"Jolly! The scoundrels! How dare they so much as think of such a thing at a time when they were living under the ban of their officers' severe displeasure? And the ship a perfect wreck aloft, too!" It was simply monstrous; the second mate's righteous anger blazed up into full fury at once, and, advancing to the break of the poop, he roared out in stentorian tones-- "Silence, there, for'ard! What do you mean, you unmannerly swabs, by disturbing the ship fore and aft with your infernal howling at this time of night?" Either the "unmannerly swabs" had not heard him, or they were so utterly lost to all sense of the respect due to their officer as to pay no attention to his polite adjuration, for the song was continued, with some attempt at a chorus. The second mate was not in the habit of speaking twice to those under him, and he did not attempt to do so now. Drawing his knotted "colt" out of his pocket, he descended the poop-ladder, and hurried forward as fast as the heavy rolling of the ship would permit, determined to teach the "howling thieves" a lesson they would not readily forget. Meanwhile, though he was blissfully ignorant of the fact, sharp eyes had been watching his motions for some time; and his foot was scarcely on the top step of the poop-ladder when Jim Martin, the owner of a pair of the aforesaid sharp eyes, exclaimed-- "Hurrah, my bullies! Keep it up; here he comes. The shark has bolted the bait without so much as smelling at it." The group of men clustered on the forecastle made a slight restless movement, as men sometimes will when they are conscious of the approach of a great crisis in their lives, and the voice of the singer quavered the merest trifle. Another moment, and the second mate was among them, his eyes flashing with anger and his colt uplifted to strike. "What the deuce?" Before he could utter another word, his legs were cut from under him by the sweeping blow of a handspike, and he fell with a crash to the deck, the back of his head striking so violently on the planking as to momentarily stun him. In an instant a belaying-pin was thrust between his teeth and secured there with a lashing of spun-yarn; and then, before he had sufficiently recovered to realise his position, he was turned over on his face, his arms drawn behind him, and his wrists and ankles firmly lashed together. "Very neatly managed," remarked Talbot approvingly, as his gaze rested on the prostrate figure on the deck. "Now, mates, what's the next move? Come, Ned," to the boatswain, "you're to be our new skipper, you know; give us your orders, cap'n, and we'll be `yours obejently.'"