"That's what," corroborated the steward, looking at me. "Jest sort o'
smelly like fer new junk."

"What has Jim Potts got against the old man?" I asked. "You said he
didn't believe the skipper had been in a ship before."

"Nothin' I knows of, 'cept he was hot fer turnin' back this mornin' an'
tried to get th' men to back him in comin' aft."

"Do you mean it's mutiny?"

"Lord, no; jest to blandander ye inter tackin' ship. He most persuaded
Mr. Trunnell, an' wid ye too, 'twould ha' been no mutiny to override the
new skipper, an' land th' other in th' caboose."

Much as I would have liked to get ashore again, I knew there was no
immediate prospect of it. The skipper would not hear of any such thing.
As for Trunnell acting against orders, I knew from what I had seen of
this sturdy little fellow he would obey implicitly any directions given
him, and at any cost. There was no help for it now. We would be out for
months with the ruffian skipper forward and the strange one aft. I said
nothing more to the carpenter or steward, for it was evident that there
had been some strong arguments used by Jim Potts against the regularity
of the ship's company. The more I thought of this, the more I was
astonished, for the young landsman was not forced to come out in the
ship, and had almost been left, as it was. I went on deck in a troubled
frame of mind, and determined to keep my eye on every one who approached
me, for the voyage had the worst possible beginning.