He was terror-stricken on realising the motive for the boatswain's interference; however, before he had time to open his mouth again, the skipper, who had been roused up by the sudden commotion on the deck over his head, rushed past me up the poop ladder like lightning.
Captain Billings' first look, sailor-like, was aloft; and noticing the vessel was before the wind, while the spanker, which had been eased off, prevented him from seeing the shoal we had so narrowly avoided, he turned on the mate for explanation.
"Hallo, Macdougall!" he exclaimed, "what's the reason of this, eh ?" But the mate did not answer at once.

He still seemed spellbound.
"We've just wore her, sir," said Jorrocks, stepping forwards, and accompanying Captain Billings as he made his way to the binnacle.
"So I see," drily replied the skipper, after a hasty glance at the standard compass.

"But what has been the reason for thus altering the course of the ship?
I gave orders for her to be steered south-west by west; and here we are now heading direct up to the northward again! What's the reason for this, I want to know?
Speak, now, can't you ?" Macdougall, on this second inquiry being directed to him by the skipper--who for the moment seemed to ignore the boatswain's presence beside him--mumbled out something about the rocks, but he spoke in so thick and indistinct a voice that Captain Billings believed he was intoxicated.
"Rocks, your grandmother!" he cried angrily.

"The only rocks hereabouts are those built up in your brain through that confounded bottle you're always sucking at below!" "Indeed, sir," put in Jorrocks at this point, taking the mate's part, "Mr Macdougall's right, Cap'.

We've just had the narrowest squeak of going to the bottom I ever 'sperienced in all my time.