The next day, his physical improvement having been well maintained, he took full charge at eight bells in the morning, and all hands fell obediently into line at his word. Work on the blubber proceeded apace, but there was a much more important duty to perform, and that was the rigging of a contrivance by means of which the ship might be steered. Here Captain Da Silva shone as a perfect seaman. He ordered a spar about the size of a medium scaffold-pole to be made into a huge oar, the blade being formed of stout planks bolted together athwart, and the interstices on each side of the spar filled with old chain for weight to keep the machine down. A solid crutch, lined with leather and well greased, was fixed on the taffrail for the upper part of the spar to work in, with plenty of play allowed, but strong lashings to prevent its jumping out of its bed. Also a severe holdfast was made just above the blade of the ‘oar,’ into which a stout tackle was hooked on either side; the upper blocks of these tackles were led to outriggers over each quarter, and the falls passed into the barrel of the steering wheel. And--of course recognising that a vast amount of uninteresting but essential detail has been left out--that is how Captain Da Silva rigged his jury-rudder. It was so successful, too, that three days afterwards he navigated his ship into the difficult harbour of Port Lloyd with it, none of the captains of whaling ships anchored there noticing any difference, except that there were one or two remarks about the _Grampus’s_ wild steering and a little wonder as to what she was towing astern.
Before going into the harbour Captain Da Silva called all hands aft and made them a speech. He said: ‘Men we’re a-goin’ in here fur repairs, wood, an’ water. Any of ye ’at wants t’ run away ’ud better make erp yewr mines before yew go fur the wust floggin’ y’ ever had w’en yew’re brought back. ’N’ yew will be, fur I’m goin’ t’ offer one hundred dollars reward fur any deserter brought back to the ship dead er alive. ’N’ thar’s lots er folks here as’d kill a man fur one dollar, let alone a hundred. No gammin’ allowed. This ship’s ben runnin’ slack. I’m goin’t’ tighten things up a bit. Naow git.’ And as all hands slunk away the skipper cast a triumphant glance at the officers as who should say, ‘What are you going to do now?’ There was no answering look. Who could reply to a challenge like that without putting himself irrevocably in the wrong?