That night I not only took the precaution to hang a lanthorn so that I could lie in my hammock and see a ship’s compass at any time I might awake, but, fearful lest some treachery might be attempted, I ordered my faithful Bulger to sleep with his back against the door so that the least vibration would arouse him.
Night after night these precautions were followed out most strictly. During the day, too, my pistols were always in my belt.
Bulger felt the danger I was in, and he, by his vigilance gave me the advantage of eyes in the back of my head.
A low growl warned me of the approach of the master or one of the crew.
Thus protected and guarded, I felt that nothing save a general mutiny need be feared. And this I knew to be almost impossible, for a number of the crew were too devoted to me to listen to any traitorous proposals. They would have slain the master in cold blood had he dared to breathe the word mutiny!
Things went very well for about ten days when I saw that a terrible struggle was going on in the captain’s mind.
I began to fear that he might lose his reason and throw himself into the sea.
His face took on a yellow-greenish hue.
He was literally dying of fright.
One morning he threw himself upon his knees in front of me, and with tear-stained cheeks implored me to put back to the African coast again.