I saw the huge bulk of Mulligan pass me. He had been out to reconnoiter and we had passed him in the darkness.
"Look out! Mulligan's behind you!" I cried.
A shot was fired.
I crept in despair towards the hatchway. I was unable to interpret from the sounds and curses that issued from the forecastle what had happened, and feared that I should see Mr. Bludsoe trampled upon by those he had tried to rescue from their own folly. Yet, as I raised my head to peer down, I heard his voice ring out:
"There's no need for anyone else to pay the price Mulligan has paid. Down with your weapons!"
Dirks and pistols clattered to the deck. Some of the points of the knives stuck into the timber. I looked at these shivering blades and thanked Providence that they had found lodging there instead of in the mate's breast.
Out they came, sullen but subdued. Mr. Bludsoe drove them aft with his pistol points.
"Thank you, lad," he said, as he passed me, "I owe my life to you!"
I peered down into the forecastle. Under the smoky lamp lay Mulligan—a huge, motionless mass. Blood flowed from his temple.
The wind had died; the sun was hidden in haze; the sky darkened; the barometer fell. "We'll be in the midst of a tempest soon," Samuel Childs whispered to me, "if the rebels had held out they might have had the ship at their mercy."