate to throw you down in a foreign
port; but this--is absolutely--the finish!”
“Do you value your ticket, Mike?” the captain queried ominously.
“What's a ticket when a man's lost his self-respect?” Mr. Murphy raved.
Matt handed him Cappy's cablegram and the mate read it.
“I think that bet goes double, Mike,” the skipper warned him. “You
signed for the round trip. I've got to go through--and there's strength
in numbers.”
“Well,” said Mr. Murphy reluctantly, “I suppose I do attach a
certain--er--sentimental value to my ticket.”
“I thought you would. Cappy's got us by the short hair, Mike; and the
only thing to do is to fly to it, with all sails set. We must never let
on he's given us anything out of the ordinary.”
Mr. Murphy shivered; for, as Cappy had remarked to Mr. Skinner, the mate
was Irish, hence imaginative. He imagined he smelled the green hides
already, and quite suddenly he gagged and sprang for the rail. Poor
fellow! He had stood much of late and his stomach was a trifle sensitive
from a diet of creosote straight.
Somehow they got the awful cargo aboard, though, at that, there were
not sufficient hides to half load her; in consequence of which all hands
realized that Cappy had merely given them this dab of freight to sicken
them. They cursed him all the way back to Seattle, where the crew quit
the minute the vessel was made fast to the dock.