“That’s he to a T,” said Jones. “Well, they’re all in it, the twenty o’ them. I’m no sneak, and I’m no spy, but I thought it was my duty to tell your honour. They’re preaching mutiny, and they’re spreading sedition, and—and”—here Jones lost his temper, and forgot himself so far as to bring his fist down on the table with a force that made all the glasses rattle—“I’d hang the blessed lot.”
Jones was thanked, told to keep dark, and, after a stiff glass of the captain’s rum, retired. This man had done his duty.
Early next morning, Admiral Sir John was surprised to receive a visit from Captain Mackenzie.
The latter soon opened fire in true sailor fashion.
“Admiral,” he said, “I’ve come to make an exchange. I want two of your best men for two of my very bad hats.”
The admiral laughingly requested an explanation. “For,” he added, “you certainly seem to me to wish the better half of the bargain.”
Jack explained in a very few words. He desired, instead of bringing the would-be mutineers to trial, to send one or two of them to every ship in the fleet.
“’Pon honour,” said Jervis, “the plan does you credit. I’d have hanged one or two of them. But this is better—indeed it is. Well, I’ll take your two blackest hats; and I shan’t forget to mention your cleverness when I send home a despatch. Come down to breakfast.”
That very day the smugglers were scattered all over the fleet, and peace once more reigned in the Tonneraire.