"Sail Ho!" (continued 5)

“I will,” said Mr Preddle firmly; and by the light of the lantern I saw that the chambers of his revolver were exposed, and that he was thrusting in a fresh cartridge.

“Ought we to send down Mr Frewen?” said Mr Denning just then.

“Don’t ask absurd questions, sir,” replied Mr Brymer angrily. “Come, Frewen. Now, my lad.”

He turned away, and before following, Barney Blane got beside me, to say in my ear—

“Disappynted again, sir. I did think I was to have a go at Frenchy now.”

He hurried off; and the shrieking of the wind ceased for a few moments, during which we strained our ears to try and make out what went on below, when very faintly, but the word distinctly heard, came the cry—

“Help!”

“There is some one forward there by the bowsprit!” I cried excitedly; and leaving my companions, I crept to the bows, and, holding on tightly, climbed up and looked over, seeing nothing but the foaming water churned up by the ship as she plunged on and on, looking as if she were moment by moment going to split upon what might have been one huge black rock right ahead.

I changed my position, and got to the other side of the bowsprit to hold on and look over there, but still I could see nothing, and though I shouted again and again there was no reply.

“Nobody could possibly be hanging on there,” I thought, as I tried to pierce the mist of spray; and I felt that if low down on the stays, he would be dipped at every plunge, and drowned in a few minutes, and if higher, to a certainty, unless lashed to the ropes, be washed off.

I stayed some minutes, hailing again and again, with my voice carried forward by the wind, and then made my way back to my two companions, whose faces were turned inquiringly toward me as I shook my head.

“There can’t be any one there,” I said. “It’s impossible.”

“So Mr Brymer thought,” said Mr Preddle. “He said he would be either washed off or drowned, and that it must be one of the men below.”

“There it is again,” said Mr Denning; “and it is below.”

“Yes; there!” I cried, for there was a heavy banging at a bulk-head, and some one shouted savagely to whoever cried for help to be quiet, and then a shot was fired, but not at us.

“The wretches!” I said.

“The wretch!” said Mr Denning. “That was Jarette’s voice, I’m sure; and he must have fired.”

“At some prisoner they have there below,” I said.

“Or at the wounded man,” cried Mr Preddle.

“It must be another wounded man then, for you heard the sound before you fired that shot.”

“Yes; and it makes me feel better satisfied, for the mutineers are such brutes—such savage brutes.”

“There!” I cried; “do you hear?” for once more the cry for help came so piteous, faint, and despairing that it seemed to go through me from head to heel in one long, continuous shudder.

“If it hadn’t been for what we heard just now,” said Mr Preddle just then, “I should have been ready to think it was something uncanny—something ghostly; but,” he added hastily, as Mr Denning turned a mocking face to him, “I don’t think so now.”

“It’s very horrid,” I said; “and the worst of it is that one can’t do anything. I wish we could send Mr Frewen to help the poor fellow, whoever it is.”

“Yes, it is horrible,” said Mr Denning; “but they made us suffer so that I feel hardened against them. It must be a wounded man.”

“Why,” I cried, as a flash of mental light just then illumined my thick brain, “I know!”

I was so excited by my discovery, which was one of those simple finds that the wonder was it had not been thought of at once, I could hardly contain myself, and I made for a swinging lantern and took it down.

“What is it? What have you found out?” cried Mr Denning at the top of his voice, though it only sounded feeble then in the din of the storm.

“It’s some one in the cable-tier,” I cried.

“Cable-tier? Where’s that?”

“Just forward. Front of the forksle,” I shouted. “We must get the hatch off.”

“No, no; not till Mr Brymer comes,” said Mr Denning.

The words sounded so wise that I hesitated with the lantern in my hand, and for a moment or two I thought of running off to report my discovery; but I recalled the fact that I was on a perilous duty, and that I had no right to leave my post without orders; so I re-hung the lantern, and then, after listening and convincing myself that there was no threatening sound coming from below, I shouted to my companions what I was going to do, and then staggered forward to the carefully battened down hatch, beneath which the great rusty chain cable was lying in a heap.

I listened, and my heart sank with disappointment, for the wind was shrieking as fiercely as ever, and I could not hear a sound.

“Am I mistaken after all?” I thought, and listened still.

Just then, with a heavy thud, as the ship plunged downward, a wave struck the port-bow, rose in a perfect cataract, and curling over, deluged me and rushed along the deck.

I should have been swept away, but the combings of the hatch sheltered me a little, and as the hissing splash of the water ceased, I fancied I heard a faint clink of one of the links of the great chain below, while the moment after came more plainly than I had heard it before a smothered, piteous cry—

“Help!”

And again directly after, as if he who uttered the cry were in agony—

“Help!”

I took out my pistol and thumped with the butt on the hatch, when there was silence again.

“Below there!” I shouted with my lips close to the boards.

“Help! pray help!” came in answer.

“All right,” I cried; “I’ll see.”

I crept back on hands and knees to my companions, who were waiting for me impatiently.

“It’s all right,” I said; “there’s some one in the cable-tier a prisoner, and as it must be some one of our lads he is of course afraid. Oughtn’t I to run to Mr Brymer?”

The need ceased the next moment, for before we could decide whether the signal ought to be given by firing a pistol, Neb Dumlow appeared in the feeble glow shed by the lantern, coming out of the black darkness in a peculiarly weird fashion.

“Ahoy!” he growled. “Mate says, is all right?”

“No,” I said eagerly, for boy as I was, I seemed to be the captain of that watch, the two gentlemen giving place to me, even if they did oppose some of my ideas. “Go and tell Mr Brymer to come here.”

“Ay, ay!” growled the great ugly fellow—uglier now in the darkness than he had ever looked before—and he turned and trotted aft, to return in a few minutes bearing a lantern, and in company with the mate and Mr Frewen.

I told them what I had discovered, and Mr Brymer gave an angry stamp.

“Of course!” he cried. “I might have known. Why, it must be one of our lads, and a friend. Quick, Dumlow, and have off that hatch.”

In another moment or two the sailor was on his knees dragging off the piece of tarpaulin which had been fastened down over the top, probably when the storm began, and directly after the hatch was lifted off, and the lantern held down to throw its light upon a ghastly face, which was raised to us as a couple of hands grasped the combings around the opening. I was so astounded that I could not speak, only listen, as Dumlow shouted—

“I say, what cheer you, my lad?”

And Mr Brymer—

“Walters! Why, my lad, what are you doing there?”

“Help!” groaned my old messmate with a piteous look up at us; “half-smothered—water—help!”

“Well, mutineer or middy,” said Mr Brymer, “there’s nothing to fear from you. Take one arm, Dumlow,” and seizing the other himself, they hoisted Walters quickly out of the little compartment and set him on his feet; but his legs gave way, and he dropped on the deck and lay upon his back.

At that moment sounds came up from the hatch, which suggested the possibility of the mutineers breaking through the heavy bulk-head and making their way on deck that way, so before aught else was done, the hatch was securely fastened down again.

While that was in progress, but feeling wroth all the time, I bent down over the poor, miserable-looking wretch, whose eyes were following every movement I made, and recalling the shot I had heard fired, I at once came to the conclusion that he was hurt.

“Here,” I said roughly, “where are you wounded, so that I can tell Mr Frewen?”

“I’m—I’m—”

“Well, where?” I said, still very roughly, for the sight of the treacherous young wretch made a hot feeling of rage against him rise in my throat.

“Not—not wounded,” he said feebly.

“Then what’s the matter with you?” I cried contemptuously; “sea-sick?”

“No—no, that—that wretch, Jarette.”

“What?” cried Mr Brymer, with a mocking laugh. “What? ‘Wretch Jarette!’ Do you mean your captain, my worthy young lieutenant?”

Walters’ eyes gave a roll and then closed as he lay there; but they opened again directly, for Mr Brymer gave him an angry thrust—a thrust, not a kick—with his foot.

“Here, get up, cur! You’re our prisoner now. What do you say?”

Walters’ lips were moving as Dumlow held the light over him and bent down.

“Says as you’re to stow him in prison, sir, and not let the skipper see him.”

“Bah! Has it come to this? Speak to him, Dale. What does he say now?”

“Water; he is asking for water,” I said, as I saw how piteously weak the lad was.

“Suffering from exhaustion and want of air.”

“Then he must have a rest,” cried Mr Brymer. “Now, sir, can you get up and walk?”

“No,” said Mr Frewen, decisively.

“Lift him up, Dumlow,” said Mr Brymer, “and bring him aft to one of the cabins. Will you see to him, Mr Frewen?”

The doctor nodded, and I felt as if I wanted to go; but my duty was there, and I had to stay.

Chapter Twenty Six.

That storm showed no signs though of abating, and we watched on through the night, constantly on the strain, attacked as we were by alarms from below, and the furious assault of the winds and waves. Several times over during the night, when I was suffering from the cold, and faint with hunger and exhaustion, a horrible chilly feeling of despair came creeping over me. I began thinking of home and those there who would be heart-broken if I was lost; but always at these worst times something seemed to happen that took me out of myself, giving me work so particular to do that all my energies were directed to that duty, and in consequence I forgot my own troubles.

Twice over, when Mr Brymer came with one or other of the men, Mr Denning expressed a wish to be relieved, and I had to take his arm and help him along under the shelter of the bulwarks to the saloon and the cabin where his sister was waiting anxiously for news, and as we struggled aft, he talked to me as freely as if I had been his brother.

“Is there any hope for us, Dale?” he said on one occasion as we rested for a few moments underneath the bulwarks.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a sailor, but I should not have thought the ship could have kept on long like this without sinking.”

