Fitzgerald laughed. “I’d like awfully to punch your head, Darcy, but unluckily fighting isn’t allowed in the mess. The yarn is short, I’m thankful to say, and so you won’t have much time to stow away my jam in that horrid ‘capacious maw’ of yours. Well, as the story is wrung out of me, I must tell you that whilst you were on shore pretending to scrimmage with the mutineers and their allies, we manned the remaining boats, and under the commander’s orders boarded the Flying-fish. I was in the gig, and was on the tiptoe of expectation, wondering whether we should meet with resistance, or find the ship entirely deserted. The commander told us that he hoped at any rate to gain possession of the valuable cargo which was supposed to have fallen into the hands of the mutineers, and which was reported to be worth many thousands of pounds. Imagine our disgust, then, when we clambered up the side and found that the ship was nothing more nor less than an empty and deserted hulk. Every bit of the cargo that was of any value had been removed ashore, and the only living beings we found on board were the second mate and the boatswain, and they had been securely put in irons long before the Flying-fish had entered the creek. Of course, we immediately released the poor fellows, and found them half dead from exhaustion and semi-starvation. It was they, of course, who told us about the cargo having been taken out of the ship, and they added that they were positive that in some way the mutineers had heard that a British cruiser was on the look-out for them, most probably through their insurgent friends ashore.”
“No doubt that was it,” I said, “and they took the precaution of hiding their ill-gotten gains away in some inaccessible place up country well-known to the rebels.”
“My pot of strawberry jam, please,” said Fitzgerald austerely, and holding out his hand in what I considered rather a peremptory manner.
“I’ve a good mind to levy blackmail,” I cried, flourishing my big spoon; “but on second thoughts I’ll be magnanimous, and hand it over intact. It’s awfully good-natured of me!”
Fitzgerald was still more “awfully good-natured,” for after helping himself in what I considered a very lavish manner, he handed me over the crock with a lordly air and the very unnecessary remark, “Help yourself, old chap, but leave us a scraping at the bottom.”
It was my first watch that night, and I was pacing the deck in a somewhat dreamy state, and longing for midnight to arrive that I might be enabled to turn in, when I saw the gunner, Mr. Triggs, ascend the main hatchway, walk to the starboard entry-port, and gaze out upon the moonlit waters of the roadstead.
“Well, Mr. Triggs, how are you this evening?” I said, accosting him. “None the worse for the shindy on shore, I hope?”
“Not a bit, thank you, Mr. Darcy. Didn’t get a scratch, I’m thankful to say; and now I’m only hoping that I may have the good luck to see a bit more service ashore.”
“I’m afraid we won’t get the chance again in a hurry,” I answered. “It isn’t every day that crews mutiny on the high seas.”
“Ah, you haven’t heard the news then,” said the gunner with a chuckle. “It isn’t often I score off you like that.”