“You see, it’s this way. Arter what happened when we was coming out of the river, where we lost you overboard, I come to the conclusion that that cousin o’ yours warn’t what I calls a honest man. Nobody can’t say as how I’m one of your squeamish sort, ’cause I ain’t. As fur as a bit o’ smuggling goes, or a bit of privateering, or even a bit o’ piracy, in a general way, I don’t say nothin’, but when it comes to taking and firing a culverin at your own ship, with your own mates aboard of her, why, d’ye see, I don’t call that honest. And when I find out as a man ain’t what I calls honest, I don’t sail in his company. Mind you, I’m not the man to deny that Captain Gurney has his good points; he ain’t no lawyer, that I’ll admit, and he’s as free with his rum-cask as any man I ever wish to sail under. But arter that business what I’ve mentioned, me and my mates swore we wouldn’t have nothing more to do with him.
“Well, when we got outside the river, we pointed her head for the nor’ard, and by keeping pretty close along the shore, though we hadn’t a soul on board that could navigate, we managed to bring the old Fair Maid safe into port—that’s Bombay. You may strike me blind as I set here, when I tells you that no sooner did we bring up in the harbour than who should we see carmly settin’ on the quay a-waiting for us but that eternal cousin of yourn! How on earth he got there’s a mystery, but there he was; and as soon as he sights the Fair Maid he comes off in a boat as cool as you please and takes the command again.”
“Why did you let him?” I asked, with a touch of my old resentment against Rupert. “Why didn’t you refuse to take him on board?”
Old Muzzy gave me a reproachful look and shook his head gravely.
“No, no, boy, we couldn’t go for to do that. That would ha’ been flat mutiny; and remember his name was on the ship’s books as first officer, and he might have pistolled us every one and had the law on his side. We didn’t dare leave him neither, ’cause that would ha’ been desertion, d’ye see, and he might have got out a warrant and had us brought on board again in irons.”
“What did you do, then?” I demanded as he paused, and a smile of deep cunning slowly overspread his face.
“I’ll tell you what we did, Athelstane, my hearty. We got ourselves pressed!”
“Pressed?”
“Took by the crimps, you understand, and pressed to serve King George. Oh, but it was a rare spree to see them crimps a-laying in wait for us, and enticing us into their dens, and filling us up with rum till we nearly bust where we sat, so that they could go and bring the pressgang down upon us. And us all the time asking nothing better, and ready to serve of our own accord, only it might ha’ looked suspicious, d’ye see, it being agin natur for a honest seaman to want to go on board a man-o’-war.”