To fight the mutineers further was, just then, out of the question, and Larry turned his attention again to Captain Ponsberry. At last the captain seemed fully to comprehend what had occurred. He once more moved toward the companionway, pistol in hand.
"You can't get out that way, sir," said Larry. "They have placed the fore hatch over the stairs."
"And they are armed, too," put in Luke. "Be careful, sir, or they'll shoot you down."
"And this on my own ship!" came bitterly from the master of the Columbia. "That is what I get for treating the dogs better than they deserve. Where are Grandon and Vincent?"
"Either shot down or taken prisoners. They called for help, and that was the last we heard of them."
"And are all the others in this dastardly plot?"
"I reckon they are," answered Luke. "Them foreigners, Semmel an' Peterson, must have stirred 'em up powerfully."
Still weak from the blow received, Captain Ponsberry sank down once more on the cabin couch. There was a lump as big as a walnut on the top of his head, and he had Jeff bathe it with water and then with witch-hazel, which made it a trifle more comfortable.
A short while later came a sudden wild song from the deck of the schooner, followed by a clinking of glasses.
"They are treating themselves to grog," said Luke. "I suppose, now they have the run of things, they'll drink all they want of the stuff."