But they did invade. A modern ship is a complex affair. How was I
to guess the manner of the invasion?
It was two in the morning, and for an hour I had been puzzling my
head with watching the smoke arise from the after-division of the
for'ard-house and with wondering why the mutineers should have up
steam in the donkey-engine at such an ungodly hour. Not on the whole
voyage had the donkey-engine been used. Four bells had just struck,
and I was leaning on the rail at the break of the poop when I heard a
prodigious coughing and choking from aft. Next, Wada ran across the
deck to me.
"Big trouble with Buckwheat," he blurted at me. "You go quick."
I shoved him my rifle and left him on guard while I raced around the
chart-house. A lighted match, in the hands of Tom Spink, directed
me. Between the booby-hatch and the wheel, sitting up and rocking
back and forth with wringings of hands and wavings of arms, tears of
agony bursting from his eyes, was Buckwheat. My first thought was
that in some stupid way he had got the acid into his own eyes.
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