I laughed.

“Why, she’s a splendid boat,” I said, “and quite strong, and so long as we’ve got plenty of sea-room, we shan’t hurt.”

“You’re talking like this to comfort me,” he said.

“No; I’m telling you the truth as far as I understand it. Of course I’ve never been out in a storm on the ocean before, but I’ve been in some big ones off the coast round Ireland, where we were always in danger of going on the rocks, which are awful there.”

“But the sea comes thundering down on the ship so.”

“What of that?” I replied. “The ship’s hollow, and it sounds all the more, but the water is soft, and we go through it or ride over it somehow.”

“Ah, you’re too young to know what fear is,” he said sadly.

“Oh no, I’m not,” I cried, laughing. “I’ve been awfully frightened several times to-night, but I’m more afraid of Jarette and his gang than I am of the sea.”

“You have no sister on board,” he said. “No bitter regrets for letting her come into such danger.”

“No,” I said, rather chokingly; “but I’ve got people at home, and it would be very horrid to think I should never see them again.”

“Let’s go on,” he said laconically, and I helped him along, choosing the easiest moments till we were in shelter, and then without leaving hold of me he whispered—

“Make the best of things to her.”

There was a lamp burning in the cabin as we entered, and Miss Denning sprang to our side.

“Oh, John,” she cried piteously, “this will be death to you, drenched with the cold sea! Pray, pray, stay in shelter now.”

“Nonsense!” he cried; “it does me good, and it’s grandly exciting to fight the storm like this. How are you, little one? Ah, don’t touch me, I’m wet.”

“Suffering terribly, John dear. You must stay with me now.”

“Tied to your apron, you foolish girl,” he said merrily. “Nonsense! I’m wanted to help. There, I bring you good news. We’ve got all the pirates safely in prison, and as soon as the storm’s over all will be right again.”

Miss Denning gave me a piteous, inquiring look.

“Yes, that’s quite right, Miss Denning,” I said cheerfully.

“But this terrible storm; shall we be wrecked?”

“Ships don’t get wrecked out in the open sea,” I replied coolly, “only have their sails blown away, and sometimes lose a spar, or get a boat torn off the davits.”

“Then you think we are safe?”

“Oh yes, I hope so,” I replied.

“Safe? Of course, darling little cowardly sis,” said Mr Denning, kissing her pale cheek very lovingly, and I felt that I had never liked him so well before, never having seen his true nature and affection for his sister.

“Now then, Mr Dale and I have to go back on duty to shoot mutineers and pirates, and you are to lie down and trust in our all taking care of you. Try and sleep for a few hours.”

“Sleep!” she said reproachfully, “with you exposed to all that danger.”

“Yes! Why not? To grow strong, and ready to help me if I want it.”

“But, must you go, John?”

“Yes, dear,” he said gravely, “I must; but, please God, the worst danger is over, and you will not hinder me from doing my duty like a man, even if I am a weak one.”

She held his hand to her cheek, and smiling at me, spoke quite cheerfully.

“Come back in about an hour,” she said, “and I will have coffee made with the spirit-lamp, and try and find some biscuits.”

“That we will,” cried Mr Denning. “Make plenty, Lena, Mr Brymer and—and the sailors will be glad of some.”

She nodded, trying to look cheerful, and we left her, but had not reached the broken companion-way before a door on our right opened, a light was thrown across us, and I felt Mr Denning’s arm twitch. For it was Mr Frewen coming out of the cabin in which Walters had been placed, the one in which Mr Preddle had been kept a prisoner, and as soon as he was outside he carefully locked it.

“Not much need for it,” he said to us quietly, “for the little wretch is very weak still. Nice sort of characters you choose for your companions, Dale,” he continued. “How do we know that you have not been contaminated, and are going to rise against us?”

“There’s no fear till the storm’s over, Mr Frewen,” I said, laughing, and then, with the two gentlemen keeping perfectly silent, we went forward again, and had nearly reached the forecastle-hatch, when, sounding very feeble and strange, there was the report of a pistol, and we hurried forward to hear shouts of rage coming from below the hatch, and the blows of an axe being used with such effect, that before long whoever wielded it must make a way through.

Mr Brymer glanced round at us as we came up, and I saw the barrel of his revolver glistening in the pale light.

Then with his face close to the hatch he shouted—

“Once more, stop that or I fire!”

A shout of derision came from within.

“I warn you again!” roared Mr Brymer. “I fired before without trying to hit you, now I shall aim straight. Stop that this moment!”

“Fire away! Ready below, lads, I’ll have it off—”

The report of the revolver, a hoarse, half-stifled cry from within, and then a yell of rage arose, to mingle with the shrieking of the wind.

“I was obliged to fire, Mr Frewen,” said the mate, sharply, “for at any cost we will keep the upper hand now.”

No one spoke, and I could not help shivering as I saw the stern looks of the men by me, even Mr Preddle’s round smooth face looking fierce and determined.

Mr Frewen was the first to open his lips.

“It is a bitter necessity,” he said; “those men must be kept down, but I am obliged to speak now. Brymer, I am a surgeon, and there are at least two wounded men there below, perhaps more. It is necessary for me to go down.”

“It is impossible, Mr Frewen. If I give orders for that hatch to be opened, there will be a rush, and even if we remain masters and beat them down, it can only be at the cost of wounding more, perhaps causing death.”

“Why not make a truce with them?”

“With the men it would be easy enough, but not with their leader, a scoundrel who feels that he is fighting with penal servitude before him, perhaps the halter! But, Mr Frewen, these are no times for being humane. No; that hatch shall not be opened.”

“But I will stand ready, after telling the men what I am going to do, and if they will keep away while the hatch is open there can be no rush.”

“I think differently, sir,” said Mr Brymer, coldly.

“I agree with Mr Brymer, sir,” said Mr Denning, “that it would be madness.”

“But you agree with me, Mr Preddle?” cried the doctor, excitedly.

“No, I don’t, Mr Frewen,” came in Mr Preddle’s high-pitched voice. “I don’t like men to suffer, but I won’t give my vote for you to go down into that wild beasts’ cage.”

Mr Frewen laughed bitterly, and turned to me.

“What do you say, fellow-prisoner?” he cried.

“I shall vote against Mr Frewen being allowed to go down,” I said sturdily. “We want your help more than they do.”

“Bravo! my lad,” cried Mr Brymer.

“Well, yes; bravo! then,” said the doctor, sadly. “I am beaten; I give in.”

“Thank you, Frewen,” cried Mr Brymer, holding out his hand, which the doctor took frankly. “I am sorry to go against you, but you are too valuable to us here. I am sure that if I let you go down, they would not let you come up gain. Jarette is fox enough to know how your absence would weaken us, and then there is the captain; I place his life as of more value than that of a mutinous crew.”

“I’m convinced,” said Mr Frewen. “My desire was to stay, but as a surgeon I couldn’t stand still, knowing that my help was wanted down there.”

“You doctors are so greedy,” cried Mr Preddle. “You have two patients as it is, and if we’re going, on like this I’m afraid you’ll soon have some more.”

“Yes,” said the doctor, turning to Mr Denning, “I shall have another one. Forgive me for speaking, Mr Denning, but I think you ought to go back to your cabin now and remove your wet things.”

“You mean well, sir,” said Mr Denning, courteously, “but I am wanted here.”

“Not now, sir,” said the mate. “I think we can manage, and if you would hold yourself in readiness to turn out if we raise an alarm that would be enough.”

“I am here, and I have faced so much of the storm and trouble that I will see it through now.”

No one attempted to argue with him, and the watch was resumed, with the ship tearing through the water before the storm, for short-handed as we were, Mr Brymer shrank from attempting to alter her course, or riding head to wind.

From time to time there was a stir below, and voices rose angrily, but we could always hear Jarette’s shrill utterances, and he generally seemed to calm the men down, or to master them, with the result that the angry sounds ceased and gave place to a low murmuring as if some plan were being discussed. After this had been going on some time, on one occasion Mr Brymer, who had been aft at the wheel with Bob Hampton and had returned in time to hear the talking, shook his head and said to Mr Frewen—

“That sounds bad. They’re hatching a new plot against us. It is like having your ship on fire somewhere amongst the cargo in a place where you cannot reach. It goes on smouldering day after day, and you are in the full expectation of its breaking out. You don’t know when, but you are sure that it must come before long.”

“I was thinking something of the kind,” replied the doctor.

And so was I, though I did not speak. And in addition, I had an idea in my head that I could not work out, and while I was trying I had another idea. The first one was, that if by any means we could catch Jarette, the mutiny would all fall to pieces; but then the job was to catch the rascal, and that puzzled me.

It was very close to daylight; and cold, low-spirited, and miserable, I was beginning to think that between the storm and the men below, the poor old Burgh Castle must come to grief, when Bob Hampton came up glistening in his oilskins.

“I were to come and say as the lady’s got jorums o’ hot coffee ready, sir, in the captain’s cabin. Mr Denning and Mr Dale’s to go first, and I’m to take the watch till they comes back.”

I saw Mr Denning wince and dart a sharp look at the doctor, but the latter did not turn his head, and once more we began fighting our way back, with the ship seeming at times quite to dance on the tops of the waves.

But we reached the shelter in safety, and as soon as we were under cover I felt sure that the wind was not so fierce, and said so.

“I could not tell any difference,” said Mr Denning, sadly, as we went right aft, to find the captain’s cabin, right in the stern—the one through whose window I had climbed after my hazardous descent from the rigging—looking bright and cheerful, and hot coffee waiting for us, in company with sweet smiles and cheering words.

