Chips and I looked at the mate, but he simply scratched his head.
"Discipline is discipline," he said. "He ware capting o' this here ship, an' there ware no way to do but obey his orders. No, sir, discipline is discipline, an' the sooner ye get it through your heads, the better."
"But he isn't captain any longer," I said.
"Well, I don't know about that," said Trunnell. "If he ain't a-comin' back, he ain't capting, sure. But ye can't tell nothin' about it. He may come aboard agin in a little while an' want to know why we didn't wait dinner for him."
"He sho' would take his trunk," said Gunning, "an' dat's a fact."
"Why would he?" asked Mrs. Sackett.
"'Cause he take good care o' dat trunk, ma'm. He sleep wid one eye on it an' his gun handy. I come near gettin' killed onct when I come into de cabin, suddin' like, while he was at work ober de things inside."
"For Heaven's sake, let's look at it," said Mrs. Sackett.
"'Tis th' best thing we cud do," said Chips. "'Tis no less than solid gold he stowed in it. Faith, it's as heavy as th' main yard."
Mrs. Sackett led the way to the captain's room, and Trunnell made no farther resistance. She opened the door, and we crowded inside. There lay the trunk on the floor or deck ahead of us.
"Try yer hand at th' liftin' av th' thing," said Chips to me.
I reached down and took hold of the handle at the side. Pulling heavily, I lifted with all my power. The trunk remained stationary.
"Dere's nothin' but gold in dat thing, sho'," said Gunning.
"Well, for Heaven's sake! why don't some one open it?" cried Jennie.
"An' have him a-comin' back aboard, a-wantin' to know who had been at it, hey?" said Trunnell. "I didn't think ye ware that kind o' missy."
"Nonsense!" I said. "He isn't coming back. Even if he is, it won't hurt to lift it, will it?"
"No, I don't know as it will, only it might upset them charts," said Trunnell.
"Try it," I said. "See if it's gold. It'll clink when you shake it, sure."
The little giant stooped and gave a grunt of disdain. "I reckon there ain't nothin' that size I can't lift," said he, in a superior tone, which was not lost on the women. Trunnell seldom bragged, and we crowded around, looking for quick results.
"A little bit o' trunk a-breakin' the backs o' a pair o' fellows as has the impudence to say they are men an' question the discipline o' the ship!" he said, with a loud grunt of disgust. "Stan' clear an' let a man have a chanst. If it's gold, an' ye're right, it'll rattle an' jingle fast enough; an' I hopes then ye'll be satisfied."
He took a strong hold of the leather handle at the side and braced his little legs wide apart. It was evident he would put forth some power. Then he set the great muscles of his broad back slowly, like a dray horse testing the load before putting forth his strength. Slowly and surely the little mate's back raised. He grew red in the face, and we peered over the treasure, hoping it would rise and give forth the welcome jingle.
Suddenly there was a ripping sound. Trunnell straightened up quickly, staggered for an instant, and then pitched forward over the trunk, uttering a fierce oath.
Mrs. Sackett screamed. Jennie burst into a wild fit of laughter. Chips and Gunning stood staring with open mouths and eyes, while Trunnell picked himself up, with the trunk handle in his iron fist.
"Faith, an' ye are a good strong man," said the carpenter. "Ye'd make a fortune as a porter a-liftin' trunks at a hotel."
"He can lift a little thing like that," said Jennie, mimicking the mate's tone to perfection.
Trunnell was now thoroughly mad. If the trunk contained gold, he would soon find out.
"Bring yer tools, an' don't stan' laffin' like a loon, ye bloody Irishman," he said to Chips, and the carpenter disappeared quickly. He returned in a moment with a brace and bit, a cold chisel, and a hammer.
"Knock off the top," said Trunnell.
"Discipline is discipline," whispered Jennie; "and I don't want to be around if the captain comes back."
Trunnell was too angry to pay attention to this remark, so he looked sourly on while the carpenter cut off the rivets holding the lock.
