They talked in low tones among themselves for awhile, and finally one called out:
“What was the rumpus last night?”
“How did you know there was any?” I asked, thinking to learn how much they had heard.
“A man would need to be both blind and deaf who couldn’t understand something was wrong when all hands were runnin’ back an’ forth. One of the officers came down here and searched the hold as if he’d lost his prize-money.”
“It seems you know more about it than we do, for I could not have said the hold was searched last night.”
“It may have been that your mate was on a tour of inspection; but at all events he gave this part of the craft a pretty thorough overhauling. Did anything go wrong?”
I was not minded that the prisoners should know in what condition was our crew, lest, if a favourable opportunity presented itself, they might think it possible to rise against us successfully, although it would have been a ridiculous notion for eighteen men, unarmed, to attack one hundred and fifty, with all the weapons on the ship at their disposal.
Therefore I refused to answer the question by holding my peace, and, most likely understanding that there was some good reason for my silence, the Britishers gave over questioning.
The time had come when a half a dozen or more of our men should come down to take the prisoners on deck for exercise, and when they arrived I was resolved to ask that some of them act in our stead while we went aft for an interview with the captain.
We waited impatiently, Simon and I both puzzling our brains over the supposed fact that one of the Britishers was missing, at the same time that we speculated with fear upon the events of the previous evening.