Lieutenant Adrian, who was in an ill-enough temper at the time, ordered him to take himself and the dogs at his heels to the place they came from, unless he wanted to taste the lash.
The men, who had expected some such reception, stood their ground, and ordered Callan, for that was the leader’s name, to say on.
“It’s not yourself we need to speak to,” said Callan, “it’s the captain. Let us see him.”
“My lads,” said the ship’s surgeon, who was one of the officers present, “you are like enough to see your captain in his shroud before morning, for he is this moment at death’s door.”
“So much the worse,” replied Callan. “There was hope of justice out of Captain Swift; there’s none at all out of the lieutenant.”
“There’s precious good hope of a rope’s end,” retorted the enraged lieutenant hotly.—“Mr Gallagher, see that the fool is put in irons at once, and any one else that joins with him. We’ll soon put an end to this, even should a man dangle at every yard-arm for it!”
The only reply to this was a cheer from the men, and, what was quite unexpected, a sudden click of pistols as they drew up in two lines across the deck.
“Look’ee here, Mr Adrian,” said Callan, “we’re not the fools you take us for. While you have been drinking, we have not been idle. The powder-magazine is ours, and the forward guns are loaded and primed and turned this way.—Stand aside, lads, and let them see for themselves.”
The ranks opened, and sure enough in the forecastle we could see the muzzles of two twenty-four pounders pointed at the quarter-deck, and manned by some of the very men of whose loyalty until yesterday there had been least question.
Lieutenant Adrian, although a bully and a brute, was not lacking in animal courage, and betrayed no sign of dismay at this discovery.