' That night, Michael, the
seamen rose, crept to his cabin, stabbed him to death, pitched his body
overboard, put his lieutenants to sea in open boats, and then ran away to
South America. Well, I've escaped that fate, because this was a good
ship, and all the officers knew their business, and did it without
cruelty. I've been well served. It was a great thing making the new
lieutenants from the midshipmen. There never was a better lot on board a
ship."
Michael's face clouded. "Sir, that's true. The new lieutenants have
done their work well, but them that's left behind in the midshipmen's
berth--do you think they're content? No, sir. The only spot on board
this ship where there lurks an active spirit against you is in the
midshipmen's berth. Mischief's there, and that's what's brought me to
you now."
Dyck smiled. "I know that. I've had my eye on the midshipmen. I've
never trusted them. They're a hard lot; but if the rest of the ship is
with me, I'll deal with them promptly. They're not clever or bold enough
to do their job skilfully. They've got some old hands down there--
hammock-men, old stagers of the sea that act as servants to them. What
line do they take?"
Michael laughed softly.
"What I know I've got from two of them, and it is this--the young
gentlemen'll try to get control of the ship."
The cynicism deepened in Dyck's face.
"Get control of the ship, eh? Well, it'll be a new situation on a king's
ship if midshipmen succeed where the rest dare not try.
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