you
mean? Are you afraid of another accident?"

"No," cried the men with one consent, in quite a shout.

"Then look here, my lads," cried Terry, drawing a pistol, "I'll stand no
nonsense. Will you obey?"

"Look here, Terry," said Roylance, sharply, "there is no occasion for
violence. The men think they have some grievance; ask them what it is."

"Mind your own business, sir," cried Terry, sharply; but as Roylance
drew back with a deprecating gesture, he spoke to the boatswain.

"Ask the mutinous scoundrels what they mean," he said.

The boatswain went up to the knot of men.

"Now then, you swabs," he growled; "what's these here games?"

"We arn't going to have him playing at skipper over us," said one of
them. "The luff put him under arrest for interferin'."

"Ay, ay," growled the others; "we don't want he."

"S'pose you know it's hanging at the yard-arm for mutiny, my lads?" said
the boatswain, gruffly.

"Mutiny? Who want's to mutiny?" said another. "We're ready enough to
work, arn't we, messmates?"

"Ay, ay," came in chorus.

"Then lay hold o' the rope, and let's have them guns up yonder."

"Ay, to be sure; we'll get the guns up," said another man; "but Mr
Terry's under 'rest."

"Then you won't haul?" said the boatswain.

"Not one on us. He arn't an officer till he's been afore the skipper."

"Well, what am I to tell him?"

"What yer like," said one of the first speakers.

Strake gave his quid a turn, rubbed his ear, and walked back.

"Won't haul, sir," he said, laconically.

"What! Then it's mutiny. Mr Roylance, Mr Belton, draw your swords.
Bo'sun, run and get a cutlass and pistols."

"I don't want no cutlass to them, sir; I've got my fists," growled the
boatswain.

"What, are you in a state of mutiny too?" cried Terry.

"Not as I knows on, sir?"

"Then arrest the ringleader."

"Which is him, sir?"

"That man," cried Terry, pointing with his dirk to Rogers, one of the
smart young fellows who had been Syd's companion in the morning. "Bring
him here. Oh, if I had a file of marines!"

"Which you arn't got," muttered Strake, as he strode back to where the
men were together.

"Here you, Ike Rogers," he said; "I arrests you for mutiny."

"No, no," growled the men together.

"All right, messmates," said Rogers, laughing. "Can't put us in irons,
for there arn't none."

"Come on," said Strake, clapping him on the shoulder. "Mr Terry wants
you."

"What for?" said Rogers,