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“You’ll pay for this, you infernal cut-throats,” spluttered the captain. “This is piracy.”

“Don’t call any names now,” said the tall man; “‘t ain’t healthy. We don’t want to hurt ye, but I tell ye seriously, ye never were nearer death than ye are now. It’s a risky thing, and a foolish thing, too, gentlemen, to steal three American citizens with guns under their shirts, and take ’em so far from land as this. Hangin”s the fit and proper punishment for hoss-stealin’, but man-stealin”s so great a crime that I’m not right sure what the punishment is. Now, we don’t know much ’bout boats and ropes,–though we can tie a hangman’s knot when necessary,–but we do know somethin’ ’bout guns and human natur’–here, you, come ‘way from that fence.”

The captain was edging toward a belaying-pin; but he noticed that the speaker’s voice had lost its plaintiveness, and three tubes were looking at him. He drew inboard, and the leader resumed:

“Now, fust thing, who’s foreman o’ this outfit? Who’s boss?”

“I’m captain here.”

“You are? You are not. I’m captain. Get up on that shanty.” The small house over the mizzen-hatch was indicated, and Captain Belchior climbed it. The tubes were still looking at him.

“Now, you, there, you man who hit me last night when I was sick, who are you, and what?”

“Mate, d—- you.”

“Up with you, and don’t cuss. You did a cowardly thing, pardner–an unmanly thing–low down and or’nary. You don’t deserve to live any longer; but my darter, back East at school, thinks I’ve killed enough men for one lifetime, and mebbe she’s right–mebbe she’s right. Anyhow, she don’t like it, and that lets you out–though I won’t answer for ‘Pache and Laramie when my back’s turned. You kicked ’em both. But I’ll just return the blow.” The mate had but straightened up on top of the hatch-house when the terrible pistol spat out another red tongue, and his yell followed the report, as he clapped his hand to the ear through which the bullet had torn.

“Hands up, there!” thundered the shooter, and the mate obeyed, while a stream of blood ran down inside his shirt-collar.

“Any more bosses here?”

The second mate did not respond; but ‘Pache’s pistol sought him out, and under its influence, and his guttural, “I know you; get up,” he followed his superiors.

“Any more?”

A manly-looking fellow stepped out of the group, and said: “You’ve got the captain and two mates. I’m bo’s’n here, and yonder’s my mate. We’re next, but we’re not bosses in the way o’ bein’ responsible for anything that has happened or might happen to you. We b’long forrard. There’s no call to shoot at the crew, for there’s not a man among ’em but what ‘ud be glad to see you get ashore, and get there himself.”

“Silence, bo’s’n,” bawled the captain. But the voice of authority seemed pitifully ludicrous and incongruous, coupled with the captain’s position and attitude, and every face on the deck wore a grin. The leader noticed the silent merriment, and said:

“Laramie, I reckon these men’ll stand. You can come up here. I’m gettin’ ‘long in years, and kind o’ steadyin’ down, but I s’pose you and ‘Pache want some fun. Start yer whistle and turn loose.”

Up the steps bounded Laramie, and, with a ringing whoop as a prelude, began whistling a clear, musical trill, while ‘Pache, growling out, “Dance, dance, ye white-livered coyotes,” sent a bullet through the outer edge of the chief mate’s boot-heel.

“Dance,” repeated Laramie between bars of the music. Crack, crack, went the pistols, while bullets rattled around the feet of the men on the hatch, and Laramie’s whistle rose and fell on the soft morning air.

The sun, who has looked on many scandalous sights, looked on this, and hid his face under a cloud, refusing to witness. For never before had the ethics of shipboard life been so outrageously violated. A squat captain and two six-foot officers, nearly black in the face from rage and exertion, with hands clasped over their heads, hopped and skipped around a narrow stage to the accompaniment of pistol reports harmoniously disposed among the notes of a whistled tune, while bullets grazed their feet, and an unkempt, disfigured, and sore-headed crew looked on and chuckled. When the mate, weak from loss of blood, fell and rolled to the deck, the leader stopped the entertainment.