“What is to be done with these?” he asked, turning round to his companions in crime.
“Serve them like the rest,” shouted some.
“Dead men tell no tales,” muttered others.
“We’ve had enough of that sort of work,” cried the greater number. “No more bloodshed! Let them swear to hold their tongues and do as we bid them.”
“You hear what is proposed,” said Hargraves, gruffly. “Will you fellows take your lives on these terms?”
“Not I, for one, ye murderous villains,” exclaimed Reuben Cole, doubling his fists and confronting the mutineers. “I’ll take nothing at your hands, but I’m very certain that there are plenty of men aboard here who’ll not stand idly by and see me butchered on that account. As to peaching on you, I’m not going to do that, but you’ll not get another word out of me about the matter.”
Had Hargraves had his way, it would have fared ill with honest Reuben; but the latter had not wrongly estimated the support he was likely to receive from his new shipmates, whose goodwill he knew that he had gained.
“Reuben Cole is not the man to peach, even if he has the chance,” shouted several of them.
“No fear; he’ll prove true to us, and so will the little Mounseer there; won’t you?” asked one, turning to Alphonse. “We couldn’t afford to lose you and your fiddle, especially just now, when we shall want something to keep up our spirits.”
Alphonse, not comprehending what was said, made no reply. His silence was construed into contumacy, and some of Hargraves’ adherents laid hands on him, and appeared as if they were about to throw him overboard, when Paul shouted out to him in French what was said. Alphonse very naturally had no scruples to overcome. He could only look on the fate of the captain as a just retribution on his tyranny.