The boy quivered for the space of a few seconds, and
ceased to move; and one more cadet of the perishing breed perished as
he did his day's work at the wheel of the Elsinore off the west coast
of South America, bound from Baltimore to Seattle with a cargo of
coal.
CHAPTER XLVIII
The situation is hopelessly grotesque. We in the high place command
the food of the Elsinore, but the mutineers have captured her
steering-gear. That is to say, they have captured it without coming
into possession of it. They cannot steer, neither can we. The poop,
which is the high place, is ours. The wheel is on the poop, yet we
cannot touch the wheel. From that slitted opening in the ventilator-
shaft they are able to shoot down any man who approaches the wheel.
And with that steel wall of the chart-house as a shield they laugh at
us as from a conning tower.
I have a plan, but it is not worth while putting into execution
unless its need becomes imperative. In the darkness of night it
would be an easy trick to disconnect the steering-gear from the short
tiller on the rudder-head, and then, by re-rigging the preventer
tackles, steer from both sides of the poop well enough for'ard to be
out of the range of the ventilator.
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