"There ye are," he said, and we crowded around to look in while the mate raised the lid.
Off it came easily enough. We stood perfectly silent for an instant. Then all except Trunnell burst out laughing. The trunk was empty!
"Well, sink me down deep, but that ware the heaviest air I ever see," said Trunnell. Then he picked up a slip of paper in the bottom and looked at it a moment. It had writing on it, and he unfolded it to read. I looked over his shoulder and read aloud:--
"MY DEAR LITTLE MATE: When you get this here billee ducks, don't do anything rash. Remember the discipline of the ship, first of all, and then take the dollar bill here and get somebody to cut your hair fer ye, as it's too loing fer a man of sense and is disagreeable to the ladies. If ye thought ye had a pot of gold in this here outfit, ye get left, sure, and no mistake. Remember money's the root of all evil and thank yer Lord ye ain't got none. There ain't no answer to this note; but if ye feel like writing at enny time, address it to Bill Jackwell, care of anybody at all what happens to be around at the time I'm there--see? Some day we'll meet agin, fer I'm stuck on the sea and am going to buy a boat and appoint ye as captain, only yer must cut yer hair and trim up yer beard some. That's all."
Trunnell held the dollar bill he had unfurled from the note in his hand and dropped the note back into the trunk.
"'Tis screwed fast wid nine big bolts to th' deck," said Chips, who had examined the outfit carefully.
Trunnell scratched his bushy head thoughtfully for a moment longer. "Is there any sech thing as a few men aboard this ship?" he asked.
I said I thought there was.
"Then man the boat and row, for the love o' God!" he roared, springing up the companionway to the deck, leaving us to follow after him.
XXIV
When we reached the deck and looked after the brig, we found that we had spent more time below than at first imagined. The Shark was hull down to the southward and evidently going along steadily at a three-knot rate. The sun was almost on the horizon, and if we started after her, the chances were that night would fall long before we could lessen the distance between us materially. Sober appreciation of the affair took the place of Trunnell's impetuosity.
"We'll niver see him agin," said Chips, hauling heavily on the boat tackles.
"There's no use, Trunnell," I cried; "we can't catch that brig in a whale-boat."
He was already hesitating, and stood scratching his shaggy beard.
"Avast heavin' on that tackle," he bawled. Then he turned to me. "You're right, Rolling, we've lost a fortune an' the rascal too, but it ain't no use making bigger fools of ourselves. Stow the boat. After that send Johnson aft to me with a pair o' scissors. You an' Tom can set the watches, fer ye see I'm capting of her now. Ye might say, on the side like, that the first burgoo eater what comes along the weather side o' the poop while I'm on deck will go over the rail. There's a-goin' to be some discipline aboard the hooker, or I'll--well, there ain't no tellin' just what I won't do. I'm capting o' this here ship, an' ye might jest as well muster the men aft to hear the news."
Then he disappeared down the companion aft, and I sent Johnson to him with the shears as he had ordered.
When Trunnell came on deck again in the evening, his beard was a sight to be remembered. It looked as though a rat had nibbled it in spots. His hair was equally well done by the artist, but Jackwell's last order had been obeyed. The men were mustered aft, and Trunnell announced that he was the man they wanted to stand from under. They remained silent until Johnson suggested that three cheers be given for the new skipper. Then all hands bawled themselves hoarse. That was all. I was now the first mate and took my meals at the cabin table, where Jennie and her mother had been wondering at Trunnell's dexterity with his knife. The little mate appeared to realize that a certain amount of dignity and dress were necessary for the maintenance of correct discipline aboard, and he accordingly changed his shirt once a week and wore a new coat of blue pilot cloth. He sat at the head of the table, and went through his knife-juggling each meal, to the never ending amusement of Jennie, and admiration of Gunning, who swore that, "dey ain't no man afloat cud do dat no better." He, however, came through the rest of the cruise without even cutting his lip.