eyes, lads, what a skipper he'd make for us if he could only be
persuaded to join! But we won't ask you to do that, Ned," he continued
in the same bantering tone. "You can follow your own inclinations in
that matter--join us or not, just as you please; but remain with us and
navigate us you _shall_ and _will_, whether you like it or not."
"Never!" declared Ned resolutely. "You may pitch me overboard if you
choose, but I will never do a single hand's turn to help you in any
way."
Williams did not appear to be in the least disconcerted at this
declaration; he simply sat down by Ned's side and whispered earnestly
for some minutes in the lad's ear.
As the communication progressed poor Ned first flushed deeply, then grew
as ashy pale as the sunburn on his cheeks would permit; his eyes dilated
with horror, and when Williams had finished the lad struggled to his
feet and gasped out:
"You villain! you infernal scoundrel! Cast off my lashings, and, lad as
I am, I will thrash you before all hands for daring to make such an
infamous proposal to me!"
For the first time that night Williams showed signs of anger, but,
quickly checking himself, he said:
"Well, if that card won't take the trick, I have another that will!"
And again he sat down and resumed his whispering.
It was evident by the expression of his countenance that this time Ned
was not only horrified but also thoroughly frightened; and when Williams
ceased the poor lad hung his head and murmured in a scarcely audible
voice:
"Enough! you have conquered! though I can scarcely believe you _could_
be so inhuman--to those poor children, too! But remember! if, after
what you have promised, the slightest insult or injury is offered to any
one of them, I'll--I'll--"
"There, that will do!" interrupted William. "I've pledged you my word,
boy; and I hope to have you with us long enough to convince you that I
_never_ break it. But mind! I must have you faithfully do whatever you
are told to do, in return. And now, as we thoroughly understand each
other, you may go back to your berth and turn in until morning; and then
I shall expect that when the passengers make their appearance you will
tell them what has happened aboard here, and also mention our intentions
about them. And be careful to make them clearly understand that, whilst
we are all against bloodshed, the slightest suspicious action on their
part will be looked upon as treachery, and treated as such. Cast our
new sailing-master adrift there, some of you, and let him go back to his
berth."
Williams' order was promptly obeyed; and Ned, half-dazed, rose to his
feet, advanced to the door, and then stopped. "What about Captain Blyth
and Mr Manners?" he asked. "What are you going to do with them?"
"They will have to put up with such accommodation as they can find here
until we have an opportunity to land them," was the reply. "But make
your mind easy on their account, Mr Damerell; their comfort will be
properly looked after, and no harm will come to them _unless an attempt
is made to retake the ship_. In such a case as that I won't answer for
the consequences. The blame for whatever happens must fall upon the
shoulders of them that bring it about."
Ned was obliged to be content with this; and with a heavy heart he
turned and left the deck-house, not daring to look his commander in the
face, and feeling as guilty in his new dignity as though he had
voluntarily thrown in his lot with the mutineers, notwithstanding the
fact that pressure had been brought to bear upon him which he was
equally powerless to avoid or to resist.
Ned's first act, on returning aft, was to enter Captain Blyth's state-
room, with the object of securing the keys of the arm-chests; but the
mutineers seemed to have been beforehand with him, for the keys were
gone. He next sought the lock-up tin box in which the ship's papers
were kept; but here, too, the mutineers had been ahead of him, for the
box, as also the captain's desk, was missing. Being thus foiled in the
only matters which occurred to him at the moment, he left the state-
room, closing the door after him as silently and reverently as if the
captain's dead body had been lying there, and reluctantly returned to
his own berth. Not to sleep, of course, that was utterly out of the
question, the poor lad was so overwhelmed with consternation at the
unexpected seizure of the ship, and with dismay at the way in which he
had been compulsorily identified with the movement, that he just then
felt as though he would never be able to sleep again. No; sleep and he
were strangers, at least for the time being, so he flung himself down on
the sofa-locker and tried to think. But for the first half-hour or so
even the power of thought was denied him. The catastrophe had been so
utterly unattended by any warning that it was like a levin stroke
falling from a cloudless sky, and for the moment Ned found himself
unable to recognise it as an actual fact. Over and over again he stood
up and shook himself to ascertain whether or not he was really awake, or
whether his disjointed cogitations and the cause of them were only parts
of an ugly dream. At length, however, his mind grew clearer, the
disastrous reality of the whole business finally asserted itself, and he
then began to cast blindly about him for the means of rectification.
