"Tousand tyfels!" at last exclaimed the corporal, and he paused and knocked his big head with his fist.
"Hundred thousand tyfels!" repeated the corporal after five minutes' more thought.
"Twenty hundred tousand tyfels!" muttered the corporal, once more knocking his head: but he knocked in vain; like an empty house, there was no one within to answer the appeal. The corporal could no more: so he returned his pocket-handkerchief to the breast of his jacket, and a heavy sigh escaped from his own breast. All the devils in hell were mentally conjured and summoned to his aid, but they were, it is to be presumed, better employed, for although the work in hand was diabolical enough, still, Smallbones was such a poor devil, that probably he might have been considered as remotely allied to the fraternity.
It may be inquired why, as this was on service, Corporal Van Spitter did not apply for the assistance of the seamen belonging to the vessel, particularly to the officer in charge of the deck; but the fact was, that he was unwilling to do this, knowing that his application would be in vain, for he was aware that the whole crew sided with Smallbones; it was only as a last resource that he intended to do this, and being now at his wit's end, he walked up to Dick Short, who had been watching the corporal's motions in silence, and accosted him.
"If you please, Mynheer Short, Mynheer Vanslyperken give orders dat de boy be keel-hauled dis morning:--I want haben de rope and de way."
Short looked at the corporal, and made no reply.
"Mynheer Short, I haben tell de order of Mynheer Vanslyperken."
Dick Short made no reply, but leaning over the hatchway, called out, "Jemmy."
"Ay, ay," replied Jemmy Ducks, turning out of his hammock and dropping on the lower deck.
Corporal Van Spitter, who imagined that Mr Short was about to comply with his request after his own Harpocratic fashion, remained quietly on the deck until Jemmy Ducks made his appearance.