This was just the time of the change of the monsoon, and evening shewed us that the hitherto calm and unbroken monotony would soon be visited by the demon of Storm in some one of its many phases. Warning banks of inky clouds were perpetually revealed by the brilliant streaks of lurid lightning that played among their depths. Still the ominous calm was unbroken save by the hoarse croak of frogs, eager for the coming rain. Erelong the welcome sound of 'eight bells' told of the end of the day for us; the men were soon mustered and dismissed, the final entry made in the log, and silence soon reigned fore and aft the ship.
Our hammocks were slung, Indian-coast fashion, in various positions under the poop awning; and very pleasant it was to lie at ease in the cool night-air, smoking and chatting. Tim seemed unusually silent this evening, more inclined to speculate and think, than to tell out aught from the fund of anecdote, curious and amusing, that he always was so ready to retail for our benefit.
'Charlie,' he said at length, 'I don't wonder at those niggers being so confoundedly superstitious and ghostly; a night like this makes one feel that there is something, of which we know nothing, at work above and around us. Just look out at those fiery clouds, and answer if there must not be a Power there, compared to which our grandest efforts seem no more than the croaking of yonder frogs.'
I replied generally, that the works of nature always shone forth clearly to those who looked upon them as the tokens of a Supreme Will.
Another blaze of dazzling brightness, resting on us for a moment, leaving us in denser darkness than before. The storm was certainly nearing us rapidly.
'Ah!' he said, referring to the contrast, 'how true a picture of life; that glowing light, just for an instant of time, like our own life, followed by the dense and unknown darkness of death. I am not one to believe in portents, Charlie; but I am sure that in these things, if one only read them aright, there lies much that may be taken to indicate that there is a grand life hereafter of completion and unity in the powers of mind and body though the truth of it may be kept from us in the darkness of the future. Yet after all it is only in moments like these that a man seems either to care for or notice them.'
My reply was lost in a burst of thunder, the first of any power we had yet heard, and with it came down the rain, as only it can rain in the tropics. I ran to the gangway, to be clear of the awning, and saw at once that a hurricane was close upon us. The whirling and eddying clouds flew at a vast pace across the sky; the low roaring of the wind, still very distant, confirmed any doubt on that point. I did not consider that there was any cause for alarm on the ship's account; we were in an excellent anchorage; and most of our 'top-hamper' was down on deck undergoing an overhaul. Still the awnings must be furled; so I hurried below for my oil-skin coat and 'sou'-wester.' Reaching the main-deck, I was startled by the sound of voices coming from a part of the ship where I knew they could have no business. Without pausing to listen, however, I descended the companion-stairs; the voices, now hushed in whispers, following after. At the fore-cabin door I encountered the scared face of Isaac, as white as his dark skin would permit. He was about to say something; but the cry of 'All hands on deck!' from Tim's lips rang out fore and aft; so I rushed on deck without waiting to hear what he had to say. My station, as second in command, being on the forecastle, I made directly for that point, and awaited the port-watch, in order to let go the second anchor. No one came! Where were the men? I heard voices aft. I saw the quarter-deck awning fly up in the air, released from the side-ropes. The hurricane had struck us by this time; we were leaning broadside over in an alarming manner, and rapidly dragging our single anchor towards the shore. Again I listened; I could distinguish the varied cries; they were not those of men at work. I soon knew. A fierce yell—a wilder shriek, borne along the gale. It was plain that the smothered volcano had broken forth at last. The men had mutinied! Seizing a belaying-pin from out the rail, I managed to knock the gear clear on the 'cat-head,' and thus releasing the starboard anchor, I ran aft, leaving the chair careering wildly over the windlass.
The odds were terribly against us; a set of men, each more reckless than his neighbour, pitted against a few poor fellows, taken at the utmost disadvantage. Added to this, the howling hurricane, the black darkness, and the utter impossibility of any signal being seen or heard twenty yards from the ship. I did not quite understand all this at the moment. I very soon did, however. No shot had as yet been fired, so no alarm could reach beyond by that means. Making for the indistinct struggling mass of human figures, I tried to reach Tim's side. I could just see him standing on the after-hatch, cutlass in hand, bravely keeping at bay a dozen or more of the mutineers, who vainly tried to force him back over the 'combings' of the open hatchway. In another confused heap I could just distinguish the third officer and boatswain; how armed, I could not see. My iron belaying-pin proved no bad weapon—short, round, and heavy, it was easily handled, and did good service. After all, one had no real chance against long thin knives in anything like close single combat.
How long this performance would have lasted, and the fearfully unequal conflict been kept up, it is hard to say, when the sound of cheering broke upon us. Pausing in the struggle for a moment, we became aware that the storm had ceased as suddenly as it had begun; in fact it was almost calm. Another instant, and the cheers resolved themselves into men swarming up the sides like bees on every quarter, cutlass in hand, hardly knowing what was the matter. It was soon over. Stepanos Zenos, George Marco, and Pedro Cenci secured in irons to the main-deck stanchions, the rest were soon powerless for much harm. A hurried explanation now ensued. It seemed that after I had rushed up on deck, in answer to the cry of 'All hands!' never heeding the boy Isaac or his scared face, the lad ran up after me, taking with him the cutlass that I afterwards saw in Tim Baylis' hand; in fact he gave it to him without word or comment. Running to the gangway, he had thrown himself into the boat belonging to our old sampan-wallah, Ramoon, who always remained alongside the ship ready for a call. Rousing the old man and seizing an oar, he let go the boat, which, released from the ship, glided swiftly down the stream; struck soon after by the hurricane or north-west squall, they nearly capsized, but managed to reach the mooring-chains of H.M.S. Pegasus, moored half a mile down the river. A rope being flung to them they boarded her, the boy Isaac telling his tale in broken accents and incoherent sentences; still, however, the officer of the watch made out enough of the lad's story to know that mutiny, and perhaps murder, were going on a short distance up the river; so without more ado, the order was passed for 'general quarters,' and two boats' crews piped away to 'board and relieve the stranger.' The squall luckily dropping at this time, they soon were alongside of our ship, Isaac acting as pilot, when they gave us the hearty cheer that had so joyed and surprised us.
But where was Tim Baylis all this time? Surely about the ship somewhere. No! We found him at last, lying at the bottom of that fatal hatchway, and a long knife-wound in his side, from which the dark blood slowly oozed. They brought him gently up, and laid him on the after-skylight; the rain had ceased, and the tropical moon shone down on the reeking deck, lending a weird clearness to every object around. He looked very calm, his dark clear-cut features looked very white and awful now.