“It is horrible,” whispered Sir Humphrey. “These men must be brought to reason.”
“Don’t you flurry yourself about that, sir,” said the skipper grimly. “I’m going to have a few words with my two bulldogs, just to put them up to what’s going on, and then we shall just keep quiet and take no notice of anything till the lads begin. Then I shall let Dellow and Lynton loose at ’em, holding myself in reserve. That will settle ’em. But if we did seem to be getting the worst of it you three gentlemen might come and lend us a hand.”
“And all be ready armed,” said Sir Humphrey, “as you three will be.”
The captain chuckled softly.
“Armed—guns and pistols?” he said at last. “Oh, no. I daresay you gents have had the gloves on and know how to use your fists?”
“Well, yes,” said Sir Humphrey; “I must confess to that. Brace is particularly smart with his.”
“I’ll be bound to say he is,” said the captain, chuckling. “Then we are likely to have some fun to-morrow.”
“You don’t apprehend danger, then, skipper?” said Briscoe: “no shooting?”
“Not a bit, sir,” was the reply. “We Englishmen are not so fond of using shooting-irons as you Yankees are. As to danger? Well, yes, there will be a bit for the lads if they really do begin to play the tune called mu-ti-nee. For there’ll be a few eyes closed up and swelled lips. Lynton’s a very hard hitter, and when I do use my fists it generally hurts. Good three years, though, since I hit a man. He was a bit of a mutineer too: an ugly mulatto chap, full of fine airs, and given to telling me he wouldn’t obey orders, and before the crew. I did hit him—hard.”
“Right into the middle of next week, skipper?” said Briscoe, laughing.