“Bosun’s mate! Run and tell Mr. Lomax two minutes have gone. Mr. Buckland! I’ll have the hands aft here, if you please.”
The men came trooping along the waist; it may have been merely Bush’s overwrought imagination that made him think their manner slack and careless. The captain came forward to the quarterdeck rail, his face beaming in smiles that contrasted wildly with his scowls of a moment before.
“I know where loyalty’s to be found, men,” he shouted, “I’ve seen it. I see it now. I see your loyal hearts. I watch your unremitting labours. I’ve noticed them as I notice everything that goes on in this ship. Everything, I say. The traitors meet their deserts and the loyal hearts their reward. Give a cheer, you men.”
The cheer was given, halfheartedly in some cases, with over-exuberance in others. Lomax made his appearance at the main hatchway, four men with him each carrying a twogallon anker.
“Just in time, Mr. Lomax. It would have gone hard with you if you had been late. See to it that the issue is made with none of the unfairness that goes on in some ships. Mr. Booth! Lay aft here.”
The bulky bosun came hurrying on his short legs.
“You have your rattan with you, I hope?”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Booth displayed his long silvermounted cane, ringed at every two inches by a pronounced joint. The dilatory among the crew knew that cane well and not only the dilatory—at moments of excitement Mr. Booth was likely to make play with it on all within reach.
“Pick the two sturdiest of your mates. Justice will be executed.”