"Well, sir, it's like this," said the man, pronouncing his words forcibly in his determination to show a bold front. "Us sailors who agreed to sail this 'ere ship to Kingston in Jamaica have got to hear that we are bound to another port, though where it is ain't know'd."
"What's this matter got to do with you?" said Mr Lawrence fiercely.
"It's got to do with us all, sir, not alone with me," was the answer.
"If it's the owner's wish that this vessel shall be carried to another port, there she shall go; and so you have it. Now, go forward!" said Mr Lawrence, and he moved as though about to turn on his heel.
A murmur broke from the men.
"We are not willing to carry this ship to any other port than the port we agreed to, sir," said Old Jim, speaking with great firmness, the murmur that had risen behind him having stimulated his fortitude.
"I think you are a mutinous dog," said Mr Lawrence in a snarling, sarcastic voice, but preserving a frown that was portentous of an intellectual thunderstorm through the darkness of which the eyes would flash lightning. "Do you see those men-of-war out yonder? I need but make a signal to bring an armed crew aboard, and then you shall be carried into the first port that's convenient and discharged to make way for a crew of willing men—men willing to obey their commander, who must be willing to obey his owner."
"There's no good in threatening us with your armed crew. We agreed for Kingston," said a voice.
"Who said that?" shouted Mr Lawrence, with the blood red in his face.
"Me—Thomas Hanlin," was the answer, and a sailor made two or three steps and stood close to Old Jim.