I was breathing heavily from the fight, and stood leaning against the
cabin to recover, while Mr. Trunnell and the fellow Jim, who had helped
tie the skipper up, appeared to be in doubt how to proceed. The noise of
the scuffle and our conversation had aroused the captain in the cabin,
and as I finished speaking he came to the break of the poop and looked
down on the main deck. I was aware of his hooked nose and strange,
glinting eyes almost before I turned, as he spoke. He placed his foot
upon the rail and gave a dry cough.

"I reckon there ain't any call to tack ship," he said slowly; "a pair of
irons'll do the rest. Jest clap them on him, hand and foot, Mr. Rolling,
and then rivet him to the deck away up forrads. If he don't stow that
bazoo of his, you might ram the end of a handspike in his mouth and see
if he'll bite."

"Who are you, you molly-hawk, to give orders aboard here?" roared
Andrews, from where he lay on deck. "What's happened, Trunnell, when a
swivel-eyed idiot with a beak like an albatross stands on the poop and
talks to me like this?"

"He's Captain Thompson, in command, owing to the little--the little
fracas you was mixed into last v'yage. We didn't exactly expect to have
ye this trip, sir," said the mate.

"Well, I'm here, ain't I? Sing out, can't you see me? Has your hair
struck in and tickled your brain so you don't know who's boss aboard
here? Who's this galoot you've just kept from being ripped to ribbons?
I'll settle matters with you later on for meddling in this affair, you
kelp-haired sea-pig. Sink you, Trunnell; I never expected you to turn