“It’s shameful, uncle,” I said, passionately, “if we stop on board much longer I shall tell him he’s what you said.”
“No, hold your tongue, Nat,” said my uncle. “We have no right to interfere. He has often made my blood boil. Ah! don’t laugh. I mean feel hot, sir.”
“I wasn’t going to laugh, uncle,” I said. “It makes me wonder, though, how boys can want to come to sea.”
“All captains are not like our friend yonder,” said Uncle Dick. “But it seems to me that he’s a tyrant to everyone on board. Who’s being bullied now?”
For just then sharp words were being exchanged, and a gruff voice cried:
“Do. You hit me, and skipper or no skipper, I’ll give it you back with interest!”
“What! you mutinous dog!” shouted the captain. “Here, boy, go down and fetch my revolver from the cabin.”
“Bah!” came in a loud voice. “You daren’t use it. If you did, the crew would put you in irons.”
The ship’s carpenter came by where we were stood, scowling fiercely at us both, walked to the forecastle hatch, and went below.
“Yes, Nat,” said my uncle, “I think we shall be happier out in the woods. Don’t you wish we had Ebo here?”