“Beg your honour’s pardon,” began Jack Brown, offering his hand to assist the astonished commander to rise.
“It’s a lie, sir! How dare you say it was an accident?” cried the lieutenant, struggling up and readjusting the handkerchief tied round his injured head, and his cocked hat over that. “It’s mutiny, sir, rank mutiny. You struck your officer, sir, and you’ll be shot. Corporal, take this man below. In irons, sir, in irons.”
“But your honour would have gone through the hole squelch on to the lower deck,” growled Jack Brown in an injured tone.
“Silence, sir,” roared the lieutenant. “Corporal, do your duty.”
“All right, corpy, I’m coming,” said the boatswain, as the marine laid his hand upon his arm. “But the skipper may fall overboard and drown hisself next time, afore I gives him a helping hand.”
“Mutiny! mutiny!” cried the lieutenant. “Do you hear, Mr Leigh? The ship’s crew are in open mutiny, and uttering threats. Fetch my pistols, sir,” he cried, drawing his sword. “Cut down the first man who utters another word. Do you hear, Mr Leigh? Quick! my pistols!”
“If you please, your honour,” began Billy Waters, pulling his forelock and giving a kick out behind.
“Si–lence!” roared the lieutenant. “Here, marines, come on my side. I’ll cut down the next man who dares to speak. Have you got the pistols, Mr Leigh?”
Of course there was no answer.
“I say, have you got my pistols, Mr Leigh?” cried the lieutenant again.