"You hear what the captain says, don't you?" growled Duckling.
"It isn't us that minds waiting, it's our stomachs," said Fish, the small-faced man.
"Do you mean to tell me you can't get a meal out of the food in your hands?" demanded the captain, pointing amongst them.
"We'd rayther drink cold water than the tea," said one.
"And the water ain't over-drinkable, neither," exclaimed another.
"The cook shays te pork 'll gif us te cholera," said one of the Dutchmen.
"We wouldn't mind if the bread an' molasses was right," cried Fish. "But they aren't. Nothen's right. The werry weevils ain't ordinary; they're longer an' fatter nor common bread-worms."
"Hold your jaw!" bawled Duckling. "The captain has spoke you fairer than any skipper that ever I sailed under would have spoke. So now cut forward—do you hear?—and finish your breakfast. Cook, come out from behind the mainmast, you loafing nigger, and leave the main-deck, or I'll make you trot to show the others the road."
He pulled a brass-belaying pin out of the rail and flourished it. The captain walked aft to the wheel, leaving Duckling to finish off with the men. They moved away, talking in low grumbling tones among themselves, manifestly dissatisfied with the result of their conference, and presently were all in the forecastle.
"I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Royle," said Duckling, turning impudently upon me; "you must wake up, if you please, and help me to keep those fellows in their place. No use in staring and listening. You must talk to 'em and curse 'em, damme! do you understand, Mr. Royle?"