“No, no; I mean the other one—the men’s.”
“Arn’t no nother one, sir. We always goes to the captain’s tool-chest when we’ve got anybody as wants killing, or any job of that kind on hand!”
“Ahoy, there!” came from below once more, and then the sharp report of a pistol, a crash, and Poole came bounding up on deck, revolver in hand.
Just as he came into sight the skipper’s voice was heard distinctly—
“Lay hold of the first mutineer, Poole, and drag him down here.”
“That’s meant for you, Mr Fitz, sir,” said the carpenter with a chuckle, and the men roared again.
Fitz turned upon him, white as ashes, like an angry dog about to bite.
“Silence, you insolent scoundrel!” he shouted.
“What’s the meaning of this, Burnett?” cried Poole.
“This, sir,” said the lad haughtily, stepping forward to meet him, laying one hand on his shoulder, and making a desperate snatch at the revolver; “I seize this schooner in the Queen’s name. Now, my lads, make this boy your prisoner.”