“Zeb Anderson, by the big snapping turtle of the South Pole!” yelled Herc, as he made a similar discovery that his prisoner was not unknown to him.
As neither of the rascals would utter a word, Lieutenant Parry decided to go aft at once after they had been secured, and try to get an explanation of how they came to be in the yacht’s crew. As the party reached the after deck they found old Mr. Pangloss in the midst of a long explanation of how the trouble had come about. They had sailed from Narragansett the evening before. He meant to cruise down to Southern waters.
“But the mutiny, sir? What started it?” broke in Captain McGill impatiently, as the apostle of peace rambled along.
“Why, sir, I believe they must have been after my daughter’s jewelry. She has $150,000 worth on board.”
“Permit me to say, sir, then, that I think that you have used very little judgment in taking such valuables to sea with you.”
“Just what I told papa,” put in the girl, who had been standing by the rail with Channing Lockyer, and seemed to have lost all interest in mutinies, or anything else.
“B-b-b-but they were in a safe,” stuttered Mr. Pangloss, looking red and abashed.
“As if that would act as an obstacle, sir,” said Captain McGill impatiently; “but your captain, where was he during all this trouble?”
“Why, sir, he left me at Narragansett,” rejoined Mr. Pangloss. “He objected to my refusing to allow him to put two unruly members of the crew in irons. I decided to navigate the craft myself down to New York, where I would ship another skipper.”
“Had you no other officers?”