The people on the raft were now shouting and talking together—some arranging themselves on our side, while others appeared inclined to take part with the boatswain’s mate and his vile associates.
“Where is the boatswain? where is the boatswain? Pedro Alvez!” cried out some of the petty officers. No answer came. All the officers had their swords, and Halliday and I had got hold of two of the axes which had been taken to form the raft. Boxall told me to urge the carpenter, who seemed to be the chief in rank, to cut down the mutineers at once, and either
heave them overboard or lash them to the raft, as he was certain they would otherwise take an early opportunity of attacking us when unprepared, and would put us all to death. He hesitated, however, observing that most of them had their knives, and that it would be no easy matter to overcome them.
Again voices shouted, “Where is Pedro Alvez? Let him show himself.”
“He went overboard and was drowned; and many more will follow him, if we are interfered with,” answered some one from the end of the raft occupied by the mutineers.
This answer evidently alarmed the carpenter, who was a very different sort of man from the brave boatswain.
“We will remain quiet till we are attacked, and then, of course, we will defend ourselves,” he observed in a low voice.
“Our only chance will be to keep together and be constantly on the watch,” observed Boxall. “I wish he would let me have his sword; I suspect that I should make a better use of it than he will.”
The carpenter declined to give up his own weapon, but promised to try and get one—as he was sure that the English officer would make good use of it.