The commander swept the deck of his ship with angry eye. The crew stood in groups, sullen and lowering; Lieutenants Simpson and Hall were upon the quarter-deck, and every action and word that they uttered seemed to add to the growing feeling among the men.
“This vessel is no match for a well set up frigate,” said Simpson, in a voice that carried to the ears of his captain. “We’ve come out after prizes, and not to be slaughtered by the guns of men-of-war.”
“The Drake carries more weight of metal than we,” agreed Hall, “and if I were in command of this ship I’d make a clean run for it. To wait for this frigate is to wait for plenty of hard knocks, little credit and no plunder.”
With a few swift steps John Paul Jones was at his side; there had been a low murmur of approval from the seamen at these words of their officers; and the commander’s eyes were stormy, and flashed menacingly as they rested upon his lieutenants’ dogged faces.
“So, gentlemen,” said he in a voice like ice, “I find you still at your old trick of demoralization, do I?”
“I don’t understand you, sir,” said Simpson drawing himself erect.
“Nor I, Captain Jones,” said Hall.
“Then allow me to make my meaning plain. Since this ship sailed from Portsmouth you have been daily increasing in your insubordination. Things have come to such a pass that it almost seems necessary for me to consult you before issuing a command.”
“A good captain always consults his officers,” said Simpson with a thinly-veiled sneer.
“In spite of the protestations which I offered that day on St. Mary’s Isle, you plundered the home of a defenseless woman. I submitted rather than risk a mutiny that would deprive my country of a valuable vessel. But if you think that I will continue to submit, you are very much mistaken.”