Chapter Seven.
Anxious days.
Upon learning the news of the mutiny the ladies were, as might be expected, overwhelmed with consternation and dismay, feelings which were intensified when it was further intimated to them, through Ned, that Williams intended henceforward to take up his abode in the cabin, and that he should expect all the passengers to favour him with their company at meals, and, in fact, whensoever he might choose to join them. So impertinent a message naturally excited at the outset a great deal of indignation; but Mr Gaunt—who seemed to rise to the occasion, and who, immediately upon the occurrence of the crisis, instinctively assumed the direction of affairs—soon brought the little party to reason when they assembled in the saloon for a hurried conference, by pointing out to them that, for the present, at least, they were quite helpless, and that, therefore, instead of struggling against what was unavoidable, their best plan would be to humour the whims of the mutineers, so long, of course, as they were not too outrageous, and to quietly bide their time in the hope that an opportunity might present itself for turning the tables upon the crew. And he emphasised his proposition by so many convincing arguments that, when breakfast was announced by the steward, the entire party presented themselves at table, the ladies making such a successful effort to conceal their perturbation as to thoroughly astonish Williams when that worthy made his appearance and established himself at the head of the table.
“Good-morning, ladies and gentlemen,” said he, making a not ungraceful bow as he seated himself. “Hope you all slept well.”
“Thank you,” said Mr Gaunt; “yes, I believe we all enjoyed a fairly good night’s rest; thanks to our ignorance of what was going forward.”
“Ah, yes,” answered Williams with a somewhat constrained laugh and an obviously embarrassed manner; “yes, we took the liberty of making a change or two for the better during the night.”
“For the better?” repeated Gaunt. “Pray how can you demonstrate that the changes you have effected are for the better?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” answered Williams. “I’m glad you’ve asked, as it gives me an opportunity to explain the why and the wherefore of our acts, and to show you that we are not, after all, quite such villains as I daresay you now think us. First and foremost,” he continued, “I suppose I need not point out to gentlemen of your intelligence and experience that sailors—foremast men, that is to say—lead the hardest lives and are the worst paid for it of any set of men living?”
“Well,” said Mr Gaunt, “without being prepared to go so far as that I am quite willing to admit that the life of a seaman is a hard one. But what has that to do with your mutiny? In the first place, I suppose you joined the ship voluntarily; and, in the next, it seems to me, from what I have seen, that you have been made as comfortable on board here as was possible under the circumstances. Your food has been good and sufficient, your quarters are dry, airy, and comfortable, and surely it would be difficult to find more considerate officers than Captain Blyth and his mates?”
“All very true, so far as it goes,” answered Williams, “but would you like to be a seaman before the mast?”