"Wot er you w'inin' 'bout there, you good-fer-nothin' nigger," sneered the cockney. "You ain't no bloomin' use, any'ow, so shut yer jaw."
"Brazen sarpints!" broke in the old man again, "what's all this powwow about? Air yer goin' ter git forrard, or shall I slam her loose?"
What the outcome of the matter would have been it is difficult to say, but at this interesting point a big sea interrupted the discussion most effectively. Toppling aboard amidships, it overwhelmed the mutineers and washed them helter-skelter in every direction. So the trouble finished, and Yankee discipline once more reigned supreme.
Black Davis was taken below with a badly broken collar-bone, whilst the remains of Studpoker Bob, the gambler and sea-lawyer, were got ready for burial.
For a few days the absent ones were discussed in the foc's'le, until the advent of Cape Horn weather drove all other thoughts out of the minds of the short-handed crew.
But Curly went heavily-hearted about his work, whilst the big bosun also felt their loss in his own fashion.
And before the westerly gale flew the Higgins, leaving two men, a boy, and three life-savers to the mercy of the great southern rollers.