Chapter Eight.
The crew take possession of the brig.
The process of nursing the rescued men back to health and strength had afforded me an opportunity to learn their story, which, briefly, was to the effect that their ship, the Black Prince, of Liverpool, had sailed from Melbourne for home on such a date, and that all had gone well with them until such another date, when the ship was discovered to be on fire in the fore hold. Every effort had then been made to subdue the flames, but ineffectually, the fire continuing to spread, until, some three hours after the discovery of the outbreak, the flames burst through the deck, when it became apparent that the ship was doomed, and the boats were ordered out. According to the narrative of the men the ship had been abandoned in a perfectly orderly manner, the passengers going away in the cutters and gigs, in charge of the captain and the three mates, while the remaining portion of the crew, for whom room could not be found in these boats, were told off to the longboat. They had remained by the ship until she burned to the water’s edge and sank, and then made sail in company, steering a north-west course. Then, on the fourth day, a westerly gale had sprung up, and the boats had become separated. This was supposed to have occurred about a fortnight before we had fallen in with them; but they admitted that they were by no means sure as to this period, for on the twelfth day after abandoning the ship their provisions had become exhausted and they had been subjected to all the horrors of starvation, during the latter portion of which they had lost all account of time.
Having heard their story, it became necessary to tell them my own, which I did in considerable detail, winding up by informing them that, the brig having been found derelict, the salvage money upon her would amount to something very considerable, and that, while by right the whole of it might be claimed by Miss Onslow and myself, we would willingly divide it equally among all hands instead of offering them ordinary wages for their assistance in taking the vessel into port.
I was rather disappointed to observe that this generous offer—as I considered it—evoked no show of enthusiasm or gratitude on the part of my crew; they accepted it quite as a matter of course, and as no more than their due, although they were fully aware that, between us, Miss Onslow and I had already taken care of and sailed the brig for several days, and—barring such an untoward circumstance as a heavy gale of wind—could no doubt have eventually taken her into Table Bay. I said nothing, however, knowing from past experience that forecastle Jack is not overmuch given to a feeling of gratitude—perhaps in too many cases the poor fellow has little or nothing to be grateful for—but proceeded with the business of the vessel by appointing Peter O’Gorman, late boatswain, and John Price, late carpenter, of the Black Prince, to the positions of chief and second mate respectively. This done, the two men named at once picked the watches; the port watch assumed duty, the starboard watch went below, and everybody apparently settled forthwith into his proper place. While the ceremony of picking the watches was proceeding I availed myself of the opportunity thus afforded to take stock of our new associates as a whole, and, after making every allowance for the effects of the hardship and suffering that they had so recently passed through, I was compelled to confess to myself that they were by no means a prepossessing lot; they, one and all, O’Gorman and Price not excepted, wore that sullen, hang-dog, ruffianly expression of countenance that marks the very lowest class of British seamen, the scum and refuse of the vocation. Still, we had not far to go, and I consoled myself with the reflection that they would probably prove good enough to serve my purpose.
On the following morning, immediately after breakfast, I secured a set of observations of the sun for my longitude, Miss Onslow noting the chronometer time for me; and immediately afterwards I descended to the cabin to work them out. While on deck, engaged with the sextant, I had noticed that my movements were being watched with extraordinary interest by the hands on deck, and when, upon my return to the cabin, I proceeded to make my calculations and afterwards prick off the brig’s position on the chart, I could not help observing that the steward—who was busying himself in and out of the pantry at the time—betrayed as keen an interest in my doings as any of the people on deck. Miss Onslow was also watching me; and when I had finished and was about to roll up the chart she asked me if I had found out the ship’s position, whereupon I pointed it out to her, at the same time casually mentioning the fact that we were still one hundred and eighty miles from Table Bay. As I said this, I saw the steward leave his pantry and go on deck. I thought nothing of it at the time, believing that he had done so in the ordinary course of his duty, but a little later on I had reason to believe that his errand was to inform his shipmates as to the position of the brig.
