"Ethel," said he, in a breathless voice, "love me as a friend, and I will protect—it may be, save you!"
"Love—friendship—Oh Hawkshaw, save me if you can, but talk not of love and friendship, after the awful past, and in presence of companions such as these," replied Ethel, shuddering.
"Alas! I feel that guilt gives a shame and horror, Ethel, which fail even to cure it."
"Morte de Dios!" growled Pedro, grinding his teeth, and turning round with flashing eyes; "what is this I hear?"
"Your death-shot, wretch!—take that, and die!" cried Hawkshaw, as he fired his pistol full at the dark head of Pedro Barradas, who received the shot in his elbow, just as he raised the arm to protect his face.
"Malediction!" he exclaimed, with a howl of agony, as he dropped the limb, which was fearfully shattered. Then Hawkshaw—endued with twice his natural strength—for, when roused by passion, or nerved by danger, he wras no ordinary man—snatched Ethel amid the smoke, glided with her up the steps and through the forescuttle, and placed her in the arms of Dr. Heriot, who, with all her friends came rushing forward, for this episode did not occupy five minutes.
As Ethel was borne aft, a dozen of hands and arms came up through the forescuttle, and Hawkshaw was torn down within it.
"Gag him—lynch him—stick the 'tarnal varmint!" cried Badger, and the death shrieks of the miserable Hawkshaw were drowned amid the storm of maledictions which accompanied the shots and blows dealt him by the knives of Zuares, Badger, Quaco, and others; and again and again they continued to bury them in his body, long after he was dead.
It was Pedro's howl of agony, and the two first pistol-shots, that were heard by Morley as he staggered up, half-stunned, from the deck, and felt himself seized by Tom Bartelot.
All hurried below with Ethel. The cabin was regained, the barricades were again made fast, and our friends remained ignorant that one half the mutineers were in a state of helpless intoxication; that their leader had received a severe wound, which might prove mortal, and that the miserable Hawkshaw was being butchered without mercy in the forecastle bunks.