He called to Wetherly, who was standing in the waist, forward of the others. The man touched his cap to me as he ascended the poop ladder, and looked at me meaningly through the minute holes in which his eyes lay deep buried. I entered the cuddy with the carpenter, who turned round as he passed through the door to sing out, ‘Step in, lads.’ Nine fellows in all followed. Most of them carried a sort of grinning, wondering expression on their faces; but here and there I took note of a determined countenance. ‘Mr. Lush,’ I exclaimed, ‘the ordering of this business is in your hands. I will leave you to settle whatever ceremonies we are to pass through.’ ‘Mr. Lush’ll take the cheer,’ said one of the men. The carpenter at once seated himself in the captain’s chair at the after end of the little table. The sailors sat down upon the benches. Lush exclaimed: ‘Mr. Dugdale, you sit alongside o’ me here. Mates, ease yourselves down, and make room for the gent.’ I took the place he indicated, and waited with as resolved a face as I could screw my features into for what was to follow. There was a pause whilst the carpenter, rolling his eyes over the seamen, seemed to be hunting in his mind for words in which to express himself. The men stared from him to me with an occasional glance round, especially in the direction of the tumbler-rack, at which they would cast thirsty looks. In this brief spell of silence I sought to interpret their intentions from their postures; but there was little to reassure me in their bearing. There was a kind of defiance in it that instantly made itself felt. They were clad for the most part in shirts and duck or dungaree breeches; their breasts were bare, with the sight here and there of some ink and gunpowder device straggling amidst the hair; they leaned upon their naked muscular arms or sat with them folded looking at me or the carpenter. There was no hint of such diffidence as one might expect to find in forecastle hands occupying the saloon or cabin of a ship. ‘We’ve been a-tarning over,’ began the carpenter, speaking slowly and viewing me out of the corners of his eyes, ‘the condition we’re put in by the sooicide of Capt’n Braine. All hands is agreed, saving one, who says that he dorn’t much care how it goes.’ ‘Who is that one?’ I asked. ‘Joe Wetherly,’ he answered. I waited, but he seemed to require me to question him. ‘You are all agreed, you say, Mr. Lush—upon what?’ He coughed, thrust his fingers into his neckcloth to ease his throat, and then said: ‘Well, now, I’ll tell ye exactly how it stands. Wilkins there was next door to the capt’n’s cabin when he told you of that matter of two hundred thousand pound lying stowed away in a South Sea island. He comes forward and tells us all about it.’ He paused, then said with a tone of impatience: ‘Of course, ye can guess now what we’ve settled on?’ ‘Pray, explain,’ said I, understanding but too thoroughly, and feeling the blood forsaking my cheek.