ve
minutes they were back, with resolution in their faces.

"We'll go, captain," their leader said. "Bigpig can't be moved 'thout
killin' him, and says if he lives he'll follow your mate to hell but
he'll pay him back; and the others talk the same; and we'll stand by
'em--we'll square up this day's work."

Captain Benson brought his walk to a stop close to the shot-gun. "Very
well, that is your declaration," he said, his voice dropping the
conversational tone he had assumed, and taking on one more in
accordance with his position; "now I will deliver mine. We sail at once
for Callao and back to an American port of discharge. You know your
wages--fourteen dollars a month. I am master of this ship, responsible
to my owners and the law for the lives of all on board. And this
responsibility includes the right to take the life of a mutineer. You
have been such, but I waive the charge considering your ignorance of
salt-water custom and your agreement to start anew. The law defines
your allowance of food, but not your duties or your working- and
sleeping-time. That is left to the discretion of your captain and
officers. Precedent--the decision of the courts--has decided the
privilege of a captain or officer to punish insolence or lack of
respect from a sailor with a blow--of a fist or missile; but,
understand me now, a return of the blow makes that man a mutineer, and
his prompt killing is justified by the law of the land. Is this plain
to you? You are here to answer and obey orders respectfully, adding the
word 'sir' to each response; you are never to go to windward of an
officer, or address him by name without the prefix 'Mr.'; and you are
to work civilly and faithfully, resenting nothing said to you until you
are discharged in an American port at the end of the voyage. A failure
in this will bring you prompt punishment; and resentment of this
punishment on your part will bring--death. Mr. Jackson," he concluded,
turning to his first officer, "overhaul their dunnage, turn them to,
and man the windlass."

A man--the bald-headed Sinful Peck--sprang forward; but his face was
not cherubic now. His blue eyes blazed with emotion much in keeping
with his sobriquet; and, raising his hand, the nervously crooking
fingers of which made it almost a fist, he said, in a voice explosively
strident:

"That's all right. That's _your_ say. You've described the condition o'
nigger slaves, not American voters. And I'll tell you one thing, r