Having put away the chart, and waited a few minutes for Miss Onslow—who had announced her intention of going on deck—we both made our way up the companion ladder, and took a few turns fore and aft the weather side of the deck, together, from the wheel grating to the wake of the main rigging. My companion was in high spirits at the favourable turn that seemed to have occurred in our affairs, and was chatting with me in animated tones as to what would be best to do upon our arrival in Cape Town, when O’Gorman, who had been forward among the crew, came slouching aft along the deck, in true shell-back fashion, and, with the rather abrupt salutation of “Morning misther; mornin’, miss,” unceremoniously joined us.
“Well, O’Gorman, what is it?” said I, for I had met and spoken to him several times already on that same morning, and imagined that he now had some matter of ship’s business to discuss with me.
“I see you takin’ a hobseirwashin just now,” he remarked.
“Yes,” I answered, finding that he paused as though expecting me to reply.
“D’ye mane to say, thin, that ye’re a navigator?” he demanded.
“Certainly I am,” I answered, rather testily, my temper rising slightly at what I considered the boorish familiarity of his tone and manner, which I determined to at once check—“what of it, pray?”
“Well, ye see, we didn’t know—you didn’t tell us yesterday—that you was a navigator,” he returned, leering curiously at me out of his eye corners.
“Was there any particular reason why I should inform you that I happen to be a sailor?” I demanded, fast getting really angry at this impertinent inquisition into my qualifications.
“Oh,” he retorted, “av coorse we all knew you was a sailor-man; we could see that widout anny tellin’. But a navigator too—bedad, that makes a mighty differ!”
“In what way, pray?” demanded I. “Have you been drinking, this morning, O’Gorman?”
“The divil a dhrop,” he returned. And then, before I could say another word, he abruptly turned and walked forward again, saying something to the men on deck as he went, who instantly dropped such work as they were engaged upon, and followed him below into the forecastle.
I was astounded—fairly taken aback—at this extraordinary behaviour, an explanation of which I was determined to demand at once. With this view I turned to Miss Onslow, whose arm was linked in mine, and requested her to kindly excuse me for a moment.
“No,” said she, “I will not. I know perfectly well what that glitter in your eye means: you are angry at that sailor’s impertinence, and mean to give him a well-deserved reprimand. But I would rather that you did nothing of the kind, please; the man knows no better; and I do not suppose he really meant to be rude at all. But I confess I do not like the expression of his face: there is a mixture of low cunning, obstinacy, and cruel brutality in it that renders his appearance dreadfully repulsive; so please oblige me by taking no notice whatever of his behaviour.”
There was a certain subtle flattery in the apparent inconsequence of my companion’s last few words that made them peculiarly acceptable to me; but discipline is discipline, and must be maintained, at all hazards, even when a crew has been picked up in such irregular fashion as mine had been; and I was determined to at once impress upon this Irish ruffian the fact that I was skipper of the brig, and that I intended to exact from him the respect and deference of manner due to the position. So I said to my companion:
“I have no doubt you are perfectly right in your estimate of the man’s intentions; but he was altogether too insolent of manner to please me, and he must be taught better; moreover, I wish to ascertain precisely what he meant by the remark that my being a navigator made ‘a mighty differ.’ So please allow me to go forward and put these little matters right. I shall not be gone longer than five minutes, at the utmost.”
“I will not consent to your going, just now, even for five seconds,” answered Miss Onslow, with quiet determination. “You are just angry enough to use the first words that may rise to your lips, without pausing to consider whether they happen or not to be offensive, and I am sure that is not a safe temper in which to engage in an altercation with that man. He is insolent, insubordinate, and altogether a most dangerous man to deal with—one can tell that by merely glancing at his eyes—and I have a firm conviction that if you were perchance to offend him, he would without compunction stab you, or do you some other dreadful injury—perhaps kill you outright. Therefore,”—with a most ravishing smile, and a tightening of her grip upon my arm—“you will be pleased to consider yourself as my prisoner for the present.”
“And a most willing prisoner, too—at any other time,” answered I, with an attempt to fall in with the playful mood in which she had spoken the last words, while yet my anger was rising, and my anxiety increasing, as I noted the continued absence of the men from the deck. “But at this moment,” I continued, “I have no option; that fellow O’Gorman must be brought to book at once, or my authority will be gone for ever; and that would never do; the others would only too probably take their cue from him, and become insolent and insubordinate in their turn, and there is no knowing what excesses they might in that case commit!”
