"You know Captain Blythe. He's worth half a dozen of these wharf rats. So is Mr. Yeager."
"Are—are all the crew against us?" he asked after a moment's struggle with his trepidation.
"No, we know of at least two who are for us. Probably there are others. Don't be afraid. We're going to smash this mutiny."
"Yes, sir. Captain Blythe will see to that. I put my faith in him."
But in spite of what I had said it was plain that Morgan's faith was a quavering one. He was a useful man, competent in his own line, but his métier plainly was not fighting. My news had given him a shock from which he would not quickly recover.
It was nearly time for the change of watches, and when I returned to the deck I saw that Mott was already on the bridge. He listened to our story with plain incredulity.
"I know nothing about this man Bothwell, but say the word and I'll go down and haul him on deck for you, Captain Blythe," he offered, contemptuously.
"You don't understand the situation. He's as dangerous as a mad dog."
"I've yet to see the first stowaway I couldn't bring to time. They're a chicken-hearted lot, take my word for it."
"He isn't a stowaway at all in the ordinary sense of the word. I'll be plain, Mr. Mott. We're after treasure, and Bothwell means to get it. The crew are with him."