“Certainly not,” said the Baron. “We were employed in seeing the town. We fully expected that you would have had dinner ready on our return on board. What has become of all the provisions you shipped, may I ask?”
“I landed them at Hoorn, where I took my own dinner,” answered the skipper. “You must manage to rough it on bread and cheese. There’s not much bread, but you may eat as much cheese as you like.”
“This is abominable treatment, Captain Jan Dunck,” exclaimed the Baron. “I insist that you obtain provisions at the first place you can reach, or else that you land us where we can obtain them. I am sure the Count agrees with me.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the skipper. “Who do you think is master of this ship? Did you ever hear the old song?
“Mynheer Jan Dunck,
Though he never got drunk,
Sipped brandy and water gaily;
He quenched his thirst
With a quart of the first,
And a pint of the latter daily.
“That’s just what I have been doing, although I’m as sober as a judge. I am ready for anything. You want to be landed, do you? Suppose I put you on shore on the island of Marken? It is not far off, and my boat will carry you there. What then will you say for yourselves? It is your own doing, remember.”
“This treatment is abominable,” exclaimed the Baron. “I appeal to your crew for their assistance, and ask them if they will stand by and see your passengers insulted in this fashion.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the skipper. “Hoist the boat out. We will soon see if my crew dare to disobey me. Pieter, there, be smart about it.”
The one-eyed mariner started up and eyed the Count and the Baron with his single blinker, making a grimace as much as to say he could not help it. He and the mate and the small ship’s boy soon got the boat into the water.
“Step in,” cried the skipper. “You said you wanted to be put on shore, and I am going to put you on shore. Pieter, you’re to row. If you want your dinners you’ll embark, if not you’ll go without them.”