“I’ll look at you in a way you won’t like in a minute,” said the mate, ferociously. “I want to explain the position of affairs to you,” said the skipper. “Do you remember Cap’n Zingall what was aboard last night?” “Little dirty-looking man what kept staring at me?” demanded the mate. “Well, I don’t know about ’is being dirty,” said the skipper, “but that’s the man. Do you know what he did to you, Geo—” “Eh!” said the mate, sharply. “He mesmerised you,” said the skipper, hastily. “Now keep quite calm. You say you’re Benjamin Bradd, master o’ this vessel, don’t you?” “I do,” said the mate. “Let me hear anybody say as I ain’t.” “Yesterday,” said the skipper, plucking up courage and speaking very slowly and impressively, “you were George Smith, the mate, but my friend, Captain Zingall, mesmerised you and made you think you were me.” “I see what it is,” said the mate severely. “You’ve been drinking; you’ve been up to my whisky.” “Call the crew up and ask ’em then,” said Bradd, desperately. “Call ’em up yourself, you lunatic,” said the mate, loudly enough for the men to hear. “If anybody dares to play the fool with me I won’t leave a whole bone in his body, that’s all.” In obedience to the summons of Captain Bradd the crew came up, and being requested by him to tell the mate that he was the mate, and that he was at present labouring under a delusion, stood silently nudging each other and eyeing him uneasily. “Well,” said the latter at length, “why don’t you speak and tell George he’s gone off his ’ead a bit?” “It ain’t nothing to do with us, sir,” said Bill, very respectfully. “But, damn it all, man,” said the mate, taking a mighty grip of his collar, “you know I’m the cap’n, don’t you?” “O’ course I do, sir,” said Bill. “There you are, George,” said the mate, releasing him, and turning to the frantic Bradd; “you hear that? Now, look here, you listen to me. Either you’ve been drinking, or else your ’ead’s gone a little bit off. You go down and turn in, and if you don’t give me any more of your nonsense I’ll overlook it for this once.” He ordered the crew forward again, and being desirous of leaving some permanent mark of his command on the ship, had the galley fresh painted in red and blue, and a lot of old stores, which he had vainly condemned when mate, thrown overboard. The skipper stood by helplessly while it was done, and then went below of his own accord and turned in, as being the only way to retain his sanity, or, at any rate, the clearness of head which he felt to be indispensable at this juncture. Time, instead of restoring the mate to his senses, only appeared to confirm him in his folly, and the skipper, after another attempt to convince him, let things drift, resolving to have him put under restraint as soon as they got to port.