‘Will Johnstone! Let me in!’
I rushed to the door and opened it, and Will entered. In the time that the door lay open I heard a great shouting and hoarse roaring, distant, as though a fierce struggle were happening on the main-deck, likewise a single musket-shot. This I heard whilst I let Will in. He was deadly white; his eyes were large and strange with a wild stare of horror.
For some moments he could utter no words.
‘Are you hurt?’ I exclaimed.
‘No, but I have seen—but I have seen—oh, the bloody villains! One stabbed Chimmo in the throat, and they threw him overboard alive. He levelled his pistol and shot a man. He was mad to do it. He stood no chance. They wrenched the musket out of a sentry’s hand and bayoneted him and tossed him into the sea, alive like the subaltern.’
Horror overcame the poor fellow. The memory of the shocking sights seemed to paralyse him; his jaw moved, but he ceased to speak. I was horror-stricken too, but not as he, for he had beheld what he described. But impatience was rending my heart; I could not give him time.
‘Have you seen Tom?’
He answered with a nod.
‘Is he safe?’
The poor lad dryly swallowed and wiped his blanched lips and said huskily: ‘Yes; he told me to run to this cabin and keep with you. He’ll be here soon. He stays to save Mr. Bates’s life.’