s after the escape from the Thames and the sighting of the
Portsmouth fleet. Then all his revolutionary spirit ran riot in him.
Besides, the woman to whom he had become attached at the Nore had been
put ashore on the day Dyck gained control. It roused his enmity now.

When Dyck came down, he had the gunners called to him, admonishing them
that drill must go on steadily, and promising them good work to do. Then
he turned to the ordinary seamen.

At this moment Nick Swaine strode forward within a dozen feet of Dyck.

"Look there!" he said, and he jerked a finger towards the distant
Portsmouth fleet. "Look there! You've passed that."

Dyck shrugged a shoulder.

"I meant to pass it," he said quietly.

"Give orders to make for it," said Nick with a sullen eye.

"I shall not. And look you, my man, keep a civil tongue to me, who
command this ship, or I'll have you put in irons."

"Have me put in irons!" Swaine cried hotly. "This isn't Dublin jail. You
can't do what you like here. Who made you captain of this ship?"

"Those who made me captain will see my orders carried out. Now, get you
back with the rest, or I'll see if they still hold good." Dyck waved a
hand. "Get back when I tell you, Swaine!"

"When you've turned the ship to the Portsmouth fleet I'll get back, and
not till then."

Dyck made a motion of the hand to some boatswains standing by. Before
they could arrest him, Swaine flung himself towards Dyck with a knife in
his hand.

Dyck's hand was quicker, however. His pistol flung out, a shot was
fired, and the knife dropped from the battered fingers of Nick Swaine.

"Have his wounds dressed, then put him in irons," Dyck commanded.

From that moment, in good order and in good weather, the Ariadne sped on
her way westward and southward.

CHAPTER XIV. IN THE NICK OF TIME

Perhaps no mutineer in the history of the world ever succeeded, as did
Dyck Calhoun, in holding control over fellow-mutineers on the journey
from the English Channel to the Caribbean Sea. As a boy, Dyck had been
an expert sailor, had studied the machinery of a man-of-war, and his
love of the sea was innate and deep-seated; but his present success
was based upon more than experience. Quite apart from the honour of his
nature, prison had deepened in him the hatred of injustice. In soul he
was bitter; in body he was healthy, powerful, and sane.

Slowly, sternly, yet tactfully, he had broken down the many customs
of ship life injurio