"Steward—you will take these clothes below," said Pickersgill, "and, observe, I now command this yacht; and, during the time that I am on board, you will pay me the same respect as you did Lord B.: nay, more, you will always address me as Lord B. You will prepare dinner and breakfast, and do your duty just as if his lordship was on board, and take care that you feed us well, for I will not allow the ladies to be entertained in a less sumptuous manner than before.—You will tell the cook what I say,—and now that you have heard me, take care that you obey; if not, recollect that I have my own men here, and if I but point with my finger, overboard you go.—Do you perfectly comprehend me?"
"Yes,—sir," stammered the steward.
"Yes, sir!—What did I tell you, sirrah?—Yes, my lord.—Do you understand me?"
"Yes—my lord."
"Pray, steward, whose clothes has this gentleman put on?"
"Mr—Mr Ossulton's, I think—sir—my lord, I mean."
"Very well, steward; then recollect, in future you always address that gentleman as Mr Ossulton."
"Yes, my lord," and the steward went down below, and was obliged to take a couple of glasses of brandy, to keep himself from fainting.
"Who are they, and what are they! Mr Maddox?" cried the lady's-maid, who had been weeping.
"Pirates!—bloody, murderous, stick-at-nothing pirates!" replied the steward.