McPhulach departed with an almost happy smile and knocked down an insolent fireman for the good of his soul.

That evening, according to his promise, Captain Calamity arrived at Mr. Solomon's store, accompanied by Mr. Dykes, whom he duly introduced. This done, he informed his partner that he was sailing that night.

"Vat, so soon!" ejaculated Mr. Solomon.

"You don't want your capital lying idle longer than necessary, do you?"

"No, no, but——"

"Then sign these bills of lading and don't waste my time."

Mr. Solomon turned up the smoky little oil-lamp which inadequately illuminated the room, put on his spectacles, and proceeded to examine the papers Calamity had thrust before him. He scrutinised each one so long and so carefully that at last the Captain lost patience and swore he would not sail at all unless the remainder were signed without delay. So, much against his better judgment, Mr. Solomon put his name to the rest without doing more than glance over the contents.

That night the Hawk weighed anchor and steamed unostentatiously out of Singapore Harbour without troubling the customs authorities or any other officials whatever.

CHAPTER III

MUTINY

By dawn the Hawk was churning her way at full speed towards the Java Sea and a destination unknown to any one but the Captain. It was too early to judge of the qualities of the ship, but those of the crew were already becoming manifest. Indeed, it looked as if the prophecies of the mate and the engineer were likely to be fulfilled sooner than even they expected. The men did not work with a will; worse still, they didn't even grumble. They maintained a solid, stolid, sullen silence that had the same effect on the nerves as a black and threatening cloud on a still day. They quarrelled amongst themselves, but for the officers they only had lowering glances and threats muttered below the breath. One would imagine that they had all been shanghaied or shipped under false pretences. Besides the boatswain, his mate and a couple of quartermasters, there were very few white men amongst them, and between these and the rest of the crew a state of hostility already existed.

When the boatswain's mate put his head inside the forecastle door to call the morning watch no one swore at him, and that was a very bad sign indeed.

"Now then, my sons, and you know the sons I mean! Show a leg, show a leg, show a leg!" he called.

Nobody threw a boot at him, nobody consigned him to the nether regions, nobody told him what his mother had been. The men tumbled out of their bunks with surly, glowering faces and with scarcely a word spoken.

"Rouse out! Rouse out! You hang-dog, half-caste, loafing swine!" roared the boatswain's mate, hoping that he might thus goad them into cheerfulness and induce a homely feeling.

He failed, however, and though one man made a tentative movement with his hand in the direction of a sheath-knife at his hip, nothing came of it.

The matter was reported to Mr. Dykes, who shook his head gloomily.

"You ought, by rights, to be half-dead by now," he said, looking resentfully at the boatswain's mate.

The latter evidently felt his position and tried to look apologetic.

"Can't even get an honest curse out of 'em," he said. "They've had three feeds already, and the cook says not one's threatened to kill 'im. He don't like it because, of course, he feels something's wrong. 'Tain't natural that men should just fetch their grub and go away without telling the cook just what they think of 'im. I've never see'd anything like it before."

"Something's going to bust, and pretty soon," remarked the mate. "An' it'll be a gaudy shindy when it does."

Later on he reported the state of affairs to Calamity, who merely smiled.

"The men are doing their work, aren't they?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well?"

"The fact is, sir, things ain't settlin' down as they ought to. The ship feels like a theatre when the boys are loosenin' their guns before the curtain goes down. I've been in the foc'sle and there ain't so much as a photo nor a picture-postcard nailed up. There's nothing homely about it, sir, like you'd expect to see; no cussin' nor rowin' nor anything cheerful."

"Probably the men will be more cheerful later on, Mr. Dykes," answered the Captain. "They are new to the ship, remember."

The mate went away in deep dudgeon. So this was the notorious Captain Calamity; the man whose name, he had been told, was sufficient to cow the most disorderly ruffians that ever trod a ship's decks. Here he was, with a crew who were on the very verge of mutiny, making excuses for them and talking like some mission-boat skipper with the parson at his elbow. It was disgusting.

That evening he confided his opinions to McPhulach, in the latter's cabin.

"I reckon we've got this old man tabbed wrong," he said. "He ain't no bucko skipper as they talks about; a crowd of Sunday School sailors is about his mark. When I told him the men were only waitin' a good opportunity to slit all our throats, he jest coo'd like a suckin' dove. 'Remember they're new to the ship,' says he, as soft as some old school-marm."

"Aye, but he's a quare mon till ye ken him," remarked the engineer thoughtfully.

"Queer! He'll let us all be dumped into the ditch before he raises a finger."

"I wouldna go sa far as tae say that. Yon's a michty strange mon, I'm telling ye, and the lead-line hasna been made that can fathom him."

Mr. Dykes gave a contemptuous grunt, and, as he walked away, opined that the skipper and the chief engineer were a pair, and about as fit to control men as their grandmothers would have been.

As he had anticipated, matters were not long in coming to a head. At the machine-gun drill and rifle exercise, which occupied several hours each day, the men grew increasingly slack. On the fourth day out it was as much as he could do to get the men to obey orders, and if ever a crew showed signs of mutiny it was the crew of the Hawk. But, early in the morning of the following day, an incident occurred which, if it served to distract everybody's attention for a little while, had the ultimate effect of bringing about the long-threatened crisis.

The grey mist of dawn still lay upon the waters, when the sound of firing was heard, apparently coming from the eastward. The Hawk's course was changed slightly and an hour later those on the bridge were able to make out, with the aid of glasses, a small German gunboat "holding up" a French liner.

"Guess we could sink that little steam can as easy as swallowin' a cocktail," remarked the mate. "Say, Cap'n, do we butt in here?"

Instead of answering, Calamity stepped up to the engine-room telegraph and rang down "Stop!" By this time the Germans could be seen conveying things from the liner to their own vessel, and, somehow or other, the rumour spread among the Hawk's crew that they were bullion cases. Presently the liner was allowed to proceed on her way, and the German steamed off in a north-easterly direction. Then Calamity rang down, "Full speed!" to the engine-room and turned to the mate.

"Follow that packet," he said, indicating the German, "but don't overhaul her."

"Then we're goin' to let that square-head breeze away?" asked Mr. Dykes in a tone of acute disappointment. "Durned if this lay-out don't get me stuck," he went on. "We could have froze on to them bars ourselves."

His opinion of Captain Calamity had touched zero by now, and he hardly troubled to conceal his contempt. He, like the remainder of the Hawk's company, knew that she was engaged on a privateering expedition, and was eager to "taste blood." And it must be admitted that Calamity had induced many of the men to ship with him by holding out promises of fat bonuses, with, perhaps, the opportunity of a little plundering thrown in. Now, when chance had thrown what appeared to be a