"Well, admiral or none," said the rest of the crowd, "things goes on pleasanter than they done when you was mate, Simpson."
And Simpson grunted.
"And he gets more work out of us than you done either, Simpson, for all your hammerin' of us."
"I'll likely be hammerin' some of you again shortly," said Simpson. And as he was cock of the walk in the foc'sle, whatever he was in the ship, the others dried up.
Nothing of great interest happened till they were well east of the Horn and hauled up for the northward run. And then Blaker took to religion (or what he called religion) and rum in equally undiluted doses.
"I'm a miserable sinner, I am," he said to the admiral, "but all the same, I'll do my duty to the crowd."
He called them aft and preached to them for two hours. And when one man yawned, he laid him out with a well-directed belaying pin. The next day, when it breezed up heavily and they were shortening sail, he called all hands down from aloft on the ground that their souls were of more importance than the work in hand.
"Come down on deck, you miserable sinners," said Blaker through a speaking trumpet. His voice rose triumphantly above the roar of the gale. "Come down on deck and listen to me. For though I'm a miserable sinner too, there's some hopes for me, and for you there's none unless you mend your ways, in accordance with what I'm telling you."
Even with the speaking trumpet he could hardly make himself heard over the roar of the increasing gale and the thunderous slatting of the topsails in the spilling-lines.
"Don't you think, sir, that they'd better make the topsails fast before you speak to them?" said the admiral.