“Then you won’t haul?” said the boatswain.
“Not one on us. He arn’t an officer till he’s been afore the skipper.”
“Well, what am I to tell him?”
“What yer like,” said one of the first speakers.
Strake gave his quid a turn, rubbed his ear, and walked back.
“Won’t haul, sir,” he said, laconically.
“What! Then it’s mutiny. Mr Roylance, Mr Belton, draw your swords. Bo’sun, run and get a cutlass and pistols.”
“I don’t want no cutlass to them, sir; I’ve got my fists,” growled the boatswain.
“What, are you in a state of mutiny too?” cried Terry.
“Not as I knows on, sir?”