It was wonderful. One minute I had been ready to give up and think that all was over; the next, as the hot drink sent a glow through me, I was ready to smile back at Miss Denning, and join her in persuading her brother to go to his cabin and change; while the very next minute Mr Brymer came down with a large bottle, and after hastily swallowing a cup of the coffee, he begged for a bottleful to carry up to the men at the wheel.

“Is the storm still so bad, Mr Brymer?” asked Miss Denning, as the mate was about to hurry back on deck.

“No,” he said emphatically. “It’s one of those gales which blow in a circle, and we’re passing through it. The glass is rising, and in less than an hour I think it will begin to lull.” This was joyful news, and I rose to hurry back so as to take the place of Mr Preddle.

“You’ll stay now, John,” I heard Miss Denning say, and he answered her quite passionately.

“Don’t tempt me, Lena!” he cried. “I want to stay, but I want also to—there, I will act like a man.”

I did not then understand him as I did afterwards, what a strange jealous hatred and dislike there was burning within him as he caught my arm, and held it tightly.

“Help me quickly!” he whispered. “Take me back before my weakness masters me, and I break down.”

“But if you are so weak?” I said anxiously. “Take me forward!” he whispered angrily. “You cannot understand.”

I saw Miss Denning looking wonderingly at her brother as we went out, and again fought our way back to the forecastle-hatch, no easy task with the ship heeling over, and the spray flying as it did; but I felt hardened to it now, and the darkness did not appear so terrible, nor the danger so great, with the warm glow I felt spreading through me. Then I looked at my companion quite wonderingly, as I could just see his pale thin face, for he said quickly in a lull of the wind—

“I think I’ve conquered, Dale.”

“Conquered? It’s wonderful how brave you have been.”

I saw him smile, and then wondered afresh that I could have seen the change in his face. “Why, it’s getting light!” I said joyfully.

I was quite right, and as we were in the tropics the change was coming rapidly. But just then we reached the watch, and to my surprise Mr Denning said as well as the rushing wind would let him—

“Mr Frewen, Mr Preddle, my sister has hot coffee ready, and will be glad if you can go at once.”

I saw Mr Frewen give quite a start, and Mr Preddle regularly jumped, but they were both so surprised that they could neither of them speak, while Mr Denning turned to Bob Hampton.

“Your turn must be when they come back,” he said.

“Oh, all right, sir, I can wait,” growled Bob—I mean roared—for though there was a momentary cessation in the shrieking of the wind, he spoke as if Mr Denning were by the wheel; and there was no doubt now—we could not see it, nor were we likely to, through the mist and spray, but the sun was rising, and ten minutes after I was gazing at the sea, which was churned up into one chaos of foam.

“It’s all over!” yelled Bob, a minute or two later.

“What’s all over?” I asked.

“The hurry-cane, sir. We’re most through it, and the wind’s beginning to drop.”

“But it’s blowing terribly,” I cried.

“Ay, sir, it is; but ’nour ago it was blowing ten times as terrible. Why, there was a time when it most shaved my head, and another time when I put my hands up to feel if my ears was cut off. Strikes me as they would ha’ gone if they hadn’t been tied down with the flaps of this here sou’-wester.”

“Yes, it’s getting lighter fast,” cried Mr Denning. “But how rough the sea is!”

“Ay, sir, she be a bit tossy like,” said Bob; “but this here’s nothing to what it is on a rocky coast. Ah, that’s bad if you like.”

“But we’ve had an awful night, Bob.”

“Tidy, sir, tidy. Not so bad as it might ha’ been.”

“Oh, it couldn’t have been worse!” I cried.

“What? Not been worse, sir? Why, where’s your mainmas’ gone by the board, and your fore-mast cut off at the top-mast-head, and your mizzen splintered into matchwood? Why, my lad, this arn’t been nothing. And look yonder, there’s the sun a-coming out, leastwise it’s making the clouds look red-like. We’re coming out of it well. Why, you ought to be proud, Mr Dale, o’ belonging to such a ship as the Burgh Castle. She’s a clipper, if ever there was one built.”

“I am proud of her, Bob,” I said, “but I’m not proud of her crew.”

“Well, no, sir,” said Bob, rubbing his red nose, which looked wet and shiny now; “they arn’t turned out a werry good lot, but then arter all they might ha’ been worse. You see it’s just like having so much soup as the cook’s made for you, and all as good as can be, till the cook’s mate tilts the lamp aside by a-hitting it with his head, and a drop o’ hyle goes into the soup. That one drop o’ train-hyle spyles all the pot. See what I mean?”

“That Jarette is the drop of oil?”

“That’s it, sir, and a werry, werry rancid drop he be.”

Mr Denning laughed, and I saw him turn his back to the direction in which Mr Frewen had gone.

“Tlat!” went Bob Hampton’s lips in a loud smack. “Glad when they gents come back, for I want some o’ your young lady’s hot coffee, bless her! to take the taste o’ the hyle out o’ my mouth.”

“You shall have it soon, Hampton, my good brave fellow,” cried Mr Denning, and I saw the weak tears in his eyes, “and you tell my sister that she is to find my little silver flask, and give you some brandy in your coffee.”

“Thankye, sir, thankye, that’s very good of you. Why, Mr Dale, sir, you talk of our having a bad night. Tchah!—nothing, lad, nothing. How could it be a werry bad ’un when you have the luck to be shipped aboard a craft with a angel aboard? A angel, that’s what I says, and Neb Dumlow and Barney says the same. We all said it arter the mutiny had begun, and that if we didn’t get the best of old Frenchy somehow we’d eat our heads.—Lie down, will yer?” he roared, as he gave the side of the hatch so fierce a kick that I thought his heavy boot would have gone through.

There was a heavy rustling sound, and the grumbling of voices plainly heard now, for the wind was rapidly falling.

“That was French Jarette a-listening, sir, for a penny-piece,” whispered Bob, for it was growing possible to whisper now. “Strikes me we arn’t done with him yet, and if I might adwise, I should say as Mr Frewen ought to be sent down below with some of his doctor’s stuff to pyson that chap like you would a rat, for there’ll never be no peace while he’s aboard. Hah!” he continued, smacking his lips. “There’s your sort; here’s Mr Preddle coming back with his face shining and smelling o’ hot coffee like a flower-garding.”

Mr Denning turned round sharply, but checked himself as he saw that Mr Frewen was coming too.

“Looks like my turn now.”

“Miss Denning is waiting to give you some coffee, Mr Hampton,” said the naturalist.

“Thankye for the mister, sir, and thank her for the coffee,” said Bob, smiling, and he straddled off, the sloping of the deck as the ship rose and fell and heeled over being apparently of no consequence to him.

Chapter Twenty Seven.

A few minutes later Mr Brymer joined us, rubbing his hands.

“We shall almost have a calm in an hour, gentlemen,” he said, “and smooth water, with nothing but a long heavy swell before night. I think we may all congratulate ourselves upon what we have done, for we’ve saved the ship.”

“Not yet,” said Mr Frewen, pointing at the fore-castle-hatch.

“No, not yet, doctor; but we’ve only one enemy to deal with now, and can devote all our attention to him. I think I can relieve two of you gentlemen now. Mr Frewen, will you fight out another hour or two, while these gentlemen go and change, and have an hour or two’s sleep?”

“I’ll go and change,” said Mr Denning; “but no sleep to-day.”

“Please yourselves, gentlemen; but you must have rest, and be in readiness for a call. Hah! that’s grand; what should we do without the sun?”

For as he was speaking, a bright gleam suddenly shot almost level across the spray, which still flew over the waves, and made it flash like a rainbow. It did more, for it sent light and joy into our breasts as Mr Preddle and Mr Denning went aft, meeting Bob Hampton with some boards, a saw, hammer, and nails with which he was soon busily at work strengthening the sides and top of the hatch, nailing down board after board, and only leaving one small opening in case communication should be needed with the prisoners below, who, saving for the light filtering through a small sky-light, and also through the ventilator, were in the dark.

An hour later a sort of council of war was held in the captain’s cabin, and it was decided to well nail up the hatch of the cable-tier as well, there being no dread of the men breaking out in other directions on account of the closely-packed-in heavy cargo, much of which consisted, as I said, of machinery—agricultural implements and the like—for the Antipodes. Then arrangements were made as to the men being fed with biscuit and water, just sufficient for keeping them alive, and this starvation policy it was considered would be the means of setting the mutineers thoroughly against their leader, with the probable result that they would open up negotiations, and end by binding Jarette hand and foot and delivering him up. After that, as many as the captain thought could be trusted might be released to assist in navigating the ship, and the rest could be kept in prison.

Mr Brymer was quite right about the weather; we sailed right through the circular storm, and long before sunset of what proved to be a very hot day, the ship was gently gliding up one side of a long wave, and after pausing for a moment on the top, gliding down the other, so that it was hard to imagine that we had just passed through so terrible a storm.

That evening I asked Mr Frewen to take me with him when he went into Mr Preddle’s cabin to see Walters, and this resulted in his leaving me behind to sit down by where my brother midshipman lay, looking white, or rather grey as ashes.

I found him very stubbornly silent with the doctor, who did not seem to think him very bad; and to all the sharp appeals to him to try and sit up, or explain his symptoms, he only gave vent to a piteous kind of groan which worried me a good deal, for I could not help thinking that Mr Frewen was hard, and to put it plainly, rather brutal, to one who had evidently gone through a great deal of suffering, and was now completely prostrate.