My companion turned pale as she at length realised that it was something more that mere anger springing from my wounded dignity that was moving me; she gazed anxiously into my eyes for a moment, and then said:
“Have you any weapons of any kind?”
“None but these,” I answered, indicating by a glance my doubled fists; “and, in case of need, a belaying-pin snatched from the rail. But,” I added cheerfully, “there is no need for weapons in this case; I shall but have to firmly assert my authority, and the fellow will be brought to his bearings forthwith.”
“I wish I could think so!” exclaimed Miss Onslow earnestly. “But, somehow, I cannot; I utterly distrust the man; it is not only his appearance but his behaviour also that is against him. He is a sailor, and, as such, must know perfectly well what respect is due to a captain; and I cannot think he was ever allowed to behave to his former captain as he just now behaved to you. I have a presentiment that he means mischief of some kind. And see, too, what influence he appears to possess over the rest of the men.”
“Precisely,” I agreed. “You see you are coming rapidly round to my view of his conduct; and therefore I think you will agree with me as to the immediate necessity for me to assert myself.”
“Yes,” she assented—“if you can do so effectively. But you must not go among those men unarmed. They have their knives; but you have nothing. Let us go downstairs and see if we cannot find a pistol, or something, in one or the other of our cabins. I have never yet thoroughly searched my cabin, to see what it contains.”
“I have searched mine,” said I, “and have found no weapon of any kind; but—ah, there is O’Gorman, now coming out of the forecastle—and the rest of the men following him. And, by Jove! they are coming aft! You are right, there is something in the wind. Kindly go below for a few minutes, until the discussion which I foresee has come to an end.”
“No, indeed, I will not,” whispered my companion, as she strengthened her hold upon my arm; “I will remain here with you, whatever happens. They will never be such despicable cowards as to use violence in the presence of a woman.”
There was no time to say more, for O’Gorman, with all hands excepting the man at the wheel behind him, was now within hearing distance of us. I looked him squarely in the eye, and at once braced myself for conflict; for there was a sullen, furtive, dogged expression in his gaze, as he vainly attempted to unflinchingly meet mine, that boded mischief, although of what precise nature I could not, for the life of me, guess.
He so obviously had something to say, and was, moreover, so obviously the spokesman for all hands, that I waited for him to begin, determined to take my cue from him rather than, by speaking first, afford him the opportunity of taking his cue from me. He shifted his weight, uneasily, from leg to leg, two or three times, glanced uncomfortably from Miss Onslow’s face to mine, removed a large quid of tobacco from his cheek and carefully deposited it in his cap, and betrayed many other symptoms of extreme awkwardness and perturbation of mind for a full minute or more without discovering a way of saying what he had to say; and
so uncouthly ridiculous an exhibition did he make of himself that presently I detected a tremor of repressed laughter in the pressure of my companion’s hand upon my arm, and a second or two later the young lady’s risibility so far mastered her that she felt constrained to bury her face in her pocket-handkerchief under pretence of being troubled with a sudden fit of coughing.
O’Gorman, however, was not to be so easily deceived; he at once observed the convulsion and recognised it for what it was, and the circumstance that he had excited the mirth of a girl seemed to sting him into action, for he suddenly straightened himself up and, with a vindictive glare at Miss Onslow, exclaimed:
“Ah! so ye’re laughin’ at me, eh? All right, my beauty; laugh away! Yell laugh the other side ov y’r purty face afore long!”
“O’Gorman!” I exclaimed fiercely, advancing a step or two toward him and dragging Miss Onslow after me as she tenaciously clung to my arm. “What do you mean, sir? How dare you address yourself to this lady in such an insolent fashion? Take care what you are about, sir, or I may find it very necessary to teach you a lesson in good manners. What do you want? Why do you stand there staring at me like an idiot? If you have anything to say, please say it at once, and get about your duty.”
“Oho, bedad, just listen to him!” exclaimed the fellow, now thoroughly aroused. “Get about me juty, is it? By the powers! but there’s others as’ll soon find that they’ll have to get about their juty, as well as me!”
