“O’ course I do, sir,” said Bill.
“There you are, George,” said the mate, releasing him, and turning to the frantic Bradd; “you hear that? Now, look here, you listen to me. Either you’ve been drinking, or else your ’ead’s gone a little bit off. You go down and turn in, and if you don’t give me any more of your nonsense I’ll overlook it for this once.”
He ordered the crew forward again, and being desirous of leaving some permanent mark of his command on the ship, had the galley fresh painted in red and blue, and a lot of old stores, which he had vainly condemned when mate, thrown overboard. The skipper stood by helplessly while it was done, and then went below of his own accord and turned in, as being the only way to retain his sanity, or, at any rate, the clearness of head which he felt to be indispensable at this juncture.
Time, instead of restoring the mate to his senses, only appeared to confirm him in his folly, and the skipper, after another attempt to convince him, let things drift, resolving to have him put under restraint as soon as they got to port.
They reached Tidescroft in the early afternoon, but before they entered the harbour the mate, as though he had had some subtle intuition that this would be his last command, called the crew to him and read them a touching little homily upon their behaviour when they should land. He warned them of public-houses and other dangers, and reminded them affectingly of their duties as husbands and fathers. “Always go home to your wife and children, my lads,” he continued with some emotion, “as I go home to mine.”
“Why, he ain’t got none,” whispered Bill, staring.
“Don’t be a fool, Bill,” said the cook, “he means the cap’n’s. Don’t you see he’s the cap’n now.”
It was as clear as noonday, and the agitation of the skipper—a perfect Othello in his way—was awful. He paced the deck incessantly, casting fretful glances ashore, and, as the schooner touched the side of the quay, sprang on to the bulwarks and jumped ashore. The mate watched him with an ill-concealed grin, and then, having made the vessel snug, went below to strengthen himself with a drop of the skipper’s whisky for the crowning scene of his play. He came on deck again, and, taking no heed of the whispers of the crew, went ashore.
Meantime, Captain Bradd had reached his house, and was discussing the situation with his astonished spouse. She pooh-poohed the idea of the police and the medical faculty as being likely to cause complications with the owners, and, despite the remonstrances of her husband, insisted upon facing the mate alone.
“Now you go in the kitchen,” she said, looking from the window. “Here he comes. You see how I’ll settle him.”