A sharp exclamation from Captain Brisket was the only reply, and he turned just as Mr. Chalk, with a rifle in one hand and a revolver in the other, appeared on deck.  The captain’s cry was echoed forward, and three of the crew dived with marvellous skill into the forecastle.  The boy and two others dashed into the galley so hurriedly that the cook, who was peeping out, was borne backwards on to the stove and kept there, the things he said in the heat of the moment being attributed to excitement and attracting no attention.  Tredgold, Brisket, and Stobell dodged behind the galley, and Mr. Chalk was left to gaze in open-mouthed wonder at the shrinking figure of Mr. Duckett at the wheel.  They regarded each other in silence, until a stealthy step behind Mr. Chalk made him turn round smartly.  Mr. Stobell, who was stealing up to secure him, dodged hastily behind the mainmast.

“Stobell!” cried Mr. Chalk, faintly.

“It’s all right,” said the other.

Mr. Chalk regarded his proceedings in amazement.  “What are you hiding behind the mast for?” he inquired, stepping towards him.

Mr. Stobell made no reply, but with an agility hardly to be expected of one of his bulk dashed behind the galley again.

A sense of mystery and unreality stole over Mr. Chalk.  He began to think that he must be dreaming.  He turned and looked at Mr. Duckett, and Mr. Duckett, trying to smile at him, contorted his face so horribly that he shrank back appalled.  He looked about him and saw that they were now in open water and drawing gradually away from the land.  The stillness and mystery became unbearable, and with an air of resolution he cocked his rifle and proceeded with infinite caution to stalk the galley.  As he weathered it, with his finger on the trigger, Stobell and the others stole round the other side and, making a mad break aft, stumbled down the companion-ladder and secured themselves below.

“Has everybody gone mad?” inquired Mr. Chalk, approaching the mate again.

“Everybody except you, sir,” said Mr. Duckett, with great politeness.

Mr. Chalk looked forward again and nearly dropped his rifle as he saw three or four tousled heads protruding from the galley.  Instinctively he took a step towards Mr. Duckett, and instinctively that much-enduring man threw up his hands and cried to him not to shoot.  Mr. Chalk, pale of face and trembling of limb, strove to reassure him.

“But it’s pointing towards me,” said the mate,” and you’ve got your finger on the trigger.”

[Illustration:  “‘It’s pointing towards me,’ said the mate.”]

Mr. Chalk apologized.

“What did Tredgold and Stobell run away for?” he demanded.

Mr. Duckett said that perhaps they were—­like himself—­nervous of firearms.  He also, in reply to further questions, assured him that the mutiny was an affair of the past, and, gaining confidence, begged him to hold the wheel steady for a moment.  Mr. Chalk, still clinging to his weapons, laid hold of it, and the mate, running to the companion, called to those below.  Led by Mr. Stobell they came on deck.