"That settles it," said the chief. "We are on a doomed ship."
"The boats! The boats!" shouted the men.
"Stay where you are," bellowed Barr, mad with rage, "get that ivory
off first."
"To blazes with your ivory," shouted a grizzled old fireman, "do you
think we are going to perish aboard here for such an old skinflint
as you?"
"Why, if we had time we'd run you up at your own main-gaff you old
land-shark," shouted another.
"Come on! the boats--the boats!" they yelled.
Barr stood irresolute while they lowered the four boats that the
Brigand carried and piled into them. The shore was only a few miles
off and they would reach it in a few hours.
While Barr hesitated he felt the ship give a lurch. She was
settling!
That decided him.
Ivory or no ivory he feared such a death as he felt convinced would
come to any one unfortunate enough to be aboard the ship in a few
hours' time even more than he did the loss of the ivory.
"Hold on!" he shouted to the men in the boats, "I'm coming along."
"Not much you ain't," yelled Davis--the man he had dealt the blow
to, "you stay there and rot with your ivory--you old crook."
With mocking laughs the men pulled away and Luther Barr, master of
millions, was left alone on the sinking yacht.
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