Mr. Denslow, mistaking the Cap’n’s speechlessness for conviction, proceeded: 

“We was hired to take a sail for our health, dig dirt, and keep our mouths shut.  Same has been done and is bein’ done—­except in so far as we open ’em to remark that we want to get back onto dry ground.”

Hiram noted that the Cap’n’s trembling hands were taking a half-hitch with a rope’s end about a tiller-spoke.  He understood this as meaning that Cap’n Sproul desired to have his hands free for a moment.  He hastened to interpose.

“We’re goin’ to start right back, Denslow.  You can tell the boys for me.”

“All right, Chief!” said the faithful member of the Ancients, and departed.

“We be goin’ back, hey?” The Cap’n had his voice again, and turned on Hiram a face mottled with fury.  “This firemen’s muster is runnin’ this craft, is it?  Say, look-a-here, Hiram, there are certain things ’board ship where it’s hands off!  There is a certain place where friendship ceases.  You can run your Smyrna fire department on shore, but aboard a vessel where I’m master mariner, by the wall-eyed jeehookibus, there’s no man but me bosses!  And so long as a sail is up and her keel is movin’ I say the say!”

In order to shake both fists under Hiram’s nose, he had surrendered the wheel to the rope-end.  The Dobson paid off rapidly, driven by a sudden squall that sent her lee rail level with the foaming water.  Those forward howled in concert.  Even the showman’s face grew pale as he squatted in the gangway, clutching the house for support.

“Cut away them ropes!  She’s goin’ to tip over!” squalled Murray, the big blacksmith.  Between the two options—­to take the wheel and bring the clumsy hooker into the wind, or to rush forward and flail his bunglers away from the rigging—­Cap’n Sproul shuttled insanely, rushing to and fro and bellowing furious language.  The language had no effect.  With axes and knives the willing crew hacked away every rope forward that seemed to be anything supporting a sail, and down came the foresail and two jibs.  The Cap’n knocked down the two men who tried to cut the mainsail halyards.  The next moment the Dobson jibed under the impulse of the mainsail, and the swinging boom snapped Hiram’s plug hat afar into the sea, and left the showman flat on his back, dizzily rubbing a bump on his bald head.

For an instant Cap’n Sproul was moved by a wild impulse to let her slat her way to complete destruction, but the sailorman’s instinct triumphed, and he worked her round, chewing a strand of his beard with venom.

“I don’t pretend to know as much about ship managin’ as you do,” Hiram ventured to say at last, “but if that wa’n’t a careless performance, lettin’ her wale round that way, then I’m no judge.”

He got no comment from the Cap’n.

“I don’t suppose it’s shipshape to cut ropes instead of untie ’em,” pursued Hiram, struggling with lame apology in behalf of the others, “but I could see for myself that if them sails stayed up we were goin’ to tip over.  It’s better to sail a little slower and keep right side up.”