Would they respond to the young petty officer’s appeal? If they did not, Ned realized that the outlook was black indeed.
CHAPTER VII.
AN ILL WIND FOR SCHMIDT.
The clear, commanding tones of the Dreadnought Boy had relighted in the souls of the straggling, delinquent sailors a spark of honor, of feeling for the flag and duty. But Schmidt saw to it that the revival of this instinct was only momentary.
While the men exchanged glances and began to get shoulder to shoulder ready for a rescuing rush, he raised his thick voice.
“If dey gedt you pack on sheep, you know voyt you gedt idt!” he cried. “You gedts nuddings budt der brig, bread undt vater undt no shore leafes. Nobotty can hear nuddings in dis blace, undt ov you don’t help dis young pig-head of a officer, nopoddy been der viser. Ov you help him, he take you pack aboardt der sheeps undt den your troubles pegins!”
It was a crafty appeal by a crafty man well versed in the ways of those who follow the sea. The men who, an instant before, had been rallied by Ned’s manly, outspoken address, hesitated and began to murmur among each other. Ned, with an inward groan, saw that the argument had been effective.
“I promise to do my best for you, men, if you help me now,” he cried.
“Yes, all that may be, Gunner’s-Mate,” retorted a much-tattooed old tar, who went by the name of “Harness Cask” Bill, “but what good can you do us with a skipper who’ll put us in the brig on short allowance and stop our shore leave the rest of the cruise?”
“That’s right, Bill,” cried another; “we’d only be cutting our own throats, say I.”