I was by this time brought to the end of my patience; I was in a boiling passion, and would have sprung upon the man there and then, had not Miss Onslow so strenuously resisted my efforts to release myself from her hold that I found it impossible to do so without the exercise of actual violence. At this moment one of the men behind O’Gorman interposed by muttering:—loud enough, however, for me to hear:
“Don’t be a fool, Pete, man! Keep a civil tongue in your head, can’t you; you’ll make a mess of the whole business if you don’t mind your weather eye! What’s the good of bein’ oncivil to the gent, eh? That ain’t the way to work the traverse! Tell him what we wants, and let’s get the job over.”
Thus adjured, O’Gorman pulled himself together and remarked, half—as it seemed—in response to the seaman, and half to me:
“We wants a manny things. And the first ov thim is: How fur are we from Table Bay?”
“Well,” answered I, “if it will afford you any satisfaction to know it, I have no objection to inform you that we are just one hundred and eighty miles from it.”
“And how fur may we be from the Horn?” now demanded O’Gorman.
“The Horn?” I exclaimed. “What has the Horn to do with us, or we with the Horn?”
“Why, a precious sight more than you seem to think, mister,” retorted the man, with a swift recurrence to his former insolent, bullying manner. “The fact is,” he continued, without allowing me time to speak, “we’re bound round the Horn; we mean you to take us there; and we want to know how long it’ll be afore we get there.”
“My good fellow,” said I, “you don’t know what you are talking about. We are bound to Table Bay, and to Table Bay we go, or I will know the reason why. You may go round the Horn, or to the devil, afterwards, and welcome, so far as I am concerned.”
“Shtop a bit, and go aisy,” retorted O’Gorman; “it’s yoursilf that doesn’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I said we’re goin’ round the Horn, didn’t I? Very well; I repait it, we’re goin’ round the Horn—in this brig—and I’d like to know where’s the man that’ll purvent us.”
“Ah! I think I now understand you,” said I, with an involuntary shudder of horror as the scoundrel’s meaning at last burst upon me, and I thought of the dainty, delicately-nurtured girl by my side; “we picked you up, and saved your lives; and now you are about to repay our kindness by turning pirates and taking the ship from us. Is that it?”
“By the piper! ye couldn’t have guessed it thruer if ye’d been guessin’ all day,” answered O’Gorman coolly.
“My lads,” exclaimed I, appealing to the group of seamen standing behind the Irishman, “is this true? Is it possible that you really contemplate repaying this lady and myself for what we have done for you, with such barbarous ingratitude?”
The men shuffled uneasily, looked at one another, as though each hoped that his fellow would accept the invidious task of replying to my question; and presently Price, the carpenter, spoke:
“Ay, sir; it is true. We are sorry if it is not to your liking, but we have very particular business in the Pacific, and there we must go. This is just our chance; we shall never have a better; and we should be fools if we did not take it, now that it has come in our way.”
“Very well,” said I bitterly; “you are sixteen men, while I am one only; if you are absolutely resolved to perpetrate this act of monstrous ingratitude I cannot prevent you. But I positively refuse to help you in any way whatever—you have no power or means to compel me to do that—so the best plan will be for us to part; this lady and I will take the boat, with sufficient provisions and water to enable us to reach Table Bay, and you may find your way round the Horn as best you can.”
O’Gorman simply laughed in my face.
“Take the boat, is it?” he exclaimed, with a loud guffaw. “Oh no, misther; that won’t do at all at all. We shall want the boat for ourselves. And we shall want your help, too, to navigate the brig for us, and we mane to have it, begor’ra!”
“I fail to see how you are going to compel me to do anything that I may resolve not to do,” retorted I, putting a bold face upon the matter, yet momentarily realising more clearly how completely we were in their hands, and at their mercy.
“You do?” exclaimed O’Gorman; “then wait till I tell ye. If ye don’t consint to do as we want ye to, we’ll just rig up a bit of a raft, and send ye adrift upon her—alone; d’ye understand me, misther—alone!”
“No,” interposed Miss Onslow, “you shall do nothing of the kind, you cowardly wretches; where Mr Conyers goes, I go also, even if it should be overboard, with no raft to float us.”
