The Purser's boy this time, white to the lips! Fresh panic seized them; it could hardly be mere arrest if he knew all this; he might order them hanged from a yardarm or shot at sunrise. He looked like the latter. The Red Un glanced at the Chief, who looked apprehensive also, as if the thing was going too far. The Captain may have read their thoughts, for he said:
"You're limbs of Satan, all of you, and hanging's too good for you. What do you say, Chief? How can we make these young scamps lessons in discipline to the crew?"
Everybody breathed again and looked at the Chief—who stood tall and sandy and rather young to be a Chief—in the doorway.
"Eh, mon," he said, and smiled, "I'm aye a bit severe. Don't ask me to punish the bairns."
The Captain sniffed.
"Severe!" he observed. "You Scots are hard in the head, but soft in the disposition. Come, Chief—shall they walk the plank?"
"Good deescipline," assented the Chief, "but it would leave us a bit shorthanded."
"True," said the Captain gloomily.
"I was thinkin'," remarked the Chief diffidently—one hates to think before the Captain; that's always supposed to be his job.
"Yes?"