The bos'n fled. A moment later a timid knock came at the door and McTee
bade him enter. He stepped in, cap in hand, his eyes on the floor.

"The first mate's drunk, sir, an' runnin' amuck with the ship. He's at
the wheel an' he won't leave it. We've nearly scraped one reef already.
You know this ain't any open sea, sir. There's green water everywhere."

"Go up and give the fool my orders. Tell the second officer to take the
wheel."

The bos'n retreated, but he returned within a few moments.

"He won't leave the wheel," he reported. "He said you could take your
orders to the devil, sir."

"I'll tie him to the deck and skin him alive," said McTee calmly. "Stay
here and watch Harrigan while I--"

He was jerked from his feet and hurled across the room, crashing
against the cabin wall. When his senses returned, he was sitting on the
floor staring stupidly into the white face of the bos'n, who was in a
similar posture. Harrigan, who had been flung from the bunk, staggered
to his feet.

"What the deuce is up?" asked the Irishman.

A chorus of piercing yells rose in answer from the deck outside.

"The end of the _Mary Rogers_," said McTee. "Stay with me, Harrigan."