I went up on deck.

A curious spectacle revealed itself. Turner, purple with anger,
was haranguing the men, who stood amidships, huddled together, but
grim and determined withal. Burns, a little apart from the rest,
was standing, sullen, his arms folded. As Turner ceased, he took
a step forward.

"You are right, Mr. Turner," he said. "It's your ship, and it's
up to you to say where she goes and how she goes, sir. But some
one will hang for this, Mr. Turner,--some one that's on this deck
now; and the bodies are going back with us--likewise the axe. There
ain't going to be a mistake--the right man is going to swing."

"That's mutiny!"

"Yes, sir," Burns acknowledged, his face paling a little. "I guess
you could call it that."

Turner swung on his heel and went below, where Jones, relieved of
guard duty by Burns, reported him locked in his room, refusing
admission to his wife and Miss Lee, both of whom had knocked on the
door.

The trouble with Turner added to the general misery of the situation.
Burns got our position at noon with more or less exactness, and the
general working of the Ella went on well enough. But the situation
was indescribable. Men started if a penknife dropped, and swore if
a sail flapped. The call of the boatswain's pipe rasped their ears,