In the first place he might go to Henshaw at once and warn him of the coming danger, but he remembered what the bos'n had said--in such a case he would not be believed, and both the crew and the commander would be against him.
Finally it seemed to him that the best thing was to wait until the critical moment had arrived.

He could warn the captain just in time--or if absolutely necessary he could warn McTee, who would certainly believe him.

In the meantime there were possibilities that the mutiny would come to nothing through internal dissension among the crew.

In any case he must play a detestable part, acting as a spy upon the crew and pretending enthusiasm for the mutiny.
With that shame like a taste of soot in his throat, he climbed to the bridge the next morning with his bucket of suds and his brush, and there as usual he found McTee, cool and clean in the white outfit of Henshaw.

At sight of the Scotchman he remembered at once that he must pretend the double exhaustion which comes of pain and hard labor.
Therefore he thrust out his lower jaw and favored McTee with a glare of hate.