“Oh no, my purty,” answered O’Gorman, with the leer of a satyr, “we’d take moighty good care you didn’t do that. If Misther Conyers won’t be obligin’, why, we’ll have to spare him, I s’pose; but we couldn’t do widout you, my dear; what’d we do—”
I could bear no more. “Silence, you blackguard!” I shouted, while vainly striving to shake off Miss Onslow’s tenacious hold upon my arm, that I might get within striking reach of him—“silence! How dare you address a helpless, defenceless woman in that insulting manner? What do you expect to gain by it? Address yourself exclusively to me, if you please.”
“Wid all me heart,” answered O’Gorman, in nowise offended by my abuse of him. “I simply spoke to the lady because she spoke first. And bedad, it’s glad I am she did, because it’s give me the opporchunity to show ye how we mane to convart ye to our views. Navigate the brig for us, and ye’ll nayther of ye have any cause to complain of bad tratement from anny of us: refuse, and away ye goes adhrift on a raft, while the lady ’ll stay and kape us company.”
To say that I was mad with indignation at this ruffian’s gross behaviour but feebly expresses my mental condition; to such a state of fury was I stirred that but for the restraining hold of the fair girl upon my arm—from which she by no means suffered me to breakaway—I should most assuredly have “run amok” among the mutineers, and in all probability have been killed by them in self-defence; as it was, my anger and the bitterly humiliating conviction of my utter helplessness so nearly overcame me that I was seized with an attack of giddiness that caused everything upon which my eyes rested to become blurred and indistinct, and to whirl hither and thither in a most distracting fashion, while I seemed to lose the control of my tongue, so that when I essayed to speak I found it impossible to utter a single intelligible word; moreover, I must have been on the very verge of becoming unconscious, from the violence of my agitation, for I had precisely the same feeling that one experiences when dreaming—a sensation of vagueness and unreality as to what was transpiring, so that, when Miss Onslow spoke, her voice sounded faint and far away, and her words, although I heard them distinctly, conveyed no special significance to my comprehension.
“Mr Conyers will acquaint you with his decision in due time, when he has had leisure for reflection,” said she, in those haughtily scornful tones of hers that I remembered so well. Then I felt and yielded to the pressure of her guiding hand, and presently found myself groping my way, with her assistance, down the companion ladder and into the cabin. She guided me to one of the sofa-lockers, upon which I mechanically seated myself; and then I saw her go to the swinging rack and pour out a good stiff modicum of brandy, which she brought and held to my lips. I swallowed the draught, and after a few seconds my senses returned to me, almost as though I were recovering from a swoon, Miss Onslow assisting my recovery by seating herself beside me and fanning me with her pocket-handkerchief, gazing anxiously in my face the while.
“There, you are better now!” she exclaimed encouragingly, as she continued to regard me. “Oh, Mr Conyers,” she continued, “I am so very sorry to see you thus. But I am not surprised, after all the hardship, and anxiety, and hard work that you have been called upon to endure since the wreck of the unfortunate City of Cawnpore. What you have so bravely borne has been more than sufficient to undermine the health of the strongest man; and now, when we hoped that a few hours more would bring us to the end of our troubles, comes the cruel shock and disappointment of these wretches’ base ingratitude to complete what hardship, anxiety, and suffering have begun. But cheer up; all is not yet lost, by any means; our deliverance is merely deferred until you shall have carried out the wishes of these men; therefore, since we have no alternative, let us accept the inevitable with a good grace—do what they require as speedily as may be, and so bring this unfortunate adventure to an end. And,” she continued, after a barely perceptible pause, “have no anxiety on my account; O’Gorman and his accomplices will not molest me if you will but conform to their wishes. And, if they should, I shall be prepared for them: ‘Fore-warned is fore-armed’!”
