"Good for nothing! Hi--wup--wup--wup!" Every utterance of the word _wup_ was accompanied by a kick, and the result was that the Malay sprang up, snatched his kris from where it had been thrown on the head of a cask, and striking right and left made his way aft, master of the deck once more.
"Well, that's nice," growled the captain.
"I thought them knots wouldn't hold," drawled Jack Penny.

"He's been wriggling and twisting his arms and legs about ever since he lay there.
I thought he'd get away." "Then why didn't you say so, you great, long-jointed two-foot rule ?" roared the captain.

"Here, now then, all together.

I'm skipper here.
Rush him, my lads; never mind his skewer." The captain's words seemed to electrify his little crew, and, I venture to say, his passengers as well.

Every one seized some weapon, and, headed by the skipper, we charged down upon the savage as he stood brandishing his weapon.
He stood fast, watchful as a tiger, for some moments, and then made a dash at our extreme left, where Jack Penny and I were standing; and I have no doubt that he would have cut his way through to our cost, but for a quick motion of the captain, who struck out with his left hand, hitting the Malay full in the cheek.
The man made a convulsive spring, and fell back on the edge of the bulwarks, where he seemed to give a writhe, and then, before a hand could reach him, there was a loud splash, and he had disappeared in the sea.
We all rushed to the side, but the water was thick from the effects of the storm, and we could not for a few moments make out anything.