“‘Mr. Southcott,’ exclaimed Farmer in his harsh hoarse voice, ‘you know that yon hooker is no West-Indiaman. You would deceive me, sir—That new cloth in the main-top-sail, that milk-white flying jib, and the cloud of canvass that flutters from the main-yard tell me that it is the——’
“‘What?’ exclaimed the master, suddenly starting from the recumbent posture in which he had been looking at the ship, and again fixing his eyes upon his traitorous mate.
“‘Sail, O!’ shouted a man from the starboard cat-head; ‘a brig under the land, and a ship in-shore of her.’
“‘Yes, yes,’ said Farmer, ‘’tis the Favourite and the Drake; but their legs were never made to catch us. Come, Mr. Southcott, the name of the stranger yonder,’ pointing to the vessel first seen. ‘I wish the men to hear it from your lips, that they may think of running gantlines and hangman’s knots, and know their doom if they surrender.’ He again applied the glass to his eye; ‘she has bore up a couple of points, and is setting her studding-sails. Speak, sir! is it not the Mermaid?—You are silent, but it matters not. Take him below.’
“‘Yes, Farmer,’ said the master, ‘thank God, it is the Mermaid, and therefore you cannot hope to escape. Your captain and officers are murdered by your orders—’
“‘Nay, nay, not by my orders, Mr. Southcott,’ said Farmer. ‘We have all been tarred with the same brush; but what would you propose?’
“‘Resign the command you have assumed to me,’ replied the master; ‘and men!’ he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘mistaken men, return to your—’
“‘Silence, sir!’ thundered Farmer, clapping his hand to the master’s mouth; and then turning to the men who had crowded up from below and filled the fokstle and gangways, he said, ‘Shipmates, yon sail is our old consort, the Mermaid. Mr. Southcott proposes you should surrender, and of course all of us know our doom. But though, mayhap, some may be spared by royal mercy—such mercy as you have already had, which of you can point out the men? No, no, my lads, we’ve gone too far to retract; and for my part, I would rather flash a pistol in the magazine than again serve under British bunting, even if my life were sure. What do you say, men?’
“The seamen crowded together, irresolute; the petty officers gathered round Farmer, whilst those who had been least active in the mutiny seemed half inclined to follow the counsel of the master. ‘Shipmates!’ said Farmer, ‘I wish to try your mettle. Think of a public execution! The yard-rope rove, the signal gun, and a death of infamy! Most of you have had your noble bravery and gallant daring already rewarded with the cat; but what is a dozen or two at the gang-way, compared with flogging through the fleet! and with left-handed boatswains’ mates to cross the lashes! But our case is far from desperate; we have handled the gun-tackles before to-day, even if it should come to the worst.’
“‘You will not dare to fight,’ said the master; ‘or if you do, where are those intrepid men who directed all your movements? Farmer, I am told it was your hand that struck-down my poor messmate, Douglas; it was a damnable deed, for you must have remembered that he saved your life last April, when cutting out at Jean Rabel—’