But, alas, the longer he thought about it, the more hopeless did the
situation appear. He began to see that Williams had only spoken the
simple truth when he asserted that the mutiny was the result of long
premeditation. They had laid their plans well, the scoundrels! and had
carried them out with such consummate artifice and attention to detail,
that as Ned turned over in his mind scheme after scheme for the recovery
of the ship, it was only to realise that each had been anticipated and
provided against. At length, baffled and in despair, he gave up,
temporarily, all hope of effecting a recapture, and allowed his thoughts
to turn in another direction. "What was to become of the passengers?"
True, Williams had guaranteed for them perfect immunity from
molestation, the price of this privilege being on Ned's part true and
faithful service as navigator of the ship for the mutineers, but a time
was to come when the passengers would be landed on some out-of-the-way
spot, doubtless, and exposed to countless perils from hunger, thirst,
exposure, and worse than all, perhaps the nameless horrors of a
captivity among savages! And yet Ned felt that they would be in even
greater peril so long as they remained on board the _Flying Cloud_. The
mutineers seemed peaceably disposed for the moment certainly, but how
long would that state of things continue after they had gained access to
the liquor on board? Ned shuddered as his excited imagination pictured
the scene of bloodshed which might be enacted within the next twenty-
four hours, and he finally began to realise that even falling into the
hands of a tribe of savages might not prove to be the very worst evil
possible for those poor weak women and children. His next thought was
that they must be got out of the ship with all possible expedition. Ha!
but that involved the necessity for saying "good-bye"--for a parting!
Well; what of that? He had said "good-bye" before now to plenty of
pleasant people, both on the Melbourne quays, and on the dock walls at
London. But, somehow, this time it seemed different; he did not know
how it was, but these people seemed _more_ than friends, the ladies
especially; for them he felt that he entertained a regard as tender,
almost--or quite--as that which he felt for Eva, and this now made the
idea of parting so distasteful to him that, as his mind began to dwell
upon it, the feeling amounted almost to agony. And this, too, quite
apart from the sensation of indignant disgust with which he regarded
Williams' unscrupulous resolution to involve him and his fortunes with
the future career of the mutineers. But it should not be; he would
outwit the rascals somehow, and join the little party of passengers when
they were landed, even if he had to steal over the ship's side, drop
overboard, and swim ashore as the vessel sailed away.
Whilst cogitating thus, the returning daylight surprised him; and
shortly afterwards he heard a movement in the saloon which told him that
the gentlemen were about to make their appearance on deck to indulge in
the usual matutinal "tub."
He opened his state-room door and entered the saloon with a cheery
"Good-morning, gentlemen!"
"Good-morning, Mr Damerell," was the equally cheery reply; and then Mr
Gaunt, happening to notice the lad's worn and haggard appearance,
exclaimed:
"Why, good heavens, Ned, what is the matter? Are you ill?"
"Hush!" said Ned. "No, I am not ill, Mr Gaunt, but I am in great
trouble and perplexity. I have passed through a rather startling
experience during the night; and"--in a low tone of voice, so that the
ladies, if awake, might not hear him--"I have bad news to communicate.
Will you kindly step into my cabin for a moment?"
The two gentlemen passed into the state-room and seated themselves on
the sofa-locker, Ned following and closing the door after him.
"Now, Ned, what is it?" asked the engineer. "If I may judge from the
expression of your countenance the matter is serious; and, if so, out
with it at once. You need not be afraid of startling us, I fancy."
"You _will_ be startled, nevertheless, I expect," was the reply. "The
matter is simply this. The crew have seized the ship, and poor Captain
Blyth and Mr Manners are at this moment close prisoners in the deck-
house for'ard!"
The two gentlemen stared first at each other, and then at Ned, in the
utmost perplexity. For a moment or two they were both so completely
astounded that neither could find a word to say. At length, however,
the engineer so far recovered his powers of speech as to ejaculate:
"But--but--good heavens! what will become of the women and children?
And how is it, sir, that, if what you state be true, _you_ are free--as
you apparently are?"
"You are all perfectly safe--I hope and believe--at all events for the
present. And the price of your safety is a promise on my part to
faithfully navigate the ship to the best of my ability for the
mutineers," answered Ned with quivering lips; and then suddenly and
completely overcome by a sense of his desolate and desperate situation,
the poor lad turned away, buried his face in his hands, and burst into
tears.
