Mike was silent for a few seconds, and then he asked:
“Is the captain countin’ on leaving us here?”
“You have brought it on yourselves, and can be mighty certain that we wouldn’t raise a finger to help you now, if the whole gang was starving,” Captain Mansfield shouted from his place of vantage under the rail.
The mutineers began to understand that a speedy punishment was about to overtake them, and the leader cried in a whining tone:
“We’ll die for the want of something to drink, if you leave us.”
“There’s little chance the world will be so lucky as to get rid of you. I shall notify the authorities at Nassau of your whereabouts, as well as of the likelihood that at least a portion of the brig’s cargo will be found on Walker Key, and I reckon you’ll not be left alone very long.”
This acted like a douche of cold water upon the mutineers, who were also, probably, wreckers, and they exhibited every symptom of uneasiness.
“It is time for you to go to work,” Mr. Jenkins said to his prisoner. “Get into the boat with me, and we’ll pull the schooner’s head around so your friends won’t have so good a chance to interfere with us while we weigh the anchor; but remember that if you attempt to give me the slip, I’ll split your head open with this,” and the mate flourished the belaying-pin savagely.
Sheltered from those on the shore by the yacht herself, this portion of the task could be done in comparative safety, and while one of the sailors payed out on the cable the craft was swung around stern on.
Then the men managed to rig up the quarter-deck awning as a screen, without exposing themselves very much, and all hands could now work while hidden from view of the angry scoundrels on the shore.