You may imagine how deeply ashamed of myself and of my late weakness I felt as I listened to the heroic words of this delicately-nurtured girl, who had known nothing either of danger, privation, or hardship until this frightful experience of all three had come to her with the wreck of the ship which was to have conveyed her to her father’s arms. Yet terrible as her situation was, she uttered no word of repining, her courage was immeasurably superior to mine; her sympathy was all for me; there was no apprehension on her own behalf; and now, at the moment when a new and dreadful trouble had come upon the top of all that we had previously undergone, when our brightest hopes were dashed to the ground, it was she who found it needful to encourage me, instead of I having to comfort and encourage her!
Nor would she permit me to suffer the humiliation of having proved less strong than herself; at the first word of apology and self-condemnation that I uttered she silenced me by laying the whole blame upon the anxiety and fatigue to which I had been of late exposed; and when at length she had salved the wound inflicted upon my self-esteem by my recent loss of self-control, she set about the task of coaxing me to yield with at least an apparent good grace to the demands of the men—seeing that we were completely in their power, and could do no otherwise—in order that we might secure such full measure of good treatment from them as they might be disposed to accord to us. And so convincingly did she argue that, despite my reluctance to acknowledge myself conquered, I at length gave in; being influenced chiefly thereto, not by Miss Onslow’s arguments, but by the galling conviction that in this way only could I hope to save her from the violence with which the scoundrels had almost openly threatened her in the event of my non-compliance.
This matter settled, I went on deck, where I found the entire crew congregated about the binnacle, awaiting me. They watched my approach in silence—and, as I thought, with ill-concealed anxiety—until I was within two paces of the group, when I halted, regarding them steadfastly. By this time I had completely recovered the command of my temper, and my self-possession; and as I noted their anxious looks I began to realise that, after all, these fellows were by no means so independent of me that they would be likely to wantonly provoke me; and I resolved to bring that point well home to them, with the view of driving the most advantageous bargain possible.
“Well, men,” said I, “I have considered your proposal;—and have come to the conclusion that I will accede to it—upon certain conditions which I will set forth in due course. But, first of all, I should like to know what you would have done supposing I had not happened to have been a navigator?”
The rest of the men looked at O’Gorman, and he replied:
“Oh, you’d just have had to join us, or have gone overboard.”
“Yes,” said I. “And what then? How would you have managed without anyone to have navigated the ship for you?”
“We should ha’ had to ha’ done the best we could,” replied Price nonchalantly.
“To what part of the Pacific are you bound?” asked I.
“To an oiland in latichood—” began O’Gorman.
“To an island?” I interrupted. “And do you think you would ever have succeeded in finding that island without the assistance of a navigator? Do you think you would ever have reached the Pacific at all? By what means would you ascertain your whereabouts and avoid dangers?” I demanded.
There was a long silence, which Price at length broke by replying:
“Oh, we’d ha’ managed somehow.”
“Yes,” said I, “you would have managed somehow—for a few days, or weeks, as the case might be; at the end of which time you would either have run your ship ashore, and lost her; or you would have found yourselves hopelessly out of your reckoning, with no knowledge of where you were, or how to steer in order to reach your destination.”
Nobody attempted to reply to this, all hands evidently realising the truth of what I had said, and pondering upon it. At length, however, when the silence had grown embarrassing, O’Gorman broke it, by asking—in a much more civil tone than he had yet chosen to adopt with me:
“Well, misther, allowin’ all this to be thrue, what of it?”
“Nothing, except that before propounding the conditions upon which I am willing to agree to your proposal, I wished to make it perfectly clear to you all that you can do absolutely nothing without my help,” said I. “You have chosen to adopt a very domineering and offensive tone with me, under the evident impression that the young lady and myself are completely at your mercy. And so we are, I willingly admit, but not to the extent that you seem to suppose; because, if you will reflect for a moment, you will see that you dare not murder, or even ill-treat me, or the young lady. Here we are, in the South Atlantic, and not a man among you all possesses knowledge enough to take this brig from where she now floats to a port; hence you are as much at my mercy as I am at yours. You can do absolutely nothing without me. Therefore, if you require my assistance you must agree to my terms.”
“Very well, sorr,” answered O’Gorman; “let’s hear what thim terms are.”
“In the first place,” said I, “you will all treat the lady with the utmost respect, no one presuming to speak to her except in reply to any remark which she may be pleased to make.”
