"S'posin' some of us loses the number of our mess, sir?" asked a burly ex-stoker, "wot 'appens?"
"You lose it, I suppose," replied Trevorrick. "We will all do sooner or later. It will be all the same a hundred years hence."
Several of the hands laughed at their skipper's feeble joke.
"But I know what you mean," he continued. "In bygone days, pirates used to regard the death of one of their number as a sort of windfall. It enhanced the value of the survivors' shares. I have no intention of following that precedent. Every member of the crew can nominate a next-of-kin in the event of his losing his life—which I am anxious to avoid."
"You mentioned pirates, sir," remarked the bo'sun. "I take it we're to sail under the skull and crossbones?"
There was an ominous silence. The sinister significance of the term had struck home.
"Now you come to mention it, Mr. Barnard, I really think we are," replied Trevorrick lightly. "But there's still time if there's any white-livered blighter who wants to back out. Now, my lads!" he continued in ringing tones, "all those who do not wish to carry on on my terms—two paces step forward—March!"
Not a man moved as directed. Two or three shuffled and lowered their eyes under the stern gaze of the self-declared pirate captain. Possibly they would have taken advantage of the offer had it not been that the fear of ridicule was stronger than their inclination to keep within the law.
Trevorrick's smile had given place to a look of grim determination. His shaggy eyebrows met in a continuous straight line; his aggressive jaw shot forward.
"That's settled, my lads!" he exclaimed. "Now, there's something more to remember. I am the captain of this craft. My orders you'll carry out smartly, at the double, and unquestioningly. If they're not, there'll be trouble—but there won't. In the future, you—and others—will know me as Captain Cain. Mr. Pengelly here is second in command; Mr. Barnard is bos'un, and Mr. Marchant, gunner. These, under me, are your officers and must be treated with respect due to their rank. I insist upon perfect discipline, which alone will enable us to win through. If any man has a grievance against another, there must be no quarrelling. He must report the circumstances to me and abide by my decision.... Mr. Marchant, before the men are piped down, serve out a tot of rum apiece and drink success to the Alerte and all who sail in her."