"Garn! Be a sport!" retorted another of the crew brazenly.
Captain Cain strode towards the delinquent. Three steps did he take, then he stopped abruptly. Perhaps for the first time he realised that maintaining discipline over a crowd of rogues—rogues of his own making—was a different matter to that of the old days, when his authority was backed by the King's Commission. The early successes of the cruise had turned the men's heads. Between themselves, they held the creed that "Jack's as good as his master," but as yet they dare not profess it openly. Nevertheless, Captain Cain felt that he was playing with a volcano.
"Good idea, my lads!" he exclaimed, without betraying his suspicions. "Who'll uphold the reputation of the ship to the extent of five rounds?"
There was a long pause. Several of the men, great, deep-chested fellows who were good at a rough and tumble, were thinking about accepting the challenge, but the sight of the tall, well-built Broadmayne, who in addition had youth on his side, made them think twice—or more.
"Blime!" ejaculated a bull-necked, bullet-headed fellow, "wot are we all a-hangin' on to the slack for? 'Ere goes, ole sport. I'll take you on."
The speaker looked, and undoubtedly was, a tough proposition. An ex-first-class stoker, he had been employed as a coal-heaver at Millbay Docks until, after a term of unemployment, he had been engaged at the Polkyll Creek Shipbreaking Works as a hammerman. In spite of being nearly forty years of age, he was in the pink of condition and as hard as nails. Three inches shorter than Broadmayne, he was certainly heavier and possessed the doubtful advantage of three inches in girth. The muscles of his arms stood up like egg-shaped stones under his firm flesh. The sinews of his chest were like whipcord. But there was one defect that the Sub was quick to notice. Like many a man of his build, the ex-stoker was disproportionately weak in the lower limbs.
All the same, Broadmayne realised that he had a heavy task in front of him. If he were to more than hold his own, he must avoid a direct blow of the other's shoulder-of-mutton fist, and trust to science and agility to counteract the fellow's superabundant reserve of brute force.
"My chum's my second," declared Broadmayne. "Cast him loose."
Somewhat to his surprise the men did so, Captain Cain raising no objection.
"Whatever happens," whispered the Sub, "you're free for the time. That's something."