ed the yellow bunting as it was eased
past the cross-trees and handed down on deck. 'You'll float no more
on this ship,' he observed. 'Muster the people aft, Mr Hay,' he added,
speaking unnecessarily loud, 'I've a word to say to them.'

It was with a singular sensation that Herrick prepared for the first
time to address a crew. He thanked his stars indeed, that they were
natives. But even natives, he reflected, might be critics too quick
for such a novice as himself; they might perceive some lapse from that
precise and cut-and-dry English which prevails on board a ship; it was
even possible they understood no other; and he racked his brain, and
overhauled his reminiscences of sea romance for some appropriate words.

'Here, men! tumble aft!' he said. 'Lively now! All hands aft!'

They crowded in the alleyway like sheep.

'Here they are, sir,' said Herrick.

For some time the captain continued to face the stern; then turned with
ferocious suddenness on the crew, and seemed to enjoy their shrinking.

'Now,' he said, twisting his cigar in his mouth and toying with the
spokes of the wheel, 'I'm Captain Brown. I command this ship. This is
Mr Hay, first officer. The other white man is cabin steward, but he'll
stand watch and do his trick. My orders shall be obeyed smartly. You
savvy, "smartly"? There shall be no growling about the kaikai, which
will be above allowance. You'll put a handle to the mate's name, and
tack on "sir" to every order I give you. If you're smart and quick, I'll
make this ship comfortable for all hands.' He took the cigar out of his
mouth. 'If you're not,' he added, in a roaring voice, 'I'll make it a
floating hell. Now, Mr Hay, we'll pick watches, if you please.'

'All right,' said Herrick.

'You will please use "sir" when you address me, Mr Hay,' said the
captain. 'I'll take the lady. Step to starboard, Sally.' And then he
whispered in Herrick's ear: 'take the old man.'

'I'll take you, there,' said Herrick.

'What's your name?' said the captain. 'What's that you say? Oh, that's
no English; I'll have none of your highway gibberish on my ship. We'll
call you old Uncle Ned, because you've got no wool on the top of your
head, just the place where the wool ought to grow. Step to port, Uncle.
Don't you hear Mr Hay has picked you? Then I'll take the white man.
White Man, step to starboard. Now which of you two is the cook? You?
Then Mr Hay takes your friend in the blue dungaree. Step to port,
Dunga