give it vent. Before I could move, he had gripped me by the collar,
and swung me about, so that the light streaming out from the cabin
fell directly on my face.

"What the devil are you doing, loafing aft here?" he demanded roughly,
staring into my eyes. "Didn't you hear the orders, you damned shirker?
I've seen you hanging about for ten minutes, never lifting a hand. Who
the hell are you anyhow--the captain?"

"Joe Gates, sir."

"Gates--another damned Englishman! How did you ever get aboard here?"

It was the returning LeVere who made explanation before I could reply.

"Manuel brought him on board last night. Picked him up drunk ashore."

Estada's ugly eyes roved from face to face, as though he failed to
fully comprehend.

"Well, does he imagine he is going to be a passenger? Why hasn't he
been taught his place before this? It's about time, LeVere, for this
drunken sailor to be given a lesson to last him for awhile; and, by
God, if you won't do it, I will. Step over here, Gates."

I took the necessary step forward, and faced him, expecting the rabid
tongue lashing, which I rather felt I deserved.

"Now, my man, do you know what this bark is?"