“Do!” cried Bart, angrily, as he turned toward the men, who seemed to be divided into two parties. “Look here; I can’t parley; but is it going to be fair-play or no?”
“Yes!” rose with a shout; but it was met by a menacing growl; and one man ran to the cabin, to return directly, half dragging, half leading Mazzard, who stared round wildly in a drink-stupefied manner, and faltered out, as if in answer to a question—
“No more, now! Who’s altered her course?”
There was a few moments’ silence, during which the self-elected captain stared about him, and tried to comprehend what was going on, for he had just been roused suddenly from a rum-engendered sleep, and seemed like one in a dream.
“What, isn’t annybody going to spake?” cried Dinny; “thin I will. Who althered the ship’s course! Why, I did. D’yer think I was going to stand by and see a messmate left in the lurch? Look here, my lads; I am not going to make a spache, but the captain’s dead, and you’ve got to choose a new one.”
“Hurrah for Dinny Kelly; he’s the man!” shouted one of the sailors.
“If I didn’t know ye can’t help it, Sam Marlow, I’d say don’t be a fool!” cried Dinny, scornfully. “Now, do I look like a captain! Bad luck to ye for an omadhaun. I’m a foighting man, and not a sailor at all; but ye’ve got to choose bechuckst two. Who is it to be—Black Mazzard there, or the old captain’s brave little brother, Master Jack here, the best sailor, steersman, and bravest little chap that ever stepped on a plank? What do you say, Dick?”
“Three cheers for Captain Jack!” cried Dick Dullock.
“Nay, nay, Commodore Junk!” cried Dinny; “that name’s a power, me boys. Now, then, who among ye says it isn’t to be the captain’s brother?”
“I do!” cried Mazzard, who was growing sobered by the excitement of the scene. “I do. I’m captain of the schooner now; and if any man dares—”