Commodore Junk

There was a few moments’ silence, during which the self-elected captain stared about him, and tried to comprehend what was going on, for he had just been roused suddenly from a rum-engendered sleep, and seemed like one in a dream.

“What, isn’t annybody going to spake?” cried Dinny; “thin I will. Who althered the ship’s course! Why, I did. D’yer think I was going to stand by and see a messmate left in the lurch? Look here, my lads; I am not going to make a spache, but the captain’s dead, and you’ve got to choose a new one.”

“Hurrah for Dinny Kelly; he’s the man!” shouted one of the sailors.

“If I didn’t know ye can’t help it, Sam Marlow, I’d say don’t be a fool!” cried Dinny, scornfully. “Now, do I look like a captain! Bad luck to ye for an omadhaun. I’m a foighting man, and not a sailor at all; but ye’ve got to choose bechuckst two. Who is it to be – Black Mazzard there, or the old captain’s brave little brother, Master Jack here, the best sailor, steersman, and bravest little chap that ever stepped on a plank? What do you say, Dick?”

“Three cheers for Captain Jack!” cried Dick Dullock.

“Nay, nay, Commodore Junk!” cried Dinny; “that name’s a power, me boys. Now, then, who among ye says it isn’t to be the captain’s brother?”

“I do!” cried Mazzard, who was growing sobered by the excitement of the scene. “I do. I’m captain of the schooner now; and if any man dares – ”

He dragged a pistol from his belt and cocked it.

“Do you hear?” cried Mazzard again. “I’m captain now, and if any man dares to say I’m not, let him – Well, no, I won’t give him time to say his prayers!”

He stared round the ring of people, of which he now formed the centre, the pistol barrel pointing all round, as if its holder were in search of a mark.

Just then Bart stepped forward, but Jack drew him aside.

“No; let me speak,” he said.

“Oh, it’s you, is it, my whipper-snapper!” cried Mazzard, scornfully. “There, we had enough of your little baby of a brother, and he’s dead; so now, if you want to keep your skin whole, go back to your place, and if you behave yourself I’ll make you my cabin-boy.”

Jack continued to advance, looking round at the crew, who, some fifty strong, had now hurried upon deck.

“D’yer hear?” roared Mazzard, who seemed brutally sober now. “Go back, or – ”

He took aim at Jack with the pistol, and a murmur ran round the crew once more – a murmur which was turned to a shout of applause, for, gazing full at the drink inflamed countenance before him, Jack stepped right up to Mazzard and seized the pistol, which exploded in the air.

The next moment it was wrenched out of the ruffian’s hand, and sent flying over the side, to fall with a splash in the sea.

“Look here, my lads,” cried Jack, turning his back to Mazzard, and ignoring the threatening gesture he made with a knife; “look here, my lads; it is not for any man to say he will be your captain. My brave brother is dead – ”

“God rest him!” cried Dinny.

“And it is for you to choose someone in his place. Do you select Black Mazzard?”

“No,” roared Dinny, “the divil a bit! Three cheers, me boys, for the bowld little Commodore Junk!”

The crew burst into a roar, even those who had favoured Mazzard being carried away.

“A lad who was niver afraid of anny man’s pishtle,” cried Dinny, leaping on a cask and waving his cap.

“Hurrah!” shouted the men, enthusiastically.

“A lad who has only wan failing in him.”

“Hurrah!” came in chorus, and a voice cried: “What’s that, Dinny?”

“Faix, his mother made a mistake and let him be born out of Oireland.”

There was another roar, and the crew pressed round Jack, whose face flushed as he hold up his hand.

“Stop a minute, my lads!” he cried. “Don’t decide in haste, for I shall be a hard officer.”

“And a brave one,” shouted Dinny.

“Hurrah!”

“Am I to understand,” continued Jack, “that you select me for your captain?”

“Yes, yes,” came in a roar.

“Then I have a request to make,” cried Jack; “and that is, that you support and obey my first lieutenant.”

“Hurrah for owld Bart Wrigley!” roared Dinny.

“No, no; stop!” cried Jack. “I choose my own lieutenant. Mazzard, will you serve under me faithfully as a man?”

Black Mazzard stood scowling for a few moments, and then held out his hand.

“I will,” he said. “There’s no jealousy in me.”

“Hurrah!” shouted the crew again; and directly after the new captain gave orders for the schooner’s head to be laid for Sandy Key, towards which she was soon tacking to and fro.

Chapter Eighteen

A Horrible Task

Two days elapsed before the schooner was again well under the lee of Sandy Key, and preparations were made to land as soon as it grew dusk.

It was a soft, calm evening, and the sea looked solemn and desolate as the sun went down in a bank of clouds. A good look-out had been kept, but there was no sign of sail upon the wide spread sea, while the solemnity of the hour seemed to have influenced the men, who had gathered some inkling of their commander’s intentions.

“Whisht! Don’t talk about it,” said Dinny to one questioner. “Sure, it’s a whim of the skipper’s, and if he likes to take his brother and bury him a bit more dacently at the shelter, who has a better right?”

“Are you going?”

“And is it me? They wouldn’t ask me.”

Just at the same time a conversation was going on in the fore-part of the vessel, where the captain had been standing for some time with Bart.

“Nay, nay, my lad,” the latter whispered; “not this time.”

“Have you got all ready?”

“Ay. Just as you said.”