Stealthily he had got his clasp knife out. And stealthily he was crouching as if to make a spring. And I couldn't speak!
My tongue, as the Bible expresses it, clave to the roof of my mouth. I was powerless to make a sound. And none of the others happened to be looking at him.
I put my hand on Mr. Wheeler's knee and gave him a feeble push. I pointed dumbly at Evans.
"Put down that knife!" cried Mr. Wheeler in a voice of command. "Evans!"
With a cry so hideous—I can hear it now—the man lunged forward. Mr. Wheeler tried to seize the knife; but Evans suddenly plunged it into his shoulder; and the first mate fell with a groan.
Then there was an awful struggle.
Gilliland and Hookway fighting with Evans. And the doctor trying to protect Sylvia and me; and dragging the first mate away from the scuffling feet. And I praying out loud in my agony that death might come to our relief.
He was down at last. Lying in the bottom of the boat, with Gilliland sitting astride him, and Hookway getting a rope to tie him up! The doctor leaning over Mr. Wheeler and trying to staunch the blood, and the first mate fainting away!
And then—Oh! heavens! with a cry—Gilliland sprang to his feet, shouting! gesticulating! waving his cap! Had he, too, now, suddenly gone mad?
"Ship ahoy! ahoy!" he shrieked, and we followed his pointing hand.