“Did you know what he had in the chest, too?” I asked.
“No, but I knew he was up to something. I knew he couldn’t do much with the vessel he had, and I thought I would come along in your wake in this brig. We got here too late. Tell me how the trouble came about.”
I told as much as I could of the rising, and before I was through, an officer called him aft to give instructions about me. I knew he would do what he could, and hoped to have him stand between me and the end of the gant-line.
While he was gone, a master’s mate came up and took me in hand.
“What became of the rest of the crew?” he asked,
“They killed all hands,” I answered, sullenly. “I’m the only one left.”
“Not exactly,” answered the sailor, kindly. “Not exactly, my boy. There’s a pretty good lump of a Welshman and a fairly sized Dutchman already ahead of you.”
“What!” I cried. “Did you pick up Miss Allen and Big Jones?”
“I haven’t the honour of the gal’s acquaintance,” said the fellow, “but we’ve got her aboard all right, and the men with her. Who is the young lady,--the skipper’s daughter?”
“Daughter of the trader,” I answered, with a feeling of relief. “Her father was killed with the rest. So she’s aboard, is she?”