“Shall I go and try and bring ’em to their senses, sir?” said the boatswain.
“No—yes,” cried Terry.
“Which on ’em, sir?” said the boatswain, dryly.
“Yes. Go and see, and tell them I’ll shoot down the first man who disobeys.”
“Oh, Lor’!” groaned Rogers, with mock horror, and there was another laugh, while Syd turned away unable to keep his countenance, and went to where the lieutenant lay asleep.
“Look here, my lads,” growled the boatswain; “it’s no use kicking agen it. Come on; lay to at the ropes, and let’s get the work done.”
“We arn’t going to be bully-ragged by a thing like that,” said the oldest man present. “If he was a chap with anything in him, we would. But he’s a bully, that’s what he is. Let Mr Roylance take command.”
“Says as Mr Roylance is to take command, sir,” shouted Strake.
“No,” said Roylance, “I will not undertake the responsibility.”
“Look ye here, messmates,” cried Rogers, as Syd hung back from the little tent, “Capen Belton’s our skipper.”