The gunner turned upon him so fierce a look, and made so menacing a movement, that the man shrank away, and catching what is called a crab upset the rower behind him, the crew for the moment being thrown into confusion, just as the lieutenant had raised his spyglass to his eye and was watching the coming off of the boat.
“What call had you got to do that, Billy?” cried the man, rubbing his elbows. “There’ll be a row about that. Here, give way, my lads, and let’s get aboard.”
The men made the stout ashen blades bend as they forced the boat through the water, and at the end of a few minutes the oars were turned up, laid neatly over the thwarts, and the bowman held on with the boathook while the search party tumbled on board, the sides of the cutter being at no great height above the water.
The lieutenant was there, with his glass under his arm, his head tied up so that one eye was covered, and his cocked hat was rightly named in a double sense, being cocked almost off his head.
“Disgraceful, Mr Leigh!” he exclaimed furiously. “You deserve to be court-martialled, sir! Never saw a boat worse manned and rowed, sir. I never saw from the most beggarly crew of a wretched merchantman worse time kept. Why, the men were catching crabs, sir, from the moment they left the shore till the moment they came alongside. Bless my commission, sir! were you all drunk?”
He had one eye shut by the old accident, as we have intimated, and the injury of the previous night had so affected the other that he saw anything but clearly, as he kept stamping up and down the deck.
“Do you hear, sir? I say were you all drunk?” roared the lieutenant.
“Please your honour,” said the gunner, “we never see a drop of anything except seawater since we went ashore.”
“Silence, sir! How dare you speak?” roared the lieutenant. “Insubordination and mutiny. Did I speak to you, sir? I say, did I speak to you?”
“No, your honour, but—”