Syd Belton Part 53

"Bo'sun!" he cried, "what is the meaning of this insubordination?"

Strake shook his head.

"D'ye hear, my lads? Mr Terry wants to know the meaning of this ins'bordination."

Not a man spoke.

"Look here," cried Terry, drawing his dirk, "I am not going to be trifled with. I order you to help hoisting up those guns. What do you mean? Are you afraid of another accident?"

"No," cried the men with one consent, in quite a shout.

"Then look here, my lads," cried Terry, drawing a pistol, "I'll stand no nonsense. Will you obey?"

"Look here, Terry," said Roylance, sharply, "there is no occasion for violence. The men think they have some grievance; ask them what it is."

"Mind your own business, sir," cried Terry, sharply; but as Roylance drew back with a deprecating gesture, he spoke to the boatswain.

"Ask the mutinous scoundrels what they mean," he said.

The boatswain went up to the knot of men.

"Now then, you swabs," he growled; "what's these here games?"

"We arn't going to have him playing at skipper over us," said one of them. "The luff put him under arrest for interferin'."

"Ay, ay," growled the others; "we don't want he."

"S'pose you know it's hanging at the yard-arm for mutiny, my lads?" said the boatswain, gruffly.

"Mutiny? Who want's to mutiny?" said another. "We're ready enough to work, arn't we, messmates?"

"Ay, ay," came in chorus.

"Then lay hold o' the rope, and let's have them guns up yonder."

"Ay, to be sure; we'll get the guns up," said another man; "but Mr Terry's under 'rest."

"Then you won't haul?" said the boatswain.

"Not one on us. He arn't an officer till he's been afore the skipper."

"Well, what am I to tell him?"

"What yer like," said one of the first speakers.

Strake gave his quid a turn, rubbed his ear, and walked back.

"Won't haul, sir," he said, laconically.

"What! Then it's mutiny. Mr Roylance, Mr Belton, draw your swords.

Bo'sun, run and get a cutla.s.s and pistols."

"I don't want no cutla.s.s to them, sir; I've got my fists," growled the boatswain.

"What, are you in a state of mutiny too?" cried Terry.

"Not as I knows on, sir?"

"Then arrest the ringleader."

"Which is him, sir?"

"That man," cried Terry, pointing with his dirk to Rogers, one of the smart young fellows who had been Syd's companion in the morning. "Bring him here. Oh, if I had a file of marines!"

"Which you arn't got," muttered Strake, as he strode back to where the men were together.

"Here you, Ike Rogers," he said; "I arrests you for mutiny."

"No, no," growled the men together.

"All right, messmates," said Rogers, laughing. "Can't put us in irons, for there arn't none."

"Come on," said Strake, clapping him on the shoulder. "Mr Terry wants you."

"What for?" said Rogers, eyeing the middy's dirk; "to pick my teeth?"

In the midst of a burst of laughter the boatswain marched the man up to where Terry was, strutting and fuming about.

"Now, you scoundrel," he said; "what does this mean?"

"Beg pardon, sir; that's what we want to know."

"Then I'll tell you, sir; it's rank mutiny."

"There now, bo'sun; that's just what we thought," said Rogers, turning to him. "I know'd it was, and that's why we wouldn't come."

"You scoundrel! You're playing with me," cried Terry.

"Nay, sir; not me. Wouldn't ketch me play with a orficer with a big sword in his hand."

"Then tell me what you mean. You said it was mutiny, and so you would not come."

"That's it, sir. Sworn to sarve the King; and when a young orficer, which is you, sir, breaks out of arrest, and wants to lead a lot of poor chaps wrong, 'tarn't me as 'll risk my neck."

Terry's jaw dropped at this unexpected reply, and Roylance burst into a roar of laughter, in which he was joined by Syd, while Strake stood with his face puckered up like a year-old pippin, and rubbed his starboard ear.

"Mr Roylance!" cried Terry at last, "how is discipline to be preserved while you encourage the men in this tomfoolery? I shall report it to the captain, sir."

"Look here, Mr Terry," said Roylance, firmly; "the man is, in his way, quite right."