“Very good,” said Mr Felton. “Pass the word below for all hands on deck; and let every man go quietly to his place.—Marine, allow Callan on the quarter-deck.”
But Mr Callan was not tipsy enough to fall into such a trap, and insisted on the honours of war and the word of a gentleman that he and three of his followers should be allowed safe-conduct, hinting at the same time that the forward guns were still in position, and that any attempt to break parole would be visited with ugly consequences.
Lieutenant Felton gravely gave the necessary assurance, whereupon, ordering their followers to wait below, Callan and three comrades, as tipsy as himself, staggered up the ladder.
“Now, sir, what is the matter?” demanded Mr Felton.
“Matter? The ship’s on the wrong tack. You’re sailing her out to sea; and if she’s not put round at once, we’ll put her about for you.”
Mr Felton laughed.
“Not so easy to sail out to sea in this wind as you think, my lad. I wonder, now, if you really know what direction we are going in.”
One of the four replied, “Nor’-east,” unless he was mistaken.
“Bless me,” said the officer, “and these are the men who pretend to speak in the name of the British seaman! I should prefer to take the word of the compass against yours in a cap of wind, my fine fellow, any day. Nor’-east, indeed!”
“The compass will say the same as us; or maybe we’re a point more to eastward.”