“Go below and get your chest, Iles,” said Cottrill.
“Get ter hell,” said Iles.
Cottrill walked up to him and smote him in the eye. “Get your chest, pronto,” he said. “Give me any more of your lip and I’ll lay your spine bare. Give him a hand you, Wise.”
“You know the rules, men,” said Captain Cammock. “Choose your new second mate.”
The men shuffled and shifted. One of them, a leader in the fo’c’s’le, shoved the bosun forward. “What the hell, boys,” said the bosun under his breath. “We’d rather you chose, sir,” said old Sails, coming from among the crowd after a moment of busy whispering.
“I choose you, boatswain,” said Cammock. “Ay or no, you?”
“Ay, sir.”
“Mr. Ramage, you’re our second mate. Come to my cabin at eight bells and sign the articles. You, Griffin Harris, take Mr. Ramage’s call; I make you boatswain. Mr. Ramage, tell one of the hands to shift your gear into the second mate’s cabin. Harris, bring your chest aft to the round-house. Men, remember that Mr. Ramage is Mister Ramage. Take the call, Harris.”
Griffin Harris, a short, thick-set seaman, hanging his head but showing no trace of emotion, pulled his forelock and stepped up to Mr. Ramage.
“Beg pardon, Mr. Ramage,” he said, “might I have the call, sir.” Mr. Ramage slipped the chain from his neck and handed it to him.