Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

You can hide yourself on deck.'

A stiletto blade gleamed as Scraggs laid it on the table. 'You two grab him, I'll give our cap'n a swift taste of

this beauty, then we strip the body and he's ready for the fishes!'

Sindh traced his blue scar with a cracked fingernail. 'When the kapitan is gone, what then, Scraggs, my friend?

One green stone is hard to split three ways.'

Scraggs winked at them both. 'Then I take command. We sail her to Valparaiso and I as cap'n pick up the rest

of the stones. There should be plenty to go 'round twixt three then.'

Sindh thought about this for a moment before replying. 'Why can't I be kapitan, or Jamil here?'

'Because I'm an Englander, I look more like a Dutchy than you two ever could, an' I speak the lingo. Any

objections?' Scraggs toyed with the dangerous-looking stiletto, watching them. Jamil smiled and patted the mate's

hand.

'Of course not, my friend, it is a good plan. But I do have a harmless little question. What happens when we

have both the ship and the stones? We cannot sail back to Europe.'

'Simple, we follow the coast up north until we sight a place called Costa Rica. Anchor up there to take on fresh

water and fruit. While the crew are busy doing that, we jump ship. Other side of the mountain there is the Carribean

Sea, His-paniola, Cartagena, Naracaibo, beyond the reach of law. Sunny climes, blue seas, golden sands, an' we three,

rich as kings. Think of it—we could build our own castles, own ships, employ servants, or buy slaves. That would do

me fine, never to feel another cold day for life!'

Petros came stumping through from a cabin that led off the main one. The conspirators nudged one another and

fell silent. The Greek cook clipped Neb's ear with his good hand. 'You never brought me any coffee. Get on, boy,

leave some on the table by my bunk!' Obediently Neb poured a bowl of coffee and hurried through to the other cabin,

with Petros following, berating him. 'After all I do for you, save your life, feed you, teach you how to be sea cook.

This is how you treat Petros. I should have left you for the fishes. Don't spill that coffee, put it down there. Not there ...

there! Get out of here and leave me now. Nobody wants a poor sea cook with one hand. I'm in pain night and day,

with not a soul to care. Out, out!'

Neb retired gratefully to his galley.

Sitting beneath the table with his dog, Neb stroked Denmark as he pondered his dilemma. Three crewmen were

planning to murder the captain! From what Neb had seen of the Dutchman's crew, he knew they were lawless

drunkards and thieves. Vanderdecken was a hard and cruel ship's master, but he was the only one aboard who could

keep the vessel running in an orderly and disciplined manner. Without a proper captain the alternatives were bleak.

Neb doubted that such a wayward bunch would take orders from Scraggs, nor was he sure the Englander would be

able to bring them to their destination safely. Even if he did, what then? How could he warn the captain of the plot on

his life? Vanderdecken would take scant notice of his crew's lowliest member, a dumb, mute boy. The dog watched

Neb with its soft, dark eyes. As if sensing his dilemma, it licked the boy's hand and gave a single low whine.

Later that evening footsteps sounded out on deck. Neb nodded to Denmark, and the dog vanished beneath the

table to its hideout. The boy peered around the galley door. There was Vanderdecken, emerging from his cabin at the

stern. Coming toward him from midships were the two hands, Jamil and Sindh. The boy's stomach went into a knot of

anxiety. He could feel a pounding in his chest.

Somewhere between the captain and the two crewmen, Scraggs was waiting in hiding, holding the stiletto ready.

A thousand things raced through Neb's brain, silly inconsequential ideas. He dismissed them all. What could he do?

The captain halted in front of Jamil and Sindh, eyeing them suspiciously. He knew the watch order. 'What are

you two doing out here? Ranshoff and Vogel are the late-night watch.'

He caught Jamil looking over his shoulder toward the rear of the galley. Vanderdecken turned as Scraggs broke

cover and ran toward him. Jamil and Sindh threw themselves upon the captain from behind, grabbing him by his neck

and arms. Neb saw the blade flash upward as Scraggs covered the last few strides. He could not see the captain

murdered.

Flinging himself out the galley door, Neb collided with Scraggs. Carried forward, they bulled into

Vanderdecken, with Scraggs bellowing, 'Hold him tight, I'll deal with the lad!' Caught between the captain and the

mate, Neb gave out a mute cry as the stiletto blade arched overhead.

There was a deep, mumbling growl as a black shadow flew through the air. Landing on Scraggs's back, the dog

Denmark sank its fangs into the mate's shoulder. As Neb went down, he grabbed for the two crewmen's legs and held

on tight.

Vanderdecken was a tall, powerfully built man who could hold his own with any crew member. Shrugging off

the two who held him, he grabbed Scraggs's knife arm with both hands. The captain swung hard, whirling the

murderous mate around and around. The knife clattered to the deck as Van-derdecken swung the man, both staggering

across toward the rail, then he released Scraggs. The mate's startled yell was cut short as he hit the rail and jackknifed

over into the sea. His head struck the side and he went under.

The Flying Dutchman sailed onward to the vast Atlantic, leaving Scraggs and his dreams of riches in the depths

of the English Channel. Vanderdecken smashed Jamil and Sindh to the deck with wild blows and kicks. He