"Who's in command?" he inquired.
"Me, sah."
"Well, don't fire that gun again. You scare all the invalids in the hotel. We can't have our people frightened this way."
"She goes agin at eight bells," drawled Bill. "Have to raise de colours by him. If you don't like dat little gun, jest please move yer shack."
"Don't you dare to talk to me like that! Do you know who I am?" bawled the man, standing up.
"Naw, I don't know yer—an' de wust is, yo' clean forgot me. Now don't yo' git too noisy, Peter Snooks, er whatever yer name is—ef yer do, I'll set on yer. If yer don't like de noise, move yo' shack. I ain't got no orders to pull de hook."
The man swore and threatened, but the second mate smiled good-naturedly, until the man rowed away vowing vengeance.
"That's the dockmaster, sir," said a sailor standing near. "He'll make a lot o' trouble—I know him."
"Fergit him," said the second mate, in a low tone, but in a manner which closed the incident.
At eight bells the gun crashed a salute, and, either by chance or otherwise, it pointed directly at the windows of the huge edifice filled with the rich Northern guests. The glass fairly rattled with the shock.