Before the captain could reply, either by word of mouth or ring of pistol-shot, the mate had felled the steward with a capstan-bar. It was a blow that might have killed a puma; but, though bleeding like an ox, the half-caste drew his knife as he lay on deck, and next moment had sprung on the first officer as a jaguar springs on a deer.
The fight now became general; but in a very few minutes the mutineers were triumphant. Our mate was slain; while, whether dead or alive, the other poor fellows who had so nobly stuck by us were heaved into the sea.
A worse fate was probably intended for Captain Herbert and myself; but meanwhile, our hands were tied, and we were led to the after-cabin and there locked up. No one came near us all that afternoon, nor was there any sound that could give us even an inkling as to the fate of poor Mrs. Herbert, the children, and the ayah. Had they been murdered or even molested, we surely should have heard shrieks or appeals for mercy.
I did my best to keep up my companion’s heart, but there were moments when I thought he would lose his very reason in the depth of his despair.
About an hour afterwards it was quite dark, and we could tell from the singing and roystering forward that the mutineers had broken into the spirit-room and were having a debauch. It had come on to blow too, and the motion of the vessel was uneasy and jerking. Evidently she was being badly steered, and an effort was also being made to shorten sail.
The storm increased till it blew all but a gale. Some sails had been rent in ribbons, and the noise of the flapping was like that of rifle platoon firing.
I was standing close by the cabin door, my ear anxiously drinking in every sound, when suddenly I was thrown violently on the deck, and by the dreadful grating and bumping noises under us we could tell that the vessel had struck heavily on a rock. Almost at the same moment there was the noise of falling spars and crashing wreck. Then a lull, succeeded by the sound of rushing footsteps overhead and cries of “Lower away the boats!”
The fearfulness of our situation after this can hardly be realized. Nothing was now to be heard except the roar of the winds and the thumping of the great seas against the vessel’s sides. Hopeless as we were, we longed for her to break up. Had she parted in two we felt that we could have rejoiced. Death by drowning would not seem so terrible, I thought, could we but see the stars above us or even feel the wind in our faces; but to die shut up thus in the darkness like rats in a hole was too dreadful to think of—it was maddening!
In the midst of our despair, and just as we were beginning to think the end could not be far off, we heard a voice outside in the fore-cabin.
“Husband! husband!” it cried in pitiful tones; “where are you?”