But certainly it had been rather tantalising, for to everything there was this piteous groan.

“Put out your tongue,” said Mr Frewen.

“Oh!”

“Well, open your eyes.”

“Oh!”—long drawn out, and strange.

“Surely that does not hurt you, my lad. I want to do you good if I can.”

“Oh!”

“Are you in pain?”

“Oh!”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Oh!”

“Can you feel it if I press your chest?”

“Oh!”

“Stand a little on one side, Dale; I want to look at his eyes.”

I stepped back, feeling very uncomfortable, and Mr Frewen parted the lad’s eyelids gently enough.

“Oh!” came more loudly than ever, as Mr Frewen looked closely into first one and then the other eye.

Another moan and groan came fast one after the other, sometimes loud and sometimes piteous in the extreme, making me shiver again as I imagined all kinds of horrors.

At first Mr Frewen was very gentle in his examination; but as Walters kept on groaning, the doctor seemed to lose patience, and in feeling the patient’s ribs, testing his arms and joints, he was, I thought, unnecessarily rough and harsh.

Mr Frewen did not speak out, but kept on uttering little ejaculations; and at last he began to pass his hands over and around Walters’ skull, while I shuddered, and fully expected to hear the broken bone-edges grate together from a fracture.

But the doctor let my messmate’s head sink down again, quickly too, for Walters uttered a thrilling moan and let his face hang down away from the doctor, looking so ghastly and strange that I was more horrified than ever in the dim cabin-light.

I looked anxiously at the doctor, silently asking him what was the matter; but he only gave me a short nod of the head, and once more directed his attention to Walters, who lay breathing slowly in a catchy, spasmodic fashion, and I was almost about to question Mr Frewen, but he once more bent over the prisoner patient, listening to his breathing.

I saw him frown and then lay his hand upon Walters’ side, and then I started, for there came so piteous a groan that I was sure the ribs must have been crushed, and I felt angry with him for not being more sympathetic.

“He went against us and played the blackguard,” I thought to myself; “but he has been severely punished, and is down, so it isn’t right to jump upon him.”

I felt then that I disliked Mr Frewen, who must be a cold-hearted, brutal kind of man, and I was not surprised at Mr Denning the invalid showing so much dislike to him now.

“Yes, he’s very bad,” said Mr Frewen at last, “I shall have to get ready a mixture for him—something pretty strong too.”

I was looking anxiously in his eyes as he said this, and then we both looked at Walters, for the poor fellow winced and moaned again.

“Yes,” said Mr Frewen to me, but watching his patient the while; “medicine is as a rule very nasty, and the strong mixtures worst of all; but there are cases where you cannot hesitate to administer them, even if they are distasteful; and where you disguise their taste with syrups and essential oils you often do harm instead of good.”

“Do you think he is very bad, Mr Frewen?” I said.

“Oh yes—very,” was the reply. “Not dangerous!” I whispered.

“Yes, decidedly dangerous,” he said, in the same low tone.

“Then he ought not to be left?”

“Oh yes, better left. He’ll come round. There, I’m going to see how the other prisoners are getting on. I’m afraid that I am badly wanted there.”

He stood looking down at the patient with his brow knit, and I noticed a fidgety movement about one of his feet.

“Oughtn’t I to stop and nurse him?” I asked.

“No; certainly not. He is better alone. This kind of case does not require attention—only time. Come along,” and he went to the door.

“All right, Mr Frewen; I’ll come directly,” I said softly.

“But I want to fasten the door,” he whispered.

“I’ll fasten it when I come out.”

“No, that will not do; Mr Brymer said that the door was to be kept fast, and I can’t go away and leave it.”

“But I want to talk to him,” I whispered. “Lock me in for a bit.”

“And suppose he turns savage with you, and tries to get your weapons?” whispered Mr Frewen, with a smile.

“I shan’t let him have them,” I replied. “Besides, he’s weak and ill.”

“Humph!—not so very, my lad. There, I’ll lock you in, and come and let you out in a quarter of an hour.”

He closed and locked the cabin door sharply, and I stood there thinking what I should say to my old messmate, and feeling how awkward it was now he was in trouble. For he lay there half turned away with his eyes closed, and I heard him moan piteously again while I waited to hear Mr Frewen’s departing step.

But it did not come for a few moments. Then I heard him go into the adjoining cabin, and the opening of his medicine-chest quite plainly.

“I don’t believe he wants medicine,” I thought. “He must be suffering from some internal injury.” Though as to what part of his body the injury might be in, I had not the slightest idea.

There was a loud clink of bottle or glass, and then quite plainly came the setting down of something hard upon a shelf, the sound coming plainly through the opening we had so laboriously made when Mr Preddle was a prisoner in this cabin, and Mr Frewen and I in the next.

Then I heard a loud cough. There was a squeaking sound of a cork being thrust into a bottle, and the doctor went out of his cabin, shut the door sharply, and went off, while it was like an electric shock through me, and I stared wildly, for Walters started up, and in a vicious angry voice exclaimed—

“Brute! Beast! I only wish—”

He stopped short as he vigorously wrenched himself round.

“I thought you were gone,” he said blankly. “He told you to come away.”

“I stopped to help you,” I said. “I did not like to have you left when you were so bad.”

“No, you didn’t,” he cried, with a vicious snarl. “You stopped to play the miserable, contemptible, cowardly spy. It’s just like you, Dale. You always were a beast!”

“If you call me a beast, I’ll knock your head off!” I cried, for my temper was rising against him and against myself, for I felt that I had been imposed upon, and horribly weak and stupid in my sympathy for one who was shamming from beginning to end.

“It would take a better man than you,” he snarled.

“Not it, though you are bigger and stronger,” I cried. “Get up, and I’ll show you.”

“Get up,” he groaned, “while I’m so weak and bad that I can’t stir?”

“Can’t stir,” I said, as I realised how thoroughly the doctor had read him, and I understood now why Mr Frewen was so indifferent instead of being sympathetic. “Why, there’s nothing the matter with you at all. You can move as well as I can. Get up, sneak!”

“Oh!” he groaned, “you’re as great a brute as the doctor,” and he turned up his eyes till only the whites showed, making him look so ghastly in the dim light, that I was ready to fancy I was misjudging him after all.

But I recalled his manner and his utterance as soon as he had made sure that the doctor had gone, and thought himself quite alone.

“Get up,” I said again, “and leave off this miserable shamming. There’s nothing the matter with you at all.”

He groaned again, and it made me feel so angry at the thought of his believing that he could impose upon me again, that I raised my right foot, whose toes seemed to itch with a desire to kick him.

“Get up!” I cried angrily again.

“I can’t, I can’t!” he groaned.

“Get up,” I said, “or I’ll lie down by you and punch your head that way!”

“Oh, you coward, you coward!” he moaned.

“No, it’s you who are the coward, shamming being injured. Will you get up?”

“What,” he snarled, changing his manner again, “to fight with a miserable coward who is armed?”

“I’m not armed now,” I cried, snatching the revolver I carried from my belt, and laying it on Mr Preddle’s chest. “Get up, you miserable, cowardly, treacherous, shamming impostor! I’ll give you some physic which will do you more good than the doctor’s.”

As I spoke, I gave him a heavy push with my foot.

He sprang from the bunk as if he had been suddenly galvanised, made a rush at me, and struck out with all his force, but I darted on one side, and he struck the bulk-head with his fist.

“Poor fellow, how weak he is!” I said, as I stood on my guard, and writhing now with bodily as well as mental pain, he came at me looking almost diabolical.

I forgot everything the next moment—the nearness of the dangerously wounded captain, and the alarm that would be felt by Miss Denning, and with fists feeling like solid bone I sprang at him in turn. For I was in a strange state of exaltation. My nerves had been stirred by the excitement of the past days. I had been horribly imposed upon, and in place of my pity I now felt something very near akin to hate for my treacherous messmate, whom I had been ready, to forgive everything. I felt as if the most delightful thing in life would be to thrash him till he was in such a condition that he would be obliged to have the doctor to see to him and put him right—if he did not half-kill me instead, for he looked capable of doing it then. But this last did not occur to me, as I made my fists fly at his head, no round-about windmill blows, but straight-out shots right at his face, chest, anywhere I could see a chance to hit, though in the majority of cases I missed him, and received his blows instead.

But these did not seem to hurt, only excite me, and give me strength. They were like spurring to a horse; and as I hit out, my tongue was not idle, for I kept on taunting and gibing at him, asking if that one did not make him groan and this one did not need the doctor, while all the time he was perfectly silent, save that as he glared at me and fought savagely I could hear his teeth grinding together. He fought savagely, and so did I, for to use an old school-boy term, my monkey was up, and I was ready to keep on till I dropped.

Blows fell fast enough on both, and then we closed and wrestled and went down.

Then we were up, and crashing against the bulk-head on one side, then on the other. Then I sent him staggering against the door; and en revanche, as he recovered himself and came on again, he sent me heavily against the ship’s side, where the back of my head gave a sounding rap close to the little circular window.

Of course it was a matter of a very few minutes. Boy human nature could not stand a prolongation of such a fierce struggle, even if our muscles were tense as so much elastic wood. And how that time passed I can hardly tell. I was conscious of seeing sparks, and then of Walters’ eyes and gleaming teeth which were very hard to my knuckles. So was his head, and the boards, and cabin-floor; but I fought on, and wrestled and went down, and got up again, and the fighting was soon in perfect silence as far as our lips were concerned, till after one desperate round—the last—I struck out so fiercely with my left, adding to it the whole weight of my body, that Walters fell back over the chest in one corner, his head struck the bulk-head with a sounding bang, and he went down in a sitting position, but in an instant sprang up again, grinding his teeth.

