“Well, it will be the worse for yourselves in the long-run,” said Young, “for Quintal and McCoy will be sure to go after you at last and shoot you.”
The two men looked at each other when he said that, and smiled intelligently.
“However, if you choose to help me now,” continued Young, “I’ll be obliged to you, and will pay you for what you do.”
The men set to work with a will, for they were fond of the kindly midshipman; but they kept a bright look-out all the time, lest any of the other Englishmen should come up and find them there.
For two or three evenings in succession Timoa and Nehow came to Young’s field and acted in this way. Young made no secret of the fact, and Quintal, on hearing of it, at once suggested that he and McCoy should go up and lie in ambush for them.
“If you do,” said Young, with indignation, “I’ll shoot you both. I don’t jest. You may depend on it, if I find either of you fellows skulking near my field when these men are at work there, your lives won’t be worth a sixpence.”
At this Quintal and McCoy both laughed, and said they were jesting. Nevertheless, while walking home together after that conversation, they planned the carrying out of their murderous intention.
Thus, with plot and counterplot, did the mutineers and Otaheitans render their lives wretched. What with the bitter enmity existing between the whites and blacks, and the mutual jealousies among themselves, both parties were kept in a state of perpetual anxiety, and the beautiful isle, which was fitted by its Maker to become a paradise, was turned into a place of torment.
Sometimes the other native men, Tetaheite and Menalee, joined Nehow and Timoa in working in Young’s garden, and afterwards went with them into the bush, where they planned the attack which was afterwards made.
At last the lowering cloud was fully charged, and the thunderbolt fell.