"It matters little," I returned. "The rascal attacked me above, Master Ringham. I pursued him down here. There is naught more to be said. I will settle with his master."
The second mate looked questioningly toward Murray. I hated to compromise so, but I had not missed the veiled threat he had addressed to me nor his use of the name Ormerod. Remember, I was still known to the crew as Juggins.
I was uncertain what attitude the captain might take if he was told that I was a political refugee. There might be a reward at stake—and sailors were human like other men. What was one man's life to them—and he a stranger—if so many hundred pounds would purchase it!
"Why, that is fairly spoken," rejoined Murray, somewhat to my surprize. "I know naught of the circumstances, Master Ringham, but perhaps I may settle with our friend here. As for the negro, I will attend to him."
"And the captain?" questioned the second mate uncertainly.
"Oh, I see no reason why we should bother Master Abbot at this juncture. There will be time enough if we fail to agree upon the issue."
"There must be no more violence," warned Ringham, his eyes on me, his words addressed to all of us.
"Violence!" rejoined Murray jovially. "Let us reject the idea altogether. Why should we disdain sweet reason's rule? Eh? Master Orm—er—Juggins?"
I bowed ironically.
"If there is any further disagreement Captain Abbot shall be called," I said to Ringham. "That I promise you."