The cabin was nearly dark now and my fists were up for the renewal of the contest, for Walters seemed to be about to spring at me; but he drew back, and as quickly as I could grasp what it meant, I heard almost simultaneously the clicking of my pistol-lock, the report, and the crash caused by the sudden wrenching open of the cabin-door.

“Hurt?” cried Mr Brymer, as I staggered back, conscious of a sharp stinging pain at the side of my head; and as he spoke he sprang at Walters, wrested the pistol from him, and threw him down.

“I—I don’t know,” I stammered as I put my hand to my ear. “Yes, I think so,” for my fingers were wet with blood.

“You cowardly, treacherous hound!” cried the mate, with his foot upon Walters’ breast.

“I—oh don’t!—help!—I was only defending myself from Dale. I’m weak and hurt, and—”

“A cowardly, malingering liar!” cried Mr Frewen, hotly. “He tried to make me believe he was very bad, groaning and wincing, and thinking he had deceived me, but I saw through him all the time.”

“No, no, I am bad!” groaned Walters, piteously.

“He isn’t,” I said, with my anger against him mastering a sensation of sickness. “He was shamming; I found him out, and we quarrelled and fought, and as soon as he was beaten he caught up the pistol and fired at me.”

“It’s all a lie!” shouted Walters, fiercely. “I was so weak and ill that I—”

“Jumped up well as I was, and called Mr Frewen a brute and a beast as soon as he was out of hearing.”

“And the pistol cocked itself, jumped up into his hand, and then went off and wounded Dale. Is it much, doctor?” said Mr Brymer.

“No, only his ear cut, fortunately,” said Mr Frewen, holding a handkerchief to my head. “An inch more and our amiable, treacherous young friend would have had to be tried for murder. Who’s that?”

“Me,” growled Neb Dumlow. “Want help, sir?”

“No. Go and tell the captain there’s nothing the matter, and Miss Denning that there’s no cause for alarm. Lock up the wild beast, Brymer! I thought he was a little weak and wanted feeding up. Leave him to me, and I’ll feed him down.”

Mr Brymer gave a sharp look round, and then closed the door and locked it, while following Mr Frewen into the next cabin, he put a few stitches in my injured ear and then strapped it up.

“Feel sick?” he said.

“Pretty well,” I said, and I looked dismally at my knuckles.

“Like a light, and a glass to see your face?”

“Eh? No,” I cried, as I recalled all that had taken place. “Does it look very bad?”

“Not half so bad as it will to-morrow,” said Mr Frewen, coolly. “You had a tidy fight then, you two?”

“Oh yes; don’t talk about it, please, sir. He made me feel so wild after I found out that he was only shamming.”

“Humph! Well, don’t let Miss Denning see you. If you had been knocked about like this in a struggle with those scoundrels under the hatch you would have won her sympathy; but a lad who goes and indulges in fisticuffs till his face looks like a muffin which has tumbled into the slop-basin, can’t show himself in ladies’ society till he has grown well.”

“Oh, I say, Mr Frewen!” I cried.

“It’s a fact,” he said, laughing at my dismal face.

“But can’t you put some stuff on it to make it look better?”

“No, nothing,” he said coolly. “I only know of one thing that will help you out of your difficulty,” he continued quietly.

“Yes,” I said. “What?”

“You must wait till we have another fight with the men forward, and then if you get knocked about, all those bruises will go to the same account.”

I was busily bathing my face and hands as he spoke, and then, as I began dabbing myself gently with a towel, there was an alarm from forward which suggested that, though I was getting stiffer and more sore every moment, the time had already come for the doctor’s remedy to be put in force, for there was a pistol-shot followed by several more, and a loud shouting which sounded like cries for help.

It was a wonderful change from the previous night as we hurried along the deck to join our friends. The ship rode on an even keel, the night was glorious with stars, and the lanterns shone bright and clear where they were swung. There was no creeping along a few feet at a time, holding on by rope and belaying-pin, with the spray dashing over the side.

We could see the group about the hatch standing a little back, for in spite of our defences, the mutineers were making a desperate effort to escape, and were keeping up a steady fire through the top and sides to cover the work of one of their number, who was chopping away at the door to hack out the fastening.

As we reached them, Mr Brymer was ready revolver in hand, hesitating as to whether he should fire, for he was husbanding his ammunition, the supply being far from abundant.

“It’s getting warm, doctor,” he said as we came up. “What is to be done? I grudge wasting cartridges.”

Just then Bob Hampton, who had been right aft, came trotting up.

“Who is at the wheel?” said Mr Brymer, sharply.

“Blane, sir.”

“That will do. Look here, Hampton, the captain saw to the receiving of the powder and cartridges while I was busy over the other portions of the cargo, and he is too weak to be questioned. You joined the mutiny for a time.”

“Never, sir, for no time,” growled Bob.

“Well, you were with the men, and in their confidence.”

“Not a bit on it, sir, arksing your pardon. Frenchy never trusted me a mite; only got all the work out of me that he could.”

“Well, well, we will not argue little points,” said Mr Brymer, impatiently, as the chopping and firing went on. “You saw a great deal of what was going on.”

“Yes, sir, heaps; I kep’ my eyes open.”

“Well, tell me this—what about the powder and weapons? What do you know about them?”

“I’ll tell you, sir,” said Bob; “but, begging your pardon, hadn’t you better clap a stopper on this here game?”

“How, man?”

“Answering them shots, sir.”

“I would, but my cartridges are nearly all gone. How did you get these?”

“Outer the hold, sir, where they stowed ’em close alongside o’ the blasting-powder. There’s plenty more.”

“Can you get them?”

“Oh yes, sir. You see, before the mutiny began, Jarette set some one, as I heard afterward, to smuggle all the cartridges and weapons he could out of the cabins and from the captain’s locker.”

“Yes, we found out that had been done. Who did they send?”

Bob Hampton chuckled.

“Why, you know, sir.”

“Not Mr Walters?”

“If you was to spend all the rest o’ your life, sir, making shots at it, you wouldn’t never get nigher than that.”

“The young scoundrel! Then you know where the cartridges are?”

“Course I do, sir: under the battened down hatches yonder. Frenchy put ’em there himself, and wouldn’t let no one go nigh ’em, ’cause the fellows were always smoking. I got down to ’em at night when the storm was coming, as you know, and when you want more, there they are,—yer pistols and guns too.”

“Oh, that puts quite a different complexion upon our position, Mr Denning. We can fire as much as we like,” cried the mate. “But one word more, Hampton. What about the mutineers? Have they a very large supply of ammunition?”

“Well, sir, that I can’t say. I know Jarette always kep’ his pockets jam-full, but I don’t know nothing about the others.”

The chopping was still going on while this discussion took place, and shot after shot was fired, evidently in a blind fashion, as if the man who used the revolver was unable to take an aim at any one, and merely fired to keep us away from the hatch; but now all at once we were startled by a sharp jingling of glass, and the violent swinging of one of the lanterns, which had been struck by a bullet.

“That was the result of some one aiming,” cried Mr Denning, sharply.

“If they don’t do any more damage than that it won’t matter,” said Mr Preddle.

“Look here, Brymer,” whispered Mr Frewen, speaking now after carefully watching the dimly-seen hatch for some minutes, “it strikes me that if you let them go on firing for a little longer they will be forced to surrender.”

“For want of ammunition?” said the mate.

“No; for want of air. That ventilator will not carry off the foul gas from the firing.”

“But the holes they are making will,” said the mate. “If it were not so dark you would see that the smoke is curling out from several little holes.”

Mr Frewen took a step forward; there was a sharp report, and he staggered back. “Flit?” cried Mr Preddle, excitedly. “Yes, but not hurt,” replied Mr Frewen. “The bullet struck my collar, and it was like something giving me a violent jerk.”

“Change positions every one,” said Mr Brymer in a low voice. “Hampton, the lanterns. Let them both down, and put them in the galley.”

Bob Hampton ran to one line by which they were hoisted up, I to the other; and as I was lowering mine down, I heard a shot, and a whizz like a bee flying over my head.

“Quite time that was done,” said the mate, as the two lighted lanterns were taken by Bob and carried to the galley. But the door was fast, and it was not until after a good deal of dragging and wrenching that it was pulled open, I holding the two lights, while Bob tugged.

Bang! went a revolver again, and a shot whizzed by my companion’s ear, and stuck into the side of the galley.

“Look sharp, Hampton; they can see you, man!” cried Mr Brymer. “Throw something over the lights.”

“Done it, sir,” cried Bob, as the door yielded, and I stepped forward to get the lanterns in, when, as Bob opened the door widely, and the light flashed in, he uttered a yell, and nearly dropped the lanterns, for there before us in the corner of the galley stood, or lay back, a ghastly-looking figure which at first sight seemed to me like the body of one of the mutineers who had been shot. But as I stood trembling and holding up one light, the white face moved and the eyes blinked.

“What’s the matter?” cried Mr Brymer, loudly. “Go and see, Mr Frewen.”

The doctor took a few steps and joined us, saw the figure, and said sharply—“Another prisoner?”

“No, sir; can’t he; ’cause he’s fastened hisself in,” replied Bob. “Why, matey, what are you doing here? I thought you was a ghost.”

“Why, it’s the cook!” I exclaimed.

“Cooky it is, sir,” said Hampton. “Here y’are, mate; we’ve brought you a light.”