Doctor Henderson appeared to be too thoroughly paralysed with surprise
and consternation to say or do anything just then; but Mr Gaunt at once
rose to his feet, and, laying his hand kindly on the young fellow's
shoulder, said:
"There, don't give way, Ned, I ought not to have spoken so harshly, but
I was rather `taken aback' as you sailors say. Sit down, my lad, and
tell us all about it, and then we must see if we cannot devise a means
to recover possession of the ship, and restore their freedom to poor
Captain Blyth and Mr Manners."
Quickly recovering his self-control, Ned seated himself on the edge of
his bunk, and briefly related to his astonished listeners all that had
occurred during the preceding night, winding up by saying:
"As to retaking the ship, I am afraid there is scarcely a chance of our
succeeding in that, for the entire crew seem to have been completely won
over by that fellow Williams, and to be thoroughly united in their
determination to try their fortunes as pirates--for that, as I
understand it, is what it all amounts to; so you see there are only our
three selves against all hands for'ard--for they seem determined to keep
poor Captain Blyth and Manners close prisoners until they can be landed
somewhere--and what can we three do against so many? Moreover, I have
been ordered to particularly impress upon you that, whilst the mutineers
are at present extremely averse to bloodshed, anything like a suspicious
action on your part will be looked upon as premeditated treachery, _and
treated as such_. Those were Williams' very words. So, whilst I shall
be only too glad to take my part in any feasible scheme which you may be
able to devise, I feel it my duty to warn you that we must all act with
the utmost circumspection."
This announcement made the gentlemen look rather blank again.
"Um!" at length said Mr Gaunt. "The further we advance with this
business the more serious does its aspect become. I have no very great
fancy just now for being landed anywhere but at Melbourne; nevertheless,
as matters now are, I can easily conceive a state of things which would
make us glad enough to be all safely quit of the ship, even if we had to
leave her for a raft. We must be circumspect, as you say, Ned, ay, even
to the extent of not being seen talking much together. But we will keep
our thoughts busy, and if a scheme occurs to either of us that person
must contrive an opportunity to communicate it as briefly as may be to
the others. Meanwhile, you will be doing good service if you can manage
to sound the better-disposed portion of the crew, with a view to
ascertaining whether it would be possible to win them back to their
allegiance. And now, Henderson, the best thing we can do, I think, will
be to return to our respective cabins and break this news as gently as
possible to our wives; they _must_ know it--it would be quite impossible
to long conceal the fact of the mutiny from them--and we are the most
suitable bearers of the intelligence to them. Well, good-bye for the
present, Ned, and do not forget that you may depend upon us at any hour
of the day or night. Is not that so, Henderson?"
"Yes, certainly, of course," was the reply. "I am too much astonished
to say much just now, but I shall not be found wanting when the time for
action arrives. Good-bye, Ned!"
And with a cordial shake of Ned's hand, the two quiet, unpretending-
looking men filed out and re-entered their respective cabins.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
ANXIOUS DAYS.
Upon learning the news of the mutiny the ladies were, as might be
expected, overwhelmed with consternation and dismay, feelings which were
intensified when it was further intimated to them, through Ned, that
Williams intended henceforward to take up his abode in the cabin, and
that he should expect all the passengers to favour him with their
company at meals, and, in fact, whensoever he might choose to join them.
So impertinent a message naturally excited at the outset a great deal
of indignation; but Mr Gaunt--who seemed to rise to the occasion, and
who, immediately upon the occurrence of the crisis, instinctively
assumed the direction of affairs--soon brought the little party to
reason when they assembled in the saloon for a hurried conference, by
pointing out to them that, for the present, at least, they were quite
helpless, and that, therefore, instead of struggling against what was
unavoidable, their best plan would be to humour the whims of the
mutineers, so long, of course, as they were not too outrageous, and to
quietly bide their time in the hope that an opportunity might present
itself for turning the tables upon the crew. And he emphasised his
proposition by so many convincing arguments that, when breakfast was
announced by the steward, the entire party presented themselves at
table, the ladies making such a successful effort to conceal their
perturbation as to thoroughly astonish Williams when that worthy made
his appearance and established himself at the head of the table.
"Good-morning, ladies and gentlemen," said he, making a not ungraceful
bow as he seated himself. "Hope you all slept well."
"Thank you," said Mr Gaunt; "yes, I believe we all enjoyed a fairly
good night's rest; thanks to our ignorance of what was going forward."
"Ah, yes," answered Williams with a somewhat constrained laugh and an
obviously embarrassed manner; "yes, we took the liberty of making a
change or two for the better during the night."
