“Is Mr. Larkins on the bridge?” asked Captain Biffer.
“He comes on at eight bells—in about five minutes, now.”
“Very well; go back to the bridge, Mr. Emory, I’ll deal with this situation.” Then to Edith Gale “Don’t be alarmed, ma’am.”
I risked a remark.
“Is this your first strike, Captain?” I ventured.
His eye fixed me grimly.
“We don’t call it that at sea,” he said, “we call it mutiny!”
The word rather startled me, but I followed him out on deck, as did the others. No one could remain in the cabin with a thing like that going on outside. The men were about as we had left them—the bosen, Frenchy, somewhat in front of the others. He was a villain and a traitor, but he was not without bravado.
“We haf not been well treat!” he began, “we haf been deceive. We——”
He paused. The Captain had drawn a bead on him with the eye he most frequently used on me. With the other he took aim at the group behind, and every man of them felt himself singled out, and quailed. I could see them beginning to shrink and wither even before he said a word. He began by gently reminding them of the usual lightness of their employment and the continued excellence of their bill-of-fare; then in good sooth he opened up.