The lanterns were thrust in, the door shut, and we hurried back, discussing our discovery, but this was checked by the firing from the hatch, while the blows from an axe threatened to make short work of the door and the boards that had been nailed across.

“What’s to be done?” said Mr Preddle, mildly. “Hadn’t you better speak to them, Mr Brymer?”

“I feel as if I can only speak by deputy,” he replied, and he raised his pistol,—“by this. But I don’t like firing until the last extremity.”

“I’ll speak to them,” said Mr Frewen.

“Very well; but get well out of reach. They will not be so merciful as we are.”

Mr Frewen went round to the bow-side of the hatch, and shouted loudly to those in the forecastle, with the result that the chopping ceased, and after a few moments’ delay Jarette’s voice was heard.

“You surrender then, eh?” he shouted. “Look sharp and knock off these boards.”

Mr Brymer could not help laughing aloud, and a pistol was fired in his direction.

“Stop that!” shouted Mr Frewen. “Look here, my men, if you hand out your weapons through the top of the hatch, and promise not to attempt to escape, food and water shall be passed down, and you shall receive fair treatment till we get into port.”

“Do you hear, my lads?” cried Jarette, loudly. “And when we get in port they’ll hand us over as prisoners. What do you—there, I’ll say it for you,” he continued hastily. “No, no, no! And now listen to me, all you who can hear. You can’t sail into port without us, and you are only proposing a truce because you are growing frightened.”

“Indeed!” said Mr Frewen, coolly.

“Yes, indeed, doctor. I know your voice. Now you take my advice—you and those two passengers. Get back to your cabins, and perhaps I’ll forgive you. We can come on deck now whenever we like, and we’re masters here. If you don’t do as I say, look out, for I warn you I can cover all of you with my pistol, and if I couldn’t I’d sink the ship before you should hold her again.”

“Then you refuse to surrender?” cried Mr Frewen. “Harkye, my lads, below there; don’t let this madman lead you on to your ruin. Will you surrender?”

“Silence below there!” shouted Jarette. “I’ll give him his answer. There!”

He fired, evidently aiming in the direction of Mr Frewen’s voice, for the bullet whizzed over the doctor’s head; when, without waiting for orders, Mr Preddle fired back, and his shot was followed by a sharp ejaculation, suggesting that some one had been hit; but directly after we heard a little talking, and several shots were fired at us, but without effect.

“There,” said Mr Brymer, “we have done our duty by them, we must now do it by ourselves.”

“If we could only master that one man,” said Mr Frewen in the little council of war which followed, “we could manage.”

“Hadn’t you better order the hose to be laid on, Mr Brymer, sir,” said Bob Hampton, “and drown ’em out like rats?”

“It would be punishing the weak with the guilty and strong, my lad,” said Mr Brymer. “I am loth to proceed to extremities.”

“Werry well then, sir, smoke ’em out as you would rats. I dessay the doctor has got some brimstone.”

“Yes, I have, Hampton,” said Mr Frewen; “but, you see, these are men, not rats.”

“That’s a true word, sir.”

“You would not like to kill them all in cold blood, my man?”

“No, sir, that’s a butchery sort o’ way; but I’m ready to give ’em a wopses’ nest squib to bring ’em to their senses.”

“Out of their senses, man!” cried Mr Frewen, impatiently. “It means death, I tell you—wholesale murder. The men, I repeat, are not rats.”

“Well, sir, they’re behaving like ’em, and there’s no gammon about it now. They’re desprit; Jarette’s worked ’em up; and they’ve got the judge to face if we take ’em into port. Strikes me it’s our lives or theirn; but you knows best. I was thinking about the young lady.”

Just then the chopping began again, and Mr Brymer raised his pistol and fired.

The chopping ceased, and there was a burst of loud talking. Then all was still for hours, while a careful watch was kept until morning.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

The discovery of the cook made a great difference in the state of affairs. It was found that he had been forced by Jarette’s threats to work for the mutineers, and if they had gained the upper hand he would no doubt have sided with them again; but now he seemed to return gladly to his regular duties, and he was as energetic as possible in preparing breakfast, waiting on Miss Denning and her brother, and when he was not cooking, making himself generally useful, as the advertisements say, about the cabins, especially that of the captain, to whom, unasked, he began to act as nurse.

That morning, by Mr Brymer’s orders, he filled a number of bottles with fresh water, and got ready a quantity of biscuits, which he was told to bear to the mutineers.

“But I dursen’t, sir,” he said. “That Jarette would swear I was a traitor as soon as he heard my voice, and shoot me same as he did poor Phipps.”

“What! the steward?” cried Mr Frewen.

“Yes, sir, dead, on the night they rose.”

“You rose,” said Mr Brymer.

“No, sir, I didn’t; I’m only a cook, and not a fighting man. One does lots of things when a pistol’s held to your head as you wouldn’t do other times.”

“Bring the biscuit and water,” said Mr Frewen, “and I’ll speak to the men. They will not use pistols when they know food is going to be given to them.”

The cook shook his head.

“You don’t know Jarette, sir,” he said.

“I’ll go with you and help you,” I cried, for I fully believed Mr Frewen’s words, which proved quite correct, till we had passed down all that we had taken, the men eagerly thrusting up their hands and seizing bottle and biscuit.

Then as the last bottle of water was handed through the opening Bob Hampton had left when he nailed the boards over, Jarette shouted—

“That isn’t all, is it?”

“Yes,” I said, “that’s all you’ll get;” and fortunately I started away and fell back in my fright, for quick as lightning the scoundrel thrust out a pistol and fired at me, the flash being so close that I felt sure for the moment that I was hit. In fact I was stunned, but it was from the sharp rap which I gave the back of my head on the deck.

“Hurt?” cried Mr Frewen, running to my help, as I sat up rubbing the back of my head.

“Hurt? Yes, of course I am,” I cried, angrily; but I laughed it off the next minute, for I was afraid that they would think it cowardly of me for shrinking away.

“I’m afraid it will be some time before they get any more refreshments,” said Mr Preddle, laughing; and now by Mr Brymer’s orders a tarpaulin was drawn over the top of the hatch, but it had not been there a minute before a knife-blade was passed through it, and a good-sized piece cut out.

Then a board was thrown on, but it was only tossed away, and shot after shot was fired, evidently, from the good aim taken, by some one who could see the people on deck.

Nothing more was done then, for the mutineers made no further attempt to escape; and in wonderful contrast to what we had gone through, it now fell perfectly calm, with the sun blazing down upon us and the heat intense.

Short-handed though we were, matters fell back into the old ship routine, with the exception that the watches kept were against something more serious than the weather.

The captain seemed better; and though they were not friendly, there was, it appeared to me, a certain amount of polite intercourse kept up between Mr Frewen and the Dennings, though Mr Denning always appeared to be rather cold and strange during the short time they were together at meals. These the cook served up regularly for the officers, passengers, and men, the two who were at the wheel having settled down in their places with Hampton and his two companions, and had even gone so far as to offer to fight upon our side.

They sent the message by Bob Hampton, and he bore it to Mr Brymer, but said to me afterwards with a good deal of screwing up of his honest wrinkled countenance—

“Mr Brymer can do as he likes, of course, Mr Dale, but I should just trust them two chaps as far as I could see ’em.”

“They’ll be all right while we have the upper hand, Bob,” I said, “and go against us if Jarette beats us.”

“That’s it, sir. You’re as right as you can get. I’m friendly with ’em, of course; but I’ve got my eyes open, and they don’t go nigh that hatch while I’m on deck.”

“Do you think we can trust the cook, Bob?” I said in a low voice, for we were not far from the galley, which was smoking away as methodically as if there were no such thing as a mutiny on board.

Bob gave me a very slow wink.

“Suet,” he said in a whisper.

“What?”

“Suet, sir. That’s ’bout what he’s made on. Sort of soft fat man. There’s no harm in him, only softness. Think of a fellow being so scared that he goes and shuts hisself up and drinks hisself into a state o’ muddle so as not to know what’s going on. Why, if one’s got to be drowned, one wants to make a bit of a fight for it. Never say die, my lad. Life in a mussel, you know. Oh, there’s no harm in old bile-the-pot, only I shouldn’t like to depend on him in a row, though he could do us a lot o’ good.”

“How?” I said, laughing, as I thought of Bob’s low estimate of his fighting powers.

“Lot of ways, my lad. Cook’s got a good many advantages, you see. Red-hot pokers is one; pots and kettles o’ boiling water’s another, without counting the long sharp knives; but he won’t do nothing, and I must. Don’t walk too near the wild beasts’ cage, my lad, I’m going aft.”

He went steadily aft to mount the poop-deck, while being near the galley I strolled towards it to have a few words with the man of suet, and as he welcomed me with a simple placid smile, I felt that Bob Hampton’s estimate of his character was pretty correct, and that it would be bad policy to trust much to him in a time of peril.

“Well,” I said, “been to the captain?”

“Yes, Mr Dale, sir, and have taken him a beautiful basin of broth. Let me give you one.”

“No, not now,” I said, though I felt tempted to say yes. “Did you take Mr Walters his provisions?”

“I did, sir, with Mr Brymer looking on all the time.”

“Does he seem very bad?”

“Well, sir, he pulled a long face, but I don’t think there’s much the matter with him. He can eat readily enough.”

“I say, cook,” I half whispered, “you were a good deal on deck?”

“No, sir, not much, I was busy here. The crew ate a deal.”

“But you knew about Mr Walters being shut up in the cable-tier?”

