“Ay, ay, sir,” came the cheerful reply.
The Southern Hope was but a moderate-sized ship, and our men, all told, were but nineteen hands.
The mate’s sonorous voice and the sound of his signalling boot on the deck could easily be heard all over the ship.
Captain Herbert and I waited uneasily and impatiently by the binnacle. His face was very pale, but firm and set, and I knew he would fight to the death, if fighting there was going to be.
Alas! we were not left long in doubt as to the exact position of affairs. Out of all the crew—which were mostly a mixed class of foreigners—only five lay aft.
“Where are the others?” shouted the captain.
Groaning and yelling came from below forward as a reply.
“The men have mutinied,” said the mate.
The words had scarcely left his lips ere, headed by Roderigo himself, the mutineers rushed on deck.
“You wanted us to lay aft,” cried Roderigo. “Here we are. What do you want, Mr. Herbert, for I am captain now?”