From one hammock, selected from the swaying lines, to another the queer question proceeded, always receiving the same reply,—tight lips and a quick flop of feet on the deck. Six men had been asked in the gusty darkness who was to fire first and now, cautiously fingering their way along the deck works, and in single file, they crept toward the cabins of the first mate, the doctor and the supercargo.
The passageway connecting these small cabins was heavy with the smell of old tobacco, drugs, wine and wet clothing and lighted by one small lantern above the entrance. Softly, softly—a hand gently thrust against a swinging door—a foot across the threshold—and death was laid quickly at the throats of the sleepers.
The mate, however, was a strong man. Clutching his gaping throat convulsively with his two hands, he ran to the deck, only to meet a conclusive volley of pistol balls.
The captain, hearing the uproar, came up in his slippered feet, calling out for the cause of it all, to which the boatswain answered that he thought a couple of men had fallen overboard. The captain rushed to the side and gazed into the black waters, and immediately was seized by two men, who struggled to hoist him over the bulwark. Desperately, the victim fought in their grasp, but scarcely had he twisted himself once about, ere, in back and front, the dirk sank into his flesh.
“As we eat, so shall we work,” grinned old Paterson, wiping his wet blade on the poor remains.
III
Amid an infernal hilarity, the officers’ cabins were now looted. The little chests of personal belongings were smashed in and the contents tumbled out to be grabbed by whoever could get to them first. Watches, cheap trinkets of jewelry, silk handkerchiefs and what little money could be found were divided with shouts of dispute. But two or three boxes containing considerable coins and the property of the shipowners were withdrawn for more decorous and equitable division.
Everything in the way of liquor was rushed to the quarter-deck and a night-long orgy ensued. The ship somehow wallowed along while its masters reveled. With a bottle of wine in one hand, the greedily gulped liquid streaming down his bushy beard, and a cutlass in the other, one Williams, a proper rascal, smote his weapon ringingly against a cannon and cried, “Captain Gow, you are welcome—welcome to your command.”
In this way, informally but effectively, second mate John Gow accepted his promotion to the office of captain.
Captain Gow politely returned the kindness by saying, “Mr. Williams, you shall be our lieutenant.” Thereupon the nominations were closed, as parliamentarians say, and the elections unanimously carried. The night went along in a roaring good humor till the placid eye of morning, slowly opening in the watery east, was shocked to find the decks red with an unholy stain.