“I shan’t agree to that,” shouted Price aggressively. “We’re all goin’ to be equal, here, now; and if I feel like speakin’ to the gal, I shall speak to her, and I’d like to know who’ll stop me.”
“Oh, shut up, Chips, cawn’t ye!” exclaimed one of the other men—a Cockney, if his tongue did not belie him, “shut up, and stow that ‘equality’ yarn of yours. We’ve all heard that before, and I, for one, don’t believe in it; it’s all very well among a lot o’ sailor-men like ourselves, but you’ll never be the equal of the lidy—no, nor of the gent neither—not if you was to live to be as old as Mathusalem; so what good would it do you to talk to her? Why, she wouldn’t look at an old tarry-breeches like you or me, much less talk to us! Garn! You go ahead, sir; we’ll look awfter Chips, and keep him in order; never fear!”
“I hope you will, for your own sakes,” I retorted significantly, leaving them to interpret my meaning as they chose. “My next condition,” I continued, “is that the cabin and the staterooms are to be left to the exclusive use of the lady and myself, the steward only being allowed access to them.
“My next condition is that no man shall have more than two gills of rum per day—half to be served out at midday, and the remainder at four bells of the first dog-watch. In the event of bad weather, or other especial circumstances, the allowance may be increased at my discretion, and by so much as I may consider necessary.
“And my last condition is that when this business is concluded, the lady and I are to be allowed to take the boat, with a sufficient stock of provisions and water, and to quit the ship within sight of some suitable harbour, to be chosen by myself.”
A dead silence followed this bold announcement on my part, which was at length broken by O’Gorman, who, looking round upon his motley crowd of followers, demanded:
“Well, bhoys, you’ve heard what the gintleman says. Have anny of ye annything to say agin it?”
“Yes; I have,” answered the irrepressible Price. “I don’t care a ropeyarn whether I’m allowed to speak to the gal or not; but I thinks that O’Gorman and me, seein’ that we’re to be the mates of this here hooker, ought to berth aft, and to take our meals in the cabin; and I’m for havin’ our rights.”
“You will do neither the one nor the other, with my consent, Price, I assure you,” said I. “And unless my conditions are absolutely complied with I shall decline to help you in any way.”
“Oh, you will, eh?” sneered Price. “You’d better not, though, because I dessay we could soon find a way to bring ye round to our way of thinkin’. We could stop your grub, for instance, and starve ye until you was willin’ to do what was wanted. And if that didn’t do, why there’s the—”
“Stop!” I exclaimed fiercely, “I have had enough, and more than enough, of threats, my man, and will listen to them no further. Now, understand me, all of you. I have stated the conditions upon which I will meet your wishes, and I will not abate one jot of them. Agree to them or not, as you please. You have taken the ship from me, and now you may do as you will with her; but, make no mistake, I will only help you of my own free will; I would rather kill the young lady and myself with my own hand than submit to compulsion from a crowd of mutineers. Take your own time to decide; I am in no hurry.”
“Why, he defies us!” exclaimed Price, turning to his companions. “What d’ye say, boys, shall we give him a lesson? Shall us show him that we’re his masters?”
“No, mate, we shan’t,” interposed the fellow who had spoken before; “and if you don’t stop your gab about ‘lessons’ and ‘masters’ I’ll see if I cawn’t stop it for you. What we want, mates, is to get to that island that O’Gorman has told us so much about; and here is a gent who can take us to it. What do we want more? Do we want to grub in the cabin? Ain’t the fo’k’sle good enough for us, who’ve lived in fo’k’sles all our lives? Very well, then, let’s agree to the gent’s terms, and have done with it. What d’ye s’y?”
It soon appeared that the entire party were willing—Price, however, consenting under protest;—so I retired to the cabin and drew up the terms in writing, together with an acknowledgment on the part of the crew that they had taken the ship from me by force, and that I was acting as navigator under compulsion; and this the entire party more or less reluctantly signed—or affixed their mark to—Miss Onslow acting as witness to the signatures of the men. This done, with bitter chagrin and profound misgiving as to the issue of the adventure, I gave the order to wear ship, and we bore up on a course that pointed the brig’s jib-boom straight for the far-distant Cape of Storms.