"What's your name?"
"Ben MacClintock."
"Well, MacClintock. I am going to leave that to the crew. As soon as we have all secure, I'll have every man on deck, and then we'll talk it over. That's fair enough isn't it?"
"It looks fair. Come on, mates; I'm fer the Englishman."
Only one followed him, however, a sheep-faced boy; the others remained sullen, and defiant. Likely enough they failed to understand what had been said, but I had no further time to waste in explanations. I glanced up at Carter's face framed in the scuttle hole.
"Your guard there?"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Pass these men up and take them forward with the others. Turn them over to Watkins. Then come back here, and report to me."
"Ay, ay, sir."
They went up the ladder one by one, and disappeared onto the deck above, the majority cheerful enough, although a few of the faces were scowling darkly as they passed me. Carlson and I watched the others, the Swede still retaining his pistol in hand, until Carter stuck his head once again through the opening.