The manner in which my captors treated me, excited my surprise. As soon as it was light, my limbs were released, and I was permitted to walk up and down the quarter-deck to restore the circulation of the blood. A clot of blood, with some fragments of hair, marked the spot where poor Captain Williams had fallen; and I was allowed to dash a bucket of water over the place, in order to wash away the revolting signs of the murder. For myself, a strange recklessness had taken the place of concern, and I became momentarily indifferent to my fate. I expected to die, and I am now ashamed to confess that my feelings took a direction towards revenge, rather than towards penitence for my past sins. At times, I even envied Marble, and those below, who might destroy their enemies at a swoop, by throwing a match into the magazine. I felt persuaded, indeed, it would come to that before the mate and men would submit to be the captives of such wretches as were then in possession of the deck. Smudge and his associates, however, appeared to be perfectly indifferent to this danger, of the character of which they were probably ignorant. Their scheme had been very cunningly laid; and, thus far, it was perfectly successful.
The sun was fairly up, and the savages began to think seriously of securing their prize, when the two leaders, Smudge and the Dipper, approached me in a manner to show they were on the point of commencing operations. The last of these men I now discovered had a trifling knowledge of English, which he had obtained from different ships. Still he was a savage, to all intents and purposes, the little information thus gleaned, serving to render his worst propensities more dangerous, rather than, in any manner, tempering them. He now took the lead, parading all his men in two lines on the deck, making a significant gesture towards his fingers, and uttering, with emphasis, the word “count.” I did count the wretches, making, this time, one hundred and six, exclusively of the two leaders.
“Tell him, down there”—growled the Dipper, pointing below.
I called for Mr. Marble, and when he had reached the companion-way, the following conversation took place between us:
“What is it now, Miles, my hearty?” demanded the chief-mate.
“I am ordered to tell you, sir, that the Indians number one hundred and eight, having just counted them, for this purpose.”
“I wish there were a thousand, as we are about to lift the deck from the ship, and send them all into the air. Do you think they can understand what I say, Miles?”
“The Dipper does, sir, when you speak slow and plain. He has only half a notion of what you now mean, as I can see by his countenance.”
“Does the rascal hear me, now?—is he anywhere near the companion-way?”
“He does, and is—he is standing, at this moment, on the larboard side of the companion-way, kneeling one knee, on the forward end of the hen-coop.”