Those abaft the stockade felt assured that their unfortunate comrades in the forecastle had all been killed, and that opinion was strengthened by the fact that no more cries were heard. The fore part of the 'Alert' was, therefore, in possession of the mutineers.
Just as the mob made their first attack on the stockade one of the watch below was suddenly seen to climb hand over hand up the fore stay, and on reaching the top he swung himself to the main topmast head, from whence he speedily joined his companions.
'All the others in the fo'c's'le are dead, sir!' he gasped. 'I was asleep overhead, and hid in the bow till the cut-throats cleared out.'
'How did they get to the fo'c's'le?' the skipper inquired.
'Knocked out the fore hatch grating, sir,' the man replied. 'They've seized all the rifles and ammunition pouches hanging on the bunk sides.'
As fast as Mr. Statten, Jack Clewlin, and the steward could pass on deck rifles, old muskets, revolvers, and ammunition, their friends armed themselves, and, under the direction of Captain Thorne, took up positions to repel attack.
Several of the Chinamen were now seen brandishing the weapons stolen from the forecastle, and not a few also carried revolvers, which must have been concealed in the small boxes brought on board at Hong Kong.
The mutineers, apparently confident of success, flung themselves on the stockade, and with terrible yells endeavoured to tear it down. The barrier, however, was so strongly constructed that no impression was made on it, and that seemed to inflame the mob to further effort.
Meanwhile, the captain used every means to quell the disturbance without bloodshed, and with upraised arms endeavoured to address the leader of the Chinamen. The effort proved partly successful. Some of the emigrants seemed inclined to hear him, and for a few minutes both sides stood looking at each other, one hundred and thirty desperadoes menacing a small group of white men, consisting of Captain Thorne and his two officers, the carpenter, the steward, with five hands, including Readyman and Jack Clewlin.
'Fight no good,' the skipper sang out. 'S'pose you allee same go down below, me no shoot. You no savvee how to fire gun. My men savvee plenty. When wind come you get plenty chop-chop.'