"If you won't, you won't. This end of the
ship'll belong to you after eight o'clock of a night. Lewis, you must go
for'ard with the men."
"And what are you going to do with me after?" inquired the fair
prisoner.
The seven men shrugged their shoulders helplessly, and Hezekiah, looking
depressed, lit his pipe, and went and leaned over the side.
The day passed quietly. The orders were given by the mate, and Hezekiah
lounged moodily about, a prisoner at large. At eight o'clock Miss
Rumbolt was given the key of the state-room, and the men who were not in
the watch went below.
The morning broke fine and clear with a light breeze, which, towards
mid-day, dropped entirely, and the schooner lay rocking lazily on a sea
of glassy smoothness. The sun beat fiercely down, bringing the fresh
paint on the taffrail up in blisters, and sorely trying the tempers of
the men who were doing odd jobs on deck.
The cabin, where the two victims of a mutinous crew had retired for
coolness, got more and more stuffy, until at length even the scorching
deck seemed preferable, and the girl, with a faint hope of finding a
shady corner, went languidly up the companion-ladder.
For some time the skipper sat alone, pondering gloomily over the state
of affairs as he smoked his short pipe.
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