Therefore, when there came rumblings of mutiny on the Bridgwater Merchant, there was faithful, if gloomy, obedience, on the Swallow. Had there been plenty of work to do, had they been at sea instead of at anchor, the nervousness would have been little; but idleness begot irritation, and irritation mutiny. Or had Bucklaw been on deck, instead of in the surgeon’s cabin playing a hard game with death, matters might not have gone so far as they did; for he would have had immediate personal influence repressive of revolt. As it was, Phips had to work the thing out according to his own lights. One afternoon, when Gering was away with the canoes on the long search, the crisis came. It was a day when life seemed to stand still; a creamy haze ingrained with delicate blue had settled on land and sea; the long white rollers slowly travelled over the Boilers, and the sea rocked like a great cradle. Indefiniteness of thought, of time, of event, seemed over all; on board the two ships life swung idly as a hammock; but only so in appearance. Phips was leaning against the deck-house, watching through his glass the search-canoes. Presently he turned and walked aft. As he did so the surgeon and the chief mate came running towards him. They had not time to explain, for came streaming upon deck a crowd of mutineers. Phips did not hesitate an instant; he had no fear--he was swelling with anger. “Why now, you damned dogs,” he blurted out, “what mean you by this? What’s all this show of cutlasses?” The ringleader stepped forwards. “We’re sick of doing nothing,” he answered. “We’ve come on a wild goose chase. There’s no treasure here. We mean you no harm; we want not the ship out of your hands.” “Then,” cried Phips, “in the name of all the devils, what want you?” “Here’s as we think: there’s nothing to be got out of this hunt, but there’s treasure on the high seas all the same. Here’s our offer: keep command of your ship and run up the black flag!” Phips’s arm shot out and dropped the man to the ground. “That’s it, you filthy rogues!” he roared. “Me to turn pirate, eh? You’d set to weaving ropes for the necks of every one of us--blood of my soul!” He seemed not to know that cutlasses were threatening him, not to be aware that the man at his feet, clutching his weapon, was mad with rage. “Now look,” he said, in a big loud voice, “I know that treasure is here, and I know we’ll find it; if not now, when we get Bucklaw on his feet.” “Ay! Bucklaw! Bucklaw!” ran through the throng. “Well, then, Bucklaw, as you say! Now here’s what I’ll do, scoundrels though you be. Let me hear no more of this foolery. Stick to me till the treasure’s found--for God take my soul if I leave this bay till I have found it!--and you shall have good share of booty.”