Still no one stirred, and Terry grew pale. His one hand played about his sword, and his other hand sought a pistol.
“Bo’sun!” he cried, “what is the meaning of this insubordination?”
Strake shook his head.
“D’ye hear, my lads? Mr Terry wants to know the meaning of this ins’bordination.”
Not a man spoke.
“Look here,” cried Terry, drawing his dirk, “I am not going to be trifled with. I order you to help hoisting up those guns. What do you mean? Are you afraid of another accident?”
“No,” cried the men with one consent, in quite a shout.
“Then look here, my lads,” cried Terry, drawing a pistol, “I’ll stand no nonsense. Will you obey?”
“Look here, Terry,” said Roylance, sharply, “there is no occasion for violence. The men think they have some grievance; ask them what it is.”
“Mind your own business, sir,” cried Terry, sharply; but as Roylance drew back with a deprecating gesture, he spoke to the boatswain.