“All right, messmate,” said one of the men, shouting back so as to make his voice heard, “I don’t mind; on’y what about Frenchy?”
“Ay, what about Frenchy?” cried the other. “We don’t want him to come cussin’ us and saying it’s all t’other way on.”
“Frenchy’s down in the fork’sle, with the hatch over him, and two men with loaded pistols keeping guard, lads.”
“But s’pose he gets out again?”
“They arn’t going to let him,” said Bob Hampton, “so what’s it to be? I’ve knuckled down, and so’s Neb Dumlow and Barney Blane. Are you going to return to dooty or make a fight on it? Just say sharp, ’cause we’re in a hurry.”
“Oh, we don’t want to fight,” said the first speaker, “and we didn’t want to mutiny, on’y Frenchy said we was to, and we did.”
“Pretty pair o’ sheep you was, too, my lads, to run through a gap that way. And now look here, you, jest recklect all this; you’ve both got your necks in nooses, and Mr Brymer here’s got hold o’ the other ends of the ropes, so as he can pull ’em any time he likes, and he will too if you don’t stick pretty close to your dooty. That’s right, arn’t it, sir?”
“Yes, that’s right, Hampton,” cried Mr Brymer. “You understand, then, if you do your duty now and help to navigate the ship into port, your conduct may—I say may, mind—be looked over.”
“Oh, my mate and I’ll stick to it, sir,” said the spokesman of the two men. “Frenchy was all talk about our being orficers and gentlemen if we rose again Captain Berriman, but as soon as we did rose he pumps hisself up, and it’s all Captain Jarette, and every one else is nobody at all ’cept for him to cuss at.”
“That was so,” growled Hampton.