‘A worthy example of the British sailor,’ said Tom. ‘He’s one of those fellows who’d swear a man’s life and liberty away for a noggin of rum. D’ye see that boat, Marian?’ He pointed to a long thin boat, called the captain’s gig, that hung by davits over the stern, with the line of her gunwale on a level with the taffrail. ‘She’ll give us our chance. Johnstone, that’ll be the boat we’ll make off in. The sooner the better. Hark to them below! Oh, my dear heart, what has your love for me brought you into? Johnstone, the equipment of that boat will be your duty. I shall hold you responsible for everything being in its place when we come to want her.’ ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ answered the lad, with the habit of a sailor in answer to an order. ‘Is it true, Tom, that they’d hang you if they found you in command of this ship?’ said I. ‘There’s been murder and piracy, and the ringleaders would be hanged, and I, found in command of the ship, would be reckoned a ringleader. But do not fear. They’re not going to catch me. We’ll be out of the vessel soon, though heaven help the unhappy ruffians when it comes to our leaving them.’ Presently the sailor came up out of the cuddy. He brought a bottle of sherry, a broken tumbler, a plate of white biscuit, and some tinned meat. He said sullenly, as he put the stuff down on the grating, that it was all he could find. There wasn’t a whole tumbler to be seen. ‘Them convicts is gone mad,’ he said, as he sulkily grasped the wheel. ‘Them as ain’t singing’s fighting. The cabin floor’s a-running with blood. They’re mostly the young ’uns. I never bargained for the likes of this raree-show. What’s a-going to befall the fired ship if this sort of carrying-on’s to last?’ ‘It was to be a roasting hot job,’ said I pointing to the injured topgallantmast. He gave me an evil look, but, meeting Tom’s eyes, turned his head and stared away into the white, sultry, stagnant distance. I kept my back upon the bloodstains; I could not have held them in view and tasted food. Whilst we ate and drank we heard Mr. Bates calling out orders on the main-deck. I met Tom’s glance; he faintly smiled; it was the first time I had seen him smile. But, indeed, the tragedy of the morning became a kind of burlesque, when you thought of the chief mate of the ship, dressed as a convict, giving orders under the eye of Barney Abram, who was himself clothed in the apparel of the captain.