"Mr. Simpson," said the mate, "this is getting past a joke. Have you any objection to taking on your old job if I secure this preaching madman and take command?"
Simpson was "full up" of the foc'sle, and as he had a very wholesome admiration for the admiral, he was by no means loth to return to his old quarters.
"I'm with you, sir. In another quarter of an hour we shall have the sticks out of her."
And still Blaker bellowed scripture down the wind. He was still bellowing, though what he bellowed wasn't scripture, when Simpson and Wiggins took him down below after five minutes of a row in which the deposed captain showed something of his ancient form as the terror of the Western Ocean. As they went, the admiral, now promoted to being captain of a Cape Horner, picked up the battered speaking trumpet and wiped some blood from his face, which had been in collision.
"Up aloft with you and make those topsails fast," he roared. "Look alive, men, look alive!"
And they did look alive, for "Dicky" Dunn never needed a speaking trumpet in any wind that ever blew. When things were snugged down and the California was walking north at an easy but tremendous gait, he felt like a man again. He turned to Simpson and Wiggins with a happy smile.
"Now we're comfortable, and things are as they should be, Mr. Simpson, let the men have a tot of grog. And how's Mr. Blaker?"
"Wa'al," said Simpson cheerfully, "when we left him he warn't exactly what you would call religious nor resigned."
But if Blaker was not happy, the admiral was thoroughly delighted.
"Now you see what I said was true," he declared at dinner that night; "if I hadn't been an admiral and a man born to rise, how could I have been shipped on board this ship as a foremast hand and come to be captain in six weeks? I'll be bound you never heard of a similar case, Mr. Simpson."