“Which I don’t wonder at it, your honour,” said Tom Tully, in his low deep growl: “I ain’t said not nowt to my messmates, but I’ll answer for it as they’ll all be willing.”
“Willing? willing for what?” cried Hilary.
“Shove the skipper into the dinghy with two days’ provision and water, sir, and let him make the shore, if you’ll take command of the little Kestrel.”
“Why, you mutinous rascal,” cried Hilary. “How dare you make such a proposal to me? Hold your tongue, and go forward, Tom Tully. Duty on board is to obey your superiors, and if they happen to be just a little bit unreasonable, you must not complain.”
“All right, your honour,” said Tom Tully, giving his loose breeches a hitch; “but if the skipper was to talk to me like he do to you—”
“Well, sir, what?”
“I’d—I’d—I’d—”
Tom Tully had taken out his tobacco-box, and opened his jack-knife, with which he viciously cut off a bit of twist, exclaiming:
“That I would!”
He said no more, but it seemed probable that he meant cut off his commander’s head; and he then rolled forward to help the carpenter, and the whole strength of the crew, whom the first rays of a dull grey morning found still at work hauling in the tangle of spar and rope; and soon after, a stay having been secured to the wreck of the cutwater, a staysail was hoisted, and the cutter pretty well answered her helm.