“Why, the young dog was going to strike me!” cried the captain.
“Surely not, sir,” said the boatswain hastily. “Only going to help you, sir.”
“Help me! I believe he was going to hit out. Here, sir, what made you start away like that?”
“He thought it was a shark, sir,” cried Jem. “One’s been about the boat all the aft’noon.”
“Hold your tongue, sir!” cried the captain sternly. “Here, you boy, what made you flinch!”
“Thought I felt the shark touch me, sir,” said Don, sullenly.
“Oh, then I am to be thrown into the water because you are a cowardly young idiot,” cried the captain. “I’ll talk to you to-morrow. In with you, my lads, and give way.”
“There’s no boathook!” cried the coxswain; and on the keepers being called to account, their story was received with such manifest doubt, that Don writhed and sat sullenly in his place in the boat, as it was rowed back to the sloop.
“Rather an absurd story that, Jones—about the boathook,” said the captain as he stepped on board. “Mind it is reported to-morrow morning. I believe the young scoundrel was going to strike me.”
“But you struck him first,” said the boatswain to himself, as he saw the captain descend. “Hot-headed young rascal. Ah! Here, Lavington, what about that boathook? Let’s have the simple truth. One of the Maoris stole it, and you were afraid to speak?”