“That’s so, our salvage. And ’tisn’t only salvage, but we want to show that tug-boat crowd, and those bark people that cast her off, that we c’n get her home. But how’s the pumps? Three thousand strokes yet? Isn’t that the devil, though? And ice enough aboard yet to make a winter’s crop for one of them Boston companies with the fleet of yellow wagons, yes. But keep to it, fellows, and by’n’by we’ll see about grub.” Later, Sam paid out a long line, which Crump took aboard the _Buccaneer_ and attached to a great hunk of beef, wrapped in four thicknesses of oilskins, and a can of hot coffee, tightly stoppered. The beef reached the bark somewhat cooled, but in bulk entire. As to the can, the stopper was buffeted out of that, and only salt water was there when Sam hauled it in. “Now what d’y’ think of that, Skipper?” “That’s the devil, ain’t it? But better luck next time.” “Lord, I hope so!” All that night the prize crew labored. The sails needed but small attention. Hauling in or paying out occasionally sufficed for them, she being on the one tack all night; but the hull of the bark setting so low made the trouble. The seas broke almost continuously over her, and added to that were the icy decks, with footing so uncertain that at any moment a man was likely to be picked up and hurled into the roaring black void. When two or three men had been hove into the lee scuppers, and from there miraculously rescued, Sam saw to it that thereafter every man worked with a life-line about him. Sam himself was fettered by no lashings. His work called for too extensive an activity. He had to be not only aft, but forward, and aloft as well as below. They could hear him moving in the blackness, grabbing sheets or halyards, fife-rail or rigging, as he stumbled from one place to another. Regularly did he disperse words of cheer. “We’ll get home yet, fellows, and fool ’em all--and then! For you home-bound craft, you that got families, there’s the wife who’ll have new dresses and the children copper-toed boots, and a carriage for the baby, with springs in it. Man, but the time you’ll all have! And the time _we’ll_ have, we privateers--hah, Gillis?” “M-m!” murmured Gillis from the region of the port pump-brake, and forced new energy into arms that long ago he had thought were beyond revival. Morning came, and with it an increase of wind and cold. Crump, from the end of the _Buccaneer’s_ bowsprit, where he managed to hang by the aid of the jib-stay, hailed Sam and offered to put on fresh men. “No,” said Sam, “we’ll stick it out a while longer.” “But by’n’by it’ll be too rough, Sammie, and we won’t be able to take you off.” “Oh, well then, no harm--we’ll stick it out some way.” “All right, have your way,” and Crump went back to the deck of his vessel.