‘Up with the hound, and over the side with him to the sharks!’ said Jerry, in a low stern voice. Immediately the poor wretch was plucked from the deck, and four sturdy fellows bore him to the bulwarks. He gave no sign of life; but just as they heaved him up for the fatal swing, the lanterns being all gleaming around, I saw him, his eyes still shut, make the sign of the cross upon his forehead. He was, therefore, still alive.
‘One!’ cried Jerry.
The four executioners, who seemed to like the job well, gave the wretch a swing.
‘Two, three!’ thundered the mate, and at the last word, Vasco of Lisbon was hove a fathom from the ship’s side, into the boiling sea. As he plunged down into the brine, every one heard for a moment, and no more, such a cry as he uttered just before he fell from the rigging. Then his voice was choked for ever.
I could hardly deny but that the Portuguese merited his fate; but the flinging overboard of a living man, without form of trial or condemnation, seemed a hasty and cruel deed. Nevertheless, none of the crew, except myself, appeared to be of that opinion, and most of them said openly, that it was a very good riddance, and that whether he had attempted the life of the mate or not, he was better in the sea than the ship. As for Jerry, he had his wound, which was, as I have said, a flesh cut on the shoulder, rubbed with brandy, and seemed to think no more about the matter.
When my watch was up, I went below in no merry mood; and, presently, found an opportunity, while lying in my hammock, which swung among near twoscore of similar sleeping places, to dispose of the pearls as Rumbold had recommended. The grey light of the morning was coming down the hatchway, and I had not yet slept, for the end of the wretched Portuguese was still in my head, when there was suddenly a great thumping over head on deck, and an outcry for all hands to turn out and go to quarters. It is curious to observe, at this summons the sudden rousing of all the sleepers in the ship—how in a moment, grim heads start out of the warm blankets, and a whole legion of stalwart naked legs come down together, from a score of swinging hammocks upon the deck. But a sailor is soon dressed; and, accordingly, two minutes had not gone by since I lay in my hammock, when I was at my post, staring over the weather bow, at a small sloop, built very low, and which seemed to sail very quickly, which was running along with us, leaning over before the breeze, so that we could see almost the whole of her decks, upon which about half-a-dozen of sailors were running with sleepy scared looks, while the steersman was calling out and gesticulating violently. Looking forth upon the sea, I saw that a mist, almost as thick as that in which we had stumbled upon the ‘Saucy Susan,’ was just lifting from the water, and driving in vapoury volumes before the wind. It appeared that the mist had partially dispersed just before all hands were roused up, and that the look-out had directly spied the sloop, close to windward of us. If there had been less wind and sea, our small friend would very speedily have shown us his stern, for the sharp bows, and rounded sides of the vessel were evidently formed for quick sailing; but the heavy tumbling ridges of sea hove him so to leeward, that he had no chance with a more powerful ship. Meantime, Le Chiffon Rouge mounting into the weather-mizen rigging, trumpet in hand, hailed to the sloop to surrender; and Jerry, in a breath, roared out to know if the guns forward were all ready.
‘She is a barco longo—a Spanish express boat, comrades,’ he shouted; ‘and we must overhaul her despatches before we part company.’
Still the captain of the sloop made no sign, standing very staunchly by the steersman, and conning his ship. Once he motioned to the latter to put the helm down, as if he intended suddenly to luff, and go round on the other tack; but changing his mind, he glanced at our sails, and continued his course. Le Chiffon Rouge again hailed the sloop to surrender, but still without effect, and I observed that in a temporary lull of the breeze she was beginning to draw away from the ship. Then the bull-like voice of Jerry thundered out along the deck—‘The first gun ready there—send your cold iron aboard of him!’
Josiah Ward was the captain of the cannon by which I was stationed. His old dim eyes flashed up at the notion of a fray; and so, stooping over the gun and sheltering the priming from the wind with his trembling hand, he glanced warily along the mass of iron as it pointed now up to the zenith, now down to the billows, according to the motion of the ship, and at length suddenly dashed the burning end of a rope, which served for a fusee, into the powder in the pan, which flashed up, while the hollow iron belched forth its flame, and started back with the explosion, the carriage cracking, and the tackles rattling through the blocks, until the discharged cannon lay near the centre of the deck, its grimed mouth yet hot and smoking. The discharge was a lucky one. The ball tore a hole in the mainsail of the sloop, and just then a gust flying heavily over the sea, the canvas was rent from top to bottom with a loud harsh shriek, and blew fluttering in rags out of the bolt-rope.
‘Back the main topsail,’ cried Jerry. ‘The run is taken out of him.’