of the mere suicide. Let us rather express our indifference to penal servitude by submitting with sullen contempt to whatever punishment these bloodhounds may think proper to inflict upon us!”
And Freddy's nostrils dilated with a noble scorn that would have fitted a Protestant martyr in the reign of Queen Mary.
“Wal!” roared the boatswain, as he clutched at Freddy's collar. “Of all the yelping cocktails—but stop a bit—stop a bit!”
He put his pipe to his mouth and blew shrilly upon it—“Tweet! tweet! tweet! twilly, twilly, twilly,—twee-e-e–twip, twip, twip—twee-e-e-e! All hands on upper deck!” He ran fore and aft along the main deck, piping and shouting down each hatchway.
The crew tumbled up in all haste—men of all nations—many black and brown—all scowling and tigerish. They stood on both sides of the upper deck according to their watches.
“Mr. Slip!” shouted the boatswain, foaming at the mouth. “Mr. Slip, and men all. Lookee yere. This yere cap'en of ourn—this yere lanky cocktail—this white-livered devil's chicken—he's showing the white feather—he's a cur—a slinkin' coward—a shiverin' cocktail! He won't fight, and he won't sink—he's going to give in—if you'll let him, mates, if you'll let him!”
The boatswain's fury had almost exhausted him, and he lolloped on to a carronade from sheer weakness.
“Shame! shame!” yelled the men, who seemed to contemplate a general rush at Freddy.
“Wot's this?” said Slip, taking Freddy by the
