I would gladly have changed places with him, but he told me that he was as badly off as I was forward, for he got as much kicked about by the captain and officers as I was by the men.
I had no one to talk to, for I could seldom get the opportunity of saying much to him. I felt that I had not a friend aboard. The men, when they had exhausted a few fresh provisions which they themselves had purchased, again began to grumble at the bad quality of their food. They took care, however, to say nothing when the third mate was forward, but they went about their duty in a manner which it seemed surprising he did not observe.
One evening, being my watch below, still feeling the effect of the rough handling I had endured, I had crept into my berth to be out of the way of my persecutors. Mark, as usual, was attending to his duties in the cabin.
I had fallen asleep, when I was awakened by hearing some men speaking close to me, though it was too dark to see who they were, and even if they had looked into my berth they would not have discovered me; but I recognised the voices of old Growles and the boatswain, and two other men, who were the worst of the crew and the leading spirits for bad on board. I was not much alarmed, though I scarcely dared to breathe for fear of attracting their notice. I cannot repeat all they said, for they frequently made allusions which they knew that each other understood; but I heard enough to convince me that they were hatching a plot to overpower the officers and passengers, and to take the vessel into Buenos Aires, or some other place on the banks of the River Plate. One of the men proposed killing them and throwing them overboard. Old Growles suggested that they should be put into a boat and allowed to shift for themselves, just as their officers were treated by the mutineers of the “Bounty.” The boatswain said that he thought the best way of treating them would be to put them on shore on some desert island far-away to the southward, seldom visited by ships, so that they could not make their escape.
“But they’ll die of hunger, if you do that,” remarked another man.
“They’ll die, at all events, so it matters little,” answered the boatswain. “Our business is to get rid of them, and either to go cruising on our own account, or to sell the ship at a Spanish port to the westward, and enjoy ourselves on what we get for her.”
“Dead men tell no tales,” muttered the first speaker.
“Heave them overboard at once, and we shall be done with them.”
“I’m not for that sort of thing,” said old Growles. “I shouldn’t like to see their white faces as they dropped astern; they’d be haunting us, depend on that.”
The boatswain and the others laughed.