The compass is quite correct.

You have been steering due west for some purpose of your own, against my orders." "Oh, that's your game, is it?
You are the skipper, and us a brace of lubbers as doesn't know north from west, I suppose.

Let him sail the cursed craft hissel, Bill." Yawl let go the tiller, on which the sloop broached to and nearly went on her beam ends.

This was more than I could bear, and calling on Ramon to follow me, I sprang forward, seized Kidd by the throat, and, drawing my dagger, told him that unless he promised to obey my orders and do his duty, I would make an end of him then and there.

Meanwhile, Ramon was keeping Yawl off with his _machete_, flourishing it around his head in a way that made the old salt's hair nearly stand on end.