He didn’t say any more, for Mr Tomtit fetched him a slap on the face with the flat of his cutlash, and then the fellow lay and muttered most savagely.
We had a bit of a refresher in the shape of some cold water, with a dash of rum in it; when Mr Ward said that there were some provisions in their cabin below, and volunteered to get them if I stood at the skylight opening with two loaded pistols, to command the door that Van had kept on the outside.
I did not much like running any more risks than we could help; but food I knew we should be obliged to have, and if we could get it without attacking Van and his party, so much the better; for though I knew that it must come to that, I wanted to put it off as long as I could, and I was just making ready to go to the skylight with Mr Ward, when there was a shout from Mr Tomtit, and at the same moment a bullet struck the bulwark close to where Miss Bell was sitting.
Story 2--Chapter XVI.
Mr Ward sprang like a tiger towards the cabin skylight, where, through a slit in the sailcloth and tarpaulin, you could see a hand holding a pistol twisting about to get back again; but, though it had most likely come through easy enough, the edges of the stiff tarpaulin now closed round the wrist, and though the owner seemed to struggle hard, and having a peephole somewhere, shrieked out as Mr Ward came on, there was no saving the hand, upon which the young doctor’s cutlash came down like a streak of lightning, cutting it to the bone, when it was at last dragged through, leaving the pistol upon the deck.
Now, this came from the side of the skylight over the mutineers’ cabin, for so far they did not seem to have got into the one where Mr Ward and his friends had been; and seeing this, Mr Ward again volunteered to go down, after we had moved Mr Bell and his sister for safety under the port bulwarks, thrown another sail or two over the skylight, and then bowsed up a bit of an awning, for the sun came out, and beat heavily upon the poor sick man.
But having been made a big man of now, and being consulted on all points, I give in against anybody going down, for, says I: “You’re too vallable a man to be spared, Mr Ward, sir, and one can only go down after that there prog when we’re reg’lar dead beat. Let’s hoist a signal of distress, in case we’re seen by any other ship, keeping on ourselves steady like, watching well, and taking things coolly as we can.”
My advice was taken, though if it hadn’t been, I don’t know as I should have gone and hanged myself; and there we sat, listening to the movements of the mutineers below, and wondering what devilry they were planning, till all was still as still, the wind falling calm, and the sea turning like glass; while the only sound we could hear was the twitter, twitter of Mr Tomtit’s birds down below, which, by good luck, had got plenty of water and seeds, for, knowing as the little things had sense enough only to eat just as much as is good for them, I had well filled their boxes the day before.
“D’ye hear the birds, Roberts?” says Mr Tomtit to me, just as if there was nothing else in the world but birds, and I do believe as he thought they was the most important things living, save only for a bit when he was thinking of Miss Bell, and perhaps, after all, he thought her only a kind of sweet song-bird as he would like to have along with the others. However, “D’ye hear the birds, Roberts?” he says.