aid to the
Mate, adding, "Get the foreyard cock-billed, Mister; and a burton
rigged to heave out the cargo as soon 's we anchor. There's the
tow-boat whistlin' for ye to shorten in th' hawser. Bear a hand, mind
ye, for we've a tough night's work before us."

* * * * *

But all was not pleasant anticipation aboard of the screw tug _Active_,
towing gallantly ahead, for Captain John Cutbush had discovered his
loss, and the world wasn't big enough for his indictment of Fortune.

He had seen our flags off Benita, but had not troubled to read the
message, as he saw the answering pennant flying from the Lighthouse.
In scanning the anchorage for a convenient berth to swing his tow in,
the fire-float caught his eye.

"Hello! somethin' afire in th' Bay!" He turned his glasses among the
shipping, in search of a commotion, but all was quiet among the tall
ships.

"But where's she lyin'-to fer? There ain't nothin' this side ov
Alcatraz, I reckon."

Then a dread suspicion crossed his mind, that made him jump for the
signal-book. He remembered the flags of our last hoist, and feverishly
turned them up.

"Arrange--assistance---for--arrival."

Muttering oaths, he dropped the book and focussed his glasses on the
tow. The track of the fire was patent to the world now, and we were
unbending the sails from the yards above the fore-hatch.

"She's afire right 'nuff, 'n I never cottoned. Roast me for a ----.
'N that's what the downy old thief was standin' t' th' norrard for, 'n
I never cottoned! 'N that's what he took me on at three hundred for,
'n Meyer's boat almost along-side. Three ---- hundred 'n my ----
hawser. Waal--I'm--damned! The old limejuice pirate! Guess I should
'a known him for a bloody sharp when I saw Glasgow on her stern."

He stopped cursing, to blow his whistle--a signal for us to shorten in
the towing hawser. In the ensuing manoeuvres he was able to relieve
his feelings by criticising our seamanship; he swung us round with a
vicious sheer, eased up, and watched our anchor tumbling from the bows.
He gazed despairingly at his Mate, who was steering.

"Here's a ruddy mess, Gee-orge," he said. "Three thousan' dollars
clean thrown away. What'll the boss say. What'll they say on th'
Front?"

George cursed volubly, and expended much valuable tobacco juice.

"Here's a boomer fer th' 'Examiner,' Geeorge; here's a sweet headline
fer th' 'Call'!

"'Cutbush done!'

"'Cap'n