It was late, and half dark outside, for at this date the sun was on the edge of the horizon, and would very soon disappear below it.
I had been asleep for some hours when I was awakened by a great shouting at a short distance. I sprang up instantly and darted out of the cavern, simultaneously with the captain and West, who had also been suddenly aroused from sleep.
“The boat! the boat!” cried West.
The boat was no longer in its place—that place so jealously guarded by Dirk Peters.
After they had pushed the boat into the sea, three men had got into it with bales and casks, while ten others strove to control the half-breed.
Hearne was there, and Martin Holt also; the latter, it seemed to me, was not interfering.
These wretches, then, intended to depart before the lots were drawn; they meant to forsake us. They had succeeded in surprising Dirk Peters, and they would have killed him, had he not fought hard for life.
In the face of this mutiny, knowing our inferiority of numbers, and not knowing whether he might count on all the old crew, Captain Len Guy re-entered the cavern with West in order to procure arms. Hearne and his accomplices were armed.
I was about to follow them when the following words arrested my steps.
The half-breed, overpowered by numbers, had been knocked down, and at this moment Martin Holt, in gratitude to the man who saved his life, was rushing to his aid, but Hearne called out to him,—