'I have yet a word for you, Hortoni,' he said gravely. 'Never allow the mere to be far from your hand. Danger lurks we know not where. Hear now my word.'
Wondering whether the old man's mysteriously given advice held a covert warning of impending trouble, George went below and locked the greenstone club in a sea-chest which the dead captain had lent him. Moreover, he determined to wear the weapon during his night-watches on deck, in case of treachery such as his aged friend had seemed vaguely to hint at.
Trouble, indeed, was nearer than he thought; but it was not to come—in the first instance, at all events—from Te Karearea and his Maoris.
Late that night as George swung in his hammock, he was awakened by something jolting against his body, and, peering drowsily over the edge, saw a line of dark figures stealing cautiously up the ladder. In a flash he leaped lightly to the floor and collared the hindmost of the procession.
'You, Bigham!' he exclaimed as the fo'c'sle lamp illumined the face of his captive. 'How comes the leader of the mutiny to bring up the rear?'
Bigham gave himself away at once. 'We knew you wouldn't approve,' he whispered, 'so we thought we'd surprise you when the thing was done.'
George flew into one of his rare rages. 'You ass! It will be a mercy if one of us is left alive when the thing is done. Call back the men. Quick! There is no time to lose.'
But Bigham's Lancashire obstinacy resented this interference, and with a sudden twist he darted on deck, saying huskily, 'Let them laugh as win.'
Slipping on his trousers, George made all haste after him, but the night was so dark that he could not make out the stations of the conspirators. Neither could he hear the soft pad, pad of the bare-footed sentries.
'Curious if the guards have been withdrawn on this night of all others,' he mused. 'If I don't encounter our men in another minute, I'll shout and rouse the ship. Better Bigham's wrath than the slaughter which is sure to follow this senseless provocation of a friendly foe.'