“Here, help!” said Frank. “The crew have mutinied and the captain has been stabbed. I’m trying to get hold of the murderer; but they’re too many for me. Help, Mr Lathrope, help!”
“You will have it then, you young devil!” screamed out Moody savagely, making a plunge at Frank with the formidable knife that he had now drawn, which had a much longer blade than that with which he had stricken down the captain. “I’ll soon stop your cursed yelling, my joker, and give you something better to cry for!”
“I guess not, sez Con,” drawled out the American, the crack of his six-shooter echoing through the air at the same time that the knife fell to the deck from the miscreant’s hand, which had been neatly perforated by a bullet. The instant he raised it above his head to strike Frank, Mr Lathrope catching sight of it, had “drawn a bead on it,” as he would have expressed it, without delay. “No, sirree, I guess not, as long as old Zach hain’t forgot to handle the shootin’-irons!” he continued. “I fancy, mister, I’ve spiled your murdering little game; an’ now we’ll go in for a rough and tumble, I opine!”
So saying, the American, not shooting again for fear of wounding Frank, was down on the main-deck in a jiffey and by the side of the brave young sailor who was tackling the mutineers so gallantly—Mr Meldrum also joining in the struggle, first laying down the now nearly lifeless body of the captain again on the deck, however, and drawing off his coat to place it under his head so as to raise it up. The trio were shortly afterwards reinforced by the arrival of Mr McCarthy, panting and out of breath, with the side of his monkey-jacket half torn off by Major Negus, who had caught hold of it in trying to prevent his rushing up the companion ladder on hearing Frank’s cry for help, the good lady imploring him not to leave her to be murdered!
The first mate’s brawny fists, hitting out right and left, did yeoman’s service in the mêlée that ensued, and so did Mr Lathrope, while Frank and Mr Meldrum also fought well; but the four were powerless against Moody’s gang, who numbered a round dozen and had, by battening down the main-hatch, prevented the loyal portion of the crew from coming to their assistance—when, of course, the tables would have been turned.
Fortunately, there was no knife used in the fray, beyond the one which Moody had so unceremoniously dropped, and thus further bloodshed was prevented; but some hard knocks were given and received, and the party from the poop did not come off scathless, Mr Lathrope having his rather long nose somewhat flattened and almost turned to one side by a blow from the sledge-hammer fist of one of the mutineers. Mr Meldrum had also been considerably mauled about, and Frank had a splendid black eye. As for the first mate, who had gone into the very thick of it, he “hadn’t a sound bone in the howl of his body from the crown of his head to the sole of his fut”—that is, according to his version of it!
The struggle did not last very long, the opposing forces being so unequally matched; so, as soon as Frank and his coadjutors had been borne down by the sheer weight of numbers, their conquerors hustled them into the corner of the deck under the break of the poop, where the captain was still lying, throwing them down beside him and telling them they had better keep quiet now they had had the worst of it, that is if they valued their lives. It was no empty threat, either; for, the mutineers emphasised the order by leaving two of their number on guard over them, with belaying pins in their hands, with which they were told to “knock them on the head” should they stir or call out—a command which they looked quite capable of executing.
The gang then proceeded to drag the long-boat to the opening in the broken bulwarks on the starboard side of the ship and launch her into the water, for it was a little smoother there on account of being inclosed like a sort of lagoon between the vessel and the reef. It was a ticklish job, for an occasional roller swelled into the boat from round the stern of the ship; while as the waves that broke over the forecastle and weather quarter of the Nancy Bell washed through the vessel, they poured like a cascade from the inclined deck, threatened to swamp the little raft as she lay tossing uneasily alongside until the mutineers could complete their arrangements for embarkation.
There was not much to do, for, thanks to Captain Dinks’ precautions, provisions and small water casks, or barricoes, had already been stowed in the bows and along the sternsheets of the long-boat; so, after chucking in one or two articles which they had brought up from below beforehand on the sly, amongst which was a good-sized barrel of rum, they proceeded to drop down into the boat one by one, Moody going first and the others following until the whole number, a round dozen in all, had got in—the two who had remained as sentries over the poop party being the last.
Then the little craft, which appeared loaded down to the gunwales, was shoved off with a cheer of bravado from the side of the ship, and was soon lost to the sight of those left behind. The latter, however, eagerly looked after the boat as it was rapidly borne towards the shore between the heavy rolling waves that raced after it, until it finally disappeared in the night gloom.