Next day they sighted a bark. She was English, and, to make up for his disappointment, the Captain had the pleasure of giving her news of war, and scaring her nearly to death with the false news of German cruisers in the vicinity.

The latter trick was played out of spite, owing to her refusal to relieve him of Wolff and Shiner—still in durance vile.

He had brought the Penguin to within megaphone distance of the bark—her name was the Anne Page—and when he made his request the answer came roaring back, quite definite:

“I won’t take no German prisoners. I’m full up with pigs and copra; there ain’t standin’ room scarcely as it is, and we’re short of water and grub.”

“I’ll supply you,” cried the Penguin. “Lower a boat and you’ll have what you want.”

The Anne Page seemed to meditate a moment, and then again came the response like that of a deaf man who has failed to catch the meaning of what is said to him:

“I won’t take no German prisoners. There ain’t no room for them. Why don’t you keep ’em yourself—you’re big enough?”

On that the Captain gave his news of the German cruisers, and the Anne Page picked up her skirts and scuttled.

But next day they had better luck. They picked up a real German schooner, captained by a real Simon-pure German skipper, and eight of the scallawags of the Penguin had their first exercise under arms.

The Penguin carried a whaleboat for beach work—Wolff had strongly resented the purchase of this boat, but the Captain had stood firm—and into it were bundled Wolff and Shiner, eight malefactors armed with cutlasses and rifles, followed by Blood himself.

The schooner—the Spreewald was her name—would have escaped, but there was only a five-knot breeze blowing, and the Penguin could make ten. There was also the threat of ramming. She let herself be boarded, received the declaration of war, and then submitted to be robbed.

The whole thing was shameful, and painfully like robbing a child of the milk it is carrying home. She was but a little ship, and the booty was trifling, some five hundred dollars, some barrels of Bismarck herrings, a dozen boxes of cigars, and a gold watch and chain. That is what Blood took from her. But she relieved him of the presence of Wolff and Shiner, and he reckoned that equal to a lot of plunder.

When they steered off they got five miles away before the Spreewald had fully recovered her senses from the outrage and pulled herself together. Then they saw her spreading her canvas and altering her course.

“She was bound for one of the English islands, I expect,” said Blood, “and now she’s nosing off for some German port of call. Well, I guess this is the first blood the English have drawn in these seas. I deserve a bonus on that.”

The money he had in his pocket, also the gold watch and chain; the Bismarck herrings had gone to the lazaret, and the cigars to the saloon.

He was turning with Harman to go down and enjoy one when a little man with a red head came aft, touching his cap.

“Please, sir,” said this individual, “I was sent by the crew to ax what their share in the liftin’ is to be.”

“Oh, you were, were you?” said the Captain. “And a very natural question, too. I’ll go forward and have a talk with them.”

He found the men clustered round the picking-up gear.

“You sent to ask me what your share in the findings would be,” said he, “so I thought I’d come and tell you by word of mouth. To begin with, what do you think yourselves on board of—a pirate? You’ll just understand one thing: this ship is acting on the square; it’s under command of a Britisher—that’s me—and whatever we take rightfully belongs to the British government. But I can promise you this: Your money you signed on for will be paid when we reach Valparaiso, one-third of all pickings will be divided among you, leaving two-thirds for Mr. Harman and me; and, after we coal at Valparaiso, I intend taking the hooker down to a port I know of and selling her. Half the money she brings will be divided among her crew, the other half between Mr. Harman and me.”

“And the British government?” asked the bos’n.

“I’ll settle with the British government,” replied the Captain, with a wink.

A roar of laughter went up.

The idea of doing the Germans and the British government at the same time appealed so much to these gentlemen that they forgot to consider over the terms for the division of the spoil or dispute them.

“And may I ax are we heading for Valparaiso now?” asked the red-headed man.

“No, we are not; we are heading for a little German island named Christobal.”

“And what are we goin’ to do there?” asked another of the crowd.

“We are going to collect all the money we can find for the British government.”

Another howl of laughter.

“And suppose, when we’re landed at this here island, a German ship comes along and asks us what we are doing?” spoke up a grumbler. “What’ll us say to that?”

“Why, we’ll say we’re picking mushrooms,” replied the Captain. “Any more inquiries? Well, then, you can get to work. See here! I want half a dozen chaps to help me rig up a dummy gun on the bow balks. A stovepipe is good, but we haven’t got one, so we must just use a big spar sawed down. There’s a spare yard will do. I’ll go and speak to Mr. Harman about it.”

He turned off, and in the alleyway he met MacBean looking more serious and like a Scotch terrier than ever—an Aberdeen. He had been listening to every word.

“Mon, mon,” said MacBean, “this is an awfu’ business. Fiddlin’ with the cable was bad, but this is shoockin’, rank piracy, call it what names you will, and that I did not sign for.”

“What made you sign on at all?” cried the Captain, flashing out.

“Drink,” replied Mac. “The same that made Harman and half the crew sign on. Mon, this is an unholy ship, a drunk ship that has to keep sober, goin’ about the ocean with hell in her heart; cable smashin’ and pirating under the cover of a devastating war—and sober all the time.”

“Jolly good job for you all you have to keep sober.”

“I was not thinkin’ of the goodness or the badness of the job,” said Mac. “It’s the heepocrisy gets me.”

“Well, if the Germans don’t get you as well you’ll be lucky,” replied the other, going aft.

He found Harman in the saloon sampling the cigars, and he gave him a sketch of what he had done and said to the crew.

“A lick of grey paint and an artificial bore, which you can burn out with a hot iron, and you can’t tell a spar end from the nose of a four-inch gun,” said he in conclusion.

“From the shore?” said Harman.

“Just so,” replied the Captain. “You didn’t fancy I was going to invite the blighters aboard to inspect our armaments, did you?”