The cook glanced uneasily toward the forecastle-hatch and shook his head.

“They can’t hear you,” I said, “and even if they could they can’t get at you.”

“I don’t know, sir,” he whispered; “that Jarette’s got ears such as no man before ever had. I’ve often thought it isn’t hearing he has, but a kind of knowing.”

“Oh, he’s knowing enough!” I said, laughing.

“I don’t mean that, Mr Dale,” he whispered. “I mean there’s something uncanny about him, as the Scotch people say, and he can tell what you are thinking about without your saying it.”

“Oh, nonsense!”

“It arn’t nonsense, sir, and there’s more about him than you think for. Why, he can do anything with the men. They’re not only afraid of him, but they’re obliged to do what he wants, and if I was Mr Brymer, sir, I shouldn’t rest till he was put in a boat and sent off to shift for himself.”

“You think he’s dangerous then?”

“Ah, that he is, sir; and if he isn’t hatching out something row to surprise you all, I don’t know mutton from beef.”

I looked sharply at the cook, for his words chimed in with a kind of fancy I had that the people in the forecastle were not so silent for nothing.

“Ah, well,” I said, “I dare say we shall be ready for him if he does try to play any pranks. But you didn’t tell me about Mr Walters.”

The cook gave a sharp glance round.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I don’t seem to like to talk about him, sir,” he whispered. “He never forgets anything, and never forgives anybody. I wouldn’t say a word against him for worlds.”

“I don’t ask you to,” I said; “I only asked you why Mr Walters was shut up in the cable-tier?”

“Jarette don’t like him, sir. He found him very useful for stealing pistols and cartridges, and fastening people in the cabins, but once he got all he wanted, though he made a fuss with him and encouraged him to strut about, and called him his lieutenant, he used to be always looking at him ugly-like, and I got to think that before long there would be a row.”

“And there was?”

“Oh yes, sir, a terrible row. You see Mr Walters couldn’t forget that he had been an officer, and Jarette couldn’t forget he had been a fore-mast man, and feel jealous of Mr Walters, who used to make-believe amongst the men that he was the real captain of the ship, and that everything depended upon him. So at last there was a terrible row about something in the navigation, and Mr Walters told Jarette that he didn’t know anything about it. Then the Frenchman hit him, kind of boxed his ears, and Mr Walters whips out a pistol. That was enough. Jarette whistled up the men, who none of ’em liked Mr Walters, and before he knew where he was, they had him on his back with his pistol gone and him helpless. He made a bit of a fuss, and threatened to have Jarette punished if he did not give it up, and then the skipper pointed the pistol at him, and told the men who were holding Mr Walters down to hang back as far as they could while he shot the prisoner. That was enough. The poor boy began to holloa out and beg for mercy, and Jarette set to and teased him, sir, horribly.

“‘Oh, very well,’ he says, ‘you don’t want to be shot?’

“‘No, no!’ cries Mr Walters, crying now like a little child.

“‘Well, then, sir,’ says Jarette, ‘I’ll try and oblige you.’

“Mr Walters lay watching him with his eyes rolling, but they wouldn’t let him turn his head, while Jarette whispered something to some of the men, who went forward, and I saw them stoop down, but I didn’t know what they were doing there even when they came back, and at a word four of them seized him, taking hold of his ankles and wrists.

“‘What are you going to do?’ cried Mr Walters, who looked white, sir, as so much dough.

“‘What you wanted,’ says Jarette. ‘You didn’t want to be shot, so I thought I’d humour you, and have you pitched overboard.’

“Then Mr Walters begins to howl for mercy, but Jarette shakes his head.

“‘Off with him!’ he cried; and in spite of the poor fellow’s kicks and struggles, they trotted with him right forward and close up to the bows. Then I shut my eyes, for I thought it was all over, and I put my head a little farther out of the door-way here to listen for the splash. But there came a shriek and a loud slap down of a lid, and then I opened my eyes and saw the men all laughing, and found what they had done. For they had given the poor fellow a few swings to make him believe he was going over, and then all at once took a few steps and shot him down feet first into the cable-tier, shutting the lid over him directly after.”

“The cowardly brute, to torture any one like that!” I said to myself, as I went aft and into the saloon, stopping for a few moments by Walters’ prison, and feeling sorry for him till I passed my hand over my face.

That night passed quietly enough, and a soft breeze rose to send us gently through the water, Mr Brymer giving his instructions to the men at the wheel as to the course they were to steer, though I had not the least notion where we were bound for now.

A strict watch was kept, of course, and there was a slight alarm once, but it passed off; and the sun rose again, with the wind dropping, and leaving us once more rocking gently upon the smooth ocean.

We were all in better spirits though, thanks to the cook and the few hours of rest every one had managed to snatch. Mr Frewen gave us the news, too, that the captain was decidedly better, and that Miss Denning was nursing him constantly.

This was a bit of relief to me, for it kept Miss Denning in the cabin, and I was determined not to let her see my face till I looked different.

About an hour later, first one and then another crawled along the deck very silently to try and make out what was going on in the forecastle.

I did not go, neither did Mr Frewen or Mr Preddle. Mr Denning was in the captain’s cabin resting; but all came back with the same story, one which relieved me, for I was startled, thinking that the party were all smothered by being shut down in the cabin place in such hot weather.

Dumlow, Blane, and Bob Hampton all said that the men were sleeping, and that they thought they had been at the drink.

Mr Brymer crept close up in his turn, listened for some time, and confirmed the men’s statement.

“Getting ready for a fresh attack,” he said. “I’ll have a talk to the captain as to what is to be done.”

He placed another trusty man on duty, ready to give the alarm if the mutineers woke and tried to break out, and then proposed that we should all go into the captain’s cabin and have a council of war once more.

“Think he can bear it, Frewen?” he said.

“Oh yes, if we do not stay too long. It will rouse him up and do him good mentally, to feel that he has some interest in the management of the ship.”

“Then come along,” said the mate. “But where is Mr Preddle?”

“Gone to look after his fish,” I said; for he was always snatching every opportunity to go and see how the salmon and trout fry were getting on.

“Go and fetch him, Dale.”

I had to pass Mr Frewen on my way, and I seized the opportunity to whisper to him—

“I shall hang back till you come to the door, and signal to me that Miss Denning has gone. She mustn’t see me like this.”

He smiled, and I went forward to where Mr Preddle was making himself very hot by using the bellows to aerate the water.

“Yes—yes, of course,” he said. “I’ll come.” And hastily putting on the light flannel jacket he had removed, he followed me toward the saloon.

“They will not make a rush and get out while we are away, will they?” he said, with an uneasy look over his shoulder.

“They are well watched,” I replied, “and we shall not be very long.”

“Ah! It would be very dreadful if they did, Dale. Have they been fed this morning?”

“Why, you talk as if they were wild beasts in a cage, Mr Preddle,” I said merrily.

“So they are,” he cried,—“worse. I feel sometimes as if I could kill them all.”

“Gone to her own cabin, Dale,” said Mr Frewen, meeting us at the saloon-door-way, and Mr Preddle looked at us inquiringly.

“Dale is afraid of Miss Denning seeing his wounds,” said Mr Frewen, laughing. “He does not think they look the proper kind to be proud of.”

“I wish you wouldn’t joke me about my bad face, Mr Frewen,” I said, as we entered the far cabin, where the mate was seated by Captain Berriman’s cot, and I was startled to see how changed he looked.

But his eyes were bright, and he held out his hand to each in turn, as we stood about with the door well open, the place of course being very small.

“Now, sir,” said Mr Brymer, firmly, “you know how we stand. I’m horribly averse to taking life, but things cannot go on as they are.”

“No,” said the captain, in a voice hardly above a whisper. “You must act now, and firmly, before there is loss of life on our side.”

“That means then,” said Mr Frewen, “shooting down every man who attacks us.”

“Of course,” said a low, firm voice, and I started to see that Mr Denning was standing outside.

“My practice is always to save life if I can, Mr Denning,” said the doctor, sadly. “Are you not too hard and revengeful?”

“Neither, sir,” replied Mr Denning, sternly. “If I were alone I would say nothing, but I have my sister to protect, and I say that at any cost these ruffians must not leave that place alive.”

There was so absolute a silence in the captain’s cabin, that we all heard distinctly a piteous sigh from that which Mr Denning had just left.

“Yes, Mr Denning is quite right,” said Mr Preddle, in his highly-pitched voice. “I hate all this, and I am not a fighting man; but I know that I shall fire on the first wretch who tries to break out without a qualm.”

“You hear, Mr Frewen,” said the mate; “I am forced by circumstances to take very strong measures.”

“That may mean the death of several of those misguided men?” said Mr Frewen, excitedly.

“I fear so, sir. But Captain Berriman agrees with me that it is our duty, unless we like to well provision a boat and leave the ship.”

“But that would be a terrible alternative,” said Mr Frewen, hastily.

“Terrible, sir; and a cowardly and unfaithful one to the owners of the vessel.”

“But can we not keep the men down until you are able to run into some port?”

“When we have run into the region of calms. No, sir, even if we had favourable winds we are horribly short-handed, and I should not dare to make much sail for fear of a change, and being unable to reduce it.”

“But that is not the point, doctor,” said the captain, in a feeble voice; “those scoundrels are certain to make a desperate effort to break out before many hours have passed, and if they do, I fear that you gentlemen will be too humane to back up Mr Brymer and the men.”

“But—” began Mr Preddle.

“Pray understand, gentlemen, that I do not doubt your courage,” said the captain.

