The discovery of the cook made a great difference in the state of affairs. It was found that he had been forced by Jarette’s threats to work for the mutineers, and if they had gained the upper hand he would no doubt have sided with them again; but now he seemed to return gladly to his regular duties, and he was as energetic as possible in preparing breakfast, waiting on Miss Denning and her brother, and when he was not cooking, making himself generally useful, as the advertisements say, about the cabins, especially that of the captain, to whom, unasked, he began to act as nurse.
That morning, by Mr Brymer’s orders, he filled a number of bottles with fresh water, and got ready a quantity of biscuits, which he was told to bear to the mutineers.
“But I dursen’t, sir,” he said. “That Jarette would swear I was a traitor as soon as he heard my voice, and shoot me same as he did poor Phipps.”
“What! the steward?” cried Mr Frewen.
“Yes, sir, dead, on the night they rose.”
“You rose,” said Mr Brymer.
“No, sir, I didn’t; I’m only a cook, and not a fighting man. One does lots of things when a pistol’s held to your head as you wouldn’t do other times.”
“Bring the biscuit and water,” said Mr Frewen, “and I’ll speak to the men. They will not use pistols when they know food is going to be given to them.”
The cook shook his head.
“You don’t know Jarette, sir,” he said.