“Nor I, gentlemen,” cried Mr Brymer, warmly. “You have to a man—and boy,” he added hastily as he glanced at me—“proved how I can trust you; but there is not one of you who would not shrink, and naturally too, from shooting down one of our enemies. Am I not right?”

“I’m afraid so,” replied Mr Frewen, gravely. “Even Mr Denning would shrink from the stern necessity.”

I glanced at Mr Denning, and saw him wince.

“Then you will agree with Captain Berriman and me that some very stern measures must be taken?”

“Yes,” said Mr Preddle.

“I do, certainly,” replied Mr Denning.

Mr Frewen and I were both silent; but at last the doctor spoke.

“What do you propose doing?” he said, rather huskily.

“That is what we are here to decide, and that quickly, for one or two of us must always be on deck. Can you suggest anything, either of you?”

No one spoke, and I felt that whoever did would feel like a judge condemning a man to death.

“Time is flying, gentlemen,” said the mate. “We must act, and the captain and I ask for your help to share this terrible responsibility; for whatever we do we shall have to answer for to the laws of our country.”

“Yes,” said Mr Frewen, solemnly, “and to our God.”

“Amen,” said Mr Denning, softly; and he walked into the cabin, and laid his hand upon that of Captain Berriman, both men gazing into each other’s eyes as if in their feeble state they might soon be called upon to answer the question what they had done with the talents committed to their charge.

Perhaps I was very weak then, and I ought to have been stronger and more manly; but my eyes grew very dim, and for some minutes I could not see what was going on.

Mr Frewen was the first to break the solemn silence.

“Gentlemen,” he said; and then he stopped while every one turned to him, and I thought how handsome, manly, and yet how stern he looked as he stood gazing straight before him and through the cabin-window at the glittering sea, while I could hardly hear a breath. Then he went on—“Heaven knows,” he said, “that I would not shrink from my duty; and Mr Denning may rest assured, that if it comes to the worst, I will give my life sooner than harm should come to the dear lady we all reverence—and love. But I shrink, as a man who has had so much to do with life and death, from taking the life of any one, however vile he may be.”

Mr Brymer fidgeted a little, and Mr Frewen saw it.

“Bear with me a few moments,” he said, “and I have done. I shrink, I say, from shedding blood; but if the stern necessity comes, I will strike home as a man should at such a time.”

“You—” began Mr Brymer.

“Stop, sir, and hear me out,” said Mr Frewen. “It seems to me that there can be no doubt of one thing: if we can shoot down—wounded, I hope—this man Jarette, we might easily master his followers.”

“I have no doubt of that whatever,” said Mr Brymer.

“Exactly, and that shall be done if all other methods fail.”

“What other methods, sir?” said Mr Denning.

“You gentlemen may have some plans, for my part I have but one.”

“We have no plans,” they all said eagerly. “Then you have one?”

“Yes,” said Mr Frewen. “I have one—a wild and desperate one, whose aim is to separate Jarette from his followers, living, and to make him prisoner. It may fail, for it is, as I say, a wild and desperate plan.”

“In Heaven’s name then, doctor, what is it?” said the captain, feebly. “Speak out, sir; you know how bad I am, and that this business is killing me.”

“Then I will speak out, captain,” said Mr Frewen, warmly. “I did mean to ask you all to wait, and have confidence in me sufficient to let me have forty-eight hours for my trial without divulging what I intended to do.”

“The times are too desperate, Mr Frewen,” said the mate. “Don’t ask that of us.”

“No; I say I will speak, but I ask you not to look upon the attempt as childish or absurd until it has been tried.”

He paused, and seeing how faint and hot the captain looked, bade me step back, and push the saloon-light farther open.

I did so, and returned nervous and excited, in dread lest I should miss a word.

But Mr Frewen had not spoken, but stood looking straight before him. Then he said quickly—“I am going to do rather a risky thing, an act which may imperil men’s lives; but I shall be as guarded as possible.”

“Yes,” said Mr Denning, eagerly.

“Before long,” continued Mr Frewen, in a low, firm voice, “a fresh supply of food and water must be given to those men. They cannot be starved to death.”

“No, of course not,” said Mr Brymer, excitedly.

“Then you grasp of course what I propose doing. I shall drug that food with one of the powerful extracts which I have in my medicine-chest. It will be passed down to the men, who will be almost voracious, and then we shall have to wait until it has taken effect, open the hatch, secure Jarette, and separate the others into, say, three parties—one in the cable-tier, the other in the forecastle, the last in the hold or one of the cabins. The rest, I think, will be easy.”

There was a dead silence.

“Do you think my plan too wild?”

“No,” said Mr Denning, quickly. “God bless you, doctor!” and he held out both his hands.

“Yes, that plan will do,” said Captain Berriman, “I feel assured.”

“Yes, yes,” was murmured in a tone full of emotion; and at that moment there was a sharp crack which seemed to have come from somewhere in the saloon.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

We all ran out, but no one was there, and Walters’ cabin door was fast.

I was quickest, and ran out of the saloon, but there was no one nearer than the forecastle-hatch in one direction, and on the other as I ran up the ladder there was the man at the wheel, one of the men we had secured, while the other was seated on the bulwark talking to him and smoking.

“What could it have been?” I thought, for a shiver of dread had run through me, a dread that some one had been listening, and overheard the doctor’s words.

But the next moment I laughed, and went back to those who were examining the various cabins.

“All right,” I said, pointing upwards, “that was it; I did not properly fasten up that sky-light, and it fell down.”

It was exactly as I said, for there was the window I had stuck open shut closely down.

“I was afraid that some one had been listening to what I had planned,” said Mr Frewen.

“So was I, sir,” I said, “but we’re all right. The men were both at the wheel.”

The next minute we were all in consultation again. I say we, for I was quite made one of them, young as I was. Then the matter was thoroughly discussed, for Mr Frewen’s plan proved to be not so easy on consideration as we had at first supposed.

“You see, gentlemen,” said Mr Brymer, “it’s one thing to set a trap, and another to get your rats to walk into it. How were you thinking of giving it to them?”

“I thought dissolved in water,” replied Mr Frewen.

“Two objections to that,” said Mr Denning; “the stuff would make it taste, and in all probability some of the men would not take it.”

“I’ll answer for it that Jarette would not touch water,” cried Mr Brymer, “so that plan will not do. You can’t give it to him with biscuits. Yes, what’s the matter?” he cried, for there was a loud rapping at the entrance to the saloon.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Bob Hampton’s voice, “here’s a deppytation from the chaps in the forksle.”

“What?” cried Mr Brymer, in alarm, “are they out?”

“No, sir, not they. One of ’em’s got up into the hatchway as spokesman, and he’s been giving us a bit of his mind.”

“What does he say?”

“Says as he wants to know whether you mean to starve ’em out; as they’ve on’y had some water and biscuit for twenty-four hours, and that if you don’t send ’em some grub, they’ll set fire to the ship, for they’d sooner be roasted than starved.”

“All right, Hampton; go back and tell them that we will see what can be done, but that if they fire another shot they shall not have a biscuit.”

“Right, sir,” growled Hampton, and he turned upon his heel and went back, while Mr Brymer exclaimed in an excited whisper—

“There, doctor, could anything be better?”

“No; they are playing into our hands; but there is the difficulty still. How can we give it to them? It must be something of which all will partake. Why not have some coffee made for them?”

“Half of them wouldn’t touch it,” said Captain Berriman. “I’d suggest grog, but they have spirits no doubt, and they want food.”

There was a dead silence, and then feeling nervous, and as if I was certain to be snubbed, I ventured to speak.

“Wouldn’t a tin of the soup do?” I said.

Mr Brymer brought his hand down on my shoulder.

“The very thing!” he cried eagerly. “You have some tins of soup amongst the Australian meat, captain?”

“Yes, plenty.”

“That will do then, only it must be done with a certain amount of cunning, or they may have suspicions. Depend upon it, if I am seen in it they will not take the stuff.”

“Then what is to be done?” said Mr Frewen.

“I propose,” replied Mr Brymer, “that I get a couple of tins out of the store and open them. Then Dale here shall take them to the cook; the excuse for their being opened is to be that so many tins have gone bad.”

“Which is true enough,” said the captain, feebly.

“Exactly,” continued Mr Brymer; “and these were opened to make sure that they were all right.”

“Well?”

“You can give me the stuff—laudanum, or whatever it is—to mix with the contents of one tin, which Dale can take to the cook, and tell him to warm up and reduce with hot water, while he reserves the other for our table.”

“But why give him two?” said the doctor.

“Because I want to avert suspicion in every way. The cook has been mixed up with the men, and he shut himself up as you know in dread of our punishing him, perhaps shooting him down. He may suspect something, and manage to warn the men. If two tins are sent, one for the men and one for our own table, everything will look simple and ordinary.”

“And suppose he gives us the drugged one by mistake?”

“We can guard against that by sending a large one and a small one. No—by sending two different kinds.”

“There is only one kind,” said the captain.

“I don’t like the plan,” said the doctor. “It may end in a mistake, and we don’t want to be hoist with our own petard.”

“Hang it, no!” cried Mr Brymer. “All right then, we will not eat the soup.”

“But why shouldn’t I take my drug—it will only be a small portion of a white powder—and drop it into the soup when it is ready?”

“Because there would certainly be some hitch in the proceedings to hinder you getting it in. Besides, we don’t want the cook to be in the secret.”

“Very well then,” said the doctor, “I suppose that must be the plan. I’ll go and get the drug ready at once, and bring it here. But one minute; how many men are there in the forecastle?—because I must reckon accordingly.”