"For the better?" repeated Gaunt. "Pray how can you demonstrate that
the changes you have effected are for the better?"
"Well, I'll tell you," answered Williams. "I'm glad you've asked, as it
gives me an opportunity to explain the why and the wherefore of our
acts, and to show you that we are not, after all, quite such villains as
I daresay you now think us. First and foremost," he continued, "I
suppose I need not point out to gentlemen of your intelligence and
experience that sailors--foremast men, that is to say--lead the hardest
lives and are the worst paid for it of any set of men living?"
"Well," said Mr Gaunt, "without being prepared to go so far as that I
am quite willing to admit that the life of a seaman is a hard one. But
what has that to do with your mutiny? In the first place, I suppose you
joined the ship voluntarily; and, in the next, it seems to me, from what
I have seen, that you have been made as comfortable on board here as was
possible under the circumstances. Your food has been good and
sufficient, your quarters are dry, airy, and comfortable, and surely it
would be difficult to find more considerate officers than Captain Blyth
and his mates?"
"All very true, so far as it goes," answered Williams, "but would _you_
like to be a seaman before the mast?"
"No," said Mr Gaunt, "I frankly admit I should not; otherwise, I
suppose I should have been a seaman, and not a civil engineer. But the
life was of your own choosing, I presume?"
"Yes, it was, and I don't complain of it," said Williams. "The thing I
complain of is, that, seeing what a life of hardship and peril ours is,
we do not get paid a half nor a quarter enough. What would be the use
of ships without sailors to man them? We are just as necessary to a
ship as her captain; yet look at the difference in his pay and ours! I
say it is not fair; it is rank injustice; sailors have just been
_robbed_ all these years, and the long and the short of it is that the
crew of this ship means to get back part of what has been stolen from
them by the dishonesty of shipowners."
"But, my good fellow," exclaimed the engineer, "you are taking an
altogether wrong view of the question. Admitting that you are as
necessary to the ship as her captain, you entirely overlook the
important fact that _one_ captain is sufficient for a ship, no matter
how large she may be, whilst _one_ seaman alone is of very trifling
value; hence the difference in the scale of pay."
It was clear enough from the expression of the mutineer's face that this
view of the question had never before been presented to him; he was
completely "taken aback," and for a minute or two could find absolutely
nothing to say.
"Well!" he exclaimed at last, "it is clear enough that it is no use for
an ignorant man like me to try to argue with an educated gentleman like
you; you are bound to go to wind'ard of me the very first tack, and I
was a fool for attempting it. But there are other matters which, in my
opinion, fully justify the step we have taken."
"The fellow may _call_ himself an ignorant man, but his language is that
of a person who has enjoyed at least some of the benefits of education,"
thought Gaunt. But he merely said:
"Indeed! May I ask what they are?"
"Certainly. The question is just this. Why should I, and thousands
like me, have to work and slave for a bare living, whilst there are
others who never do a stroke of work in their whole lives and yet have
houses, and land, and money, horses and carriages--in fact, all that
heart can wish for? Is this fair, or right, or just?"
"Assuredly it is," was the reply, "and so, I think, you will admit, if
you will give the matter a moment's consideration. It is not your fault
or mine that you and I do not occupy the enviable position in life to
which you have just referred; it is the fault, if fault there be, of our
ancestors. They did not happen to be money-getters, and therefore, if
we wish to enjoy the advantages attendant upon the possession of a
fortune, large or small, we must get the fortune for ourselves. Just
look at the question for a moment from the millionaire's point of view.
If you happened to possess a fortune would you consider it fair or just
that you should be called upon to divide it evenly with everybody worse
off than yourself? For that, I fancy, is the idea you have in your
mind."
This was another poser which Williams evidently found it wholly
impossible to answer. He hung his head in deep and perplexed thought
for some minutes, and at length said:
"It is quite impossible for me to argue with you, as I said before; but
the long and the short of it is this, we have made our plans, and we
intend to carry them out, right or wrong. But you need have no
apprehension for yourselves. We have no intention to prey upon private
individuals; and though we shall be obliged to land you on some spot
from which it will be impossible for you to escape, we will deliver up
to you the whole of your private property, and also furnish you with
means to protect yourselves and to preserve your lives, so far as we
have the power."
And without waiting to discuss the question further, the mutineer rose
from the table and beat a somewhat precipitate retreat.
"Had you any hope of convincing the fellow?" asked the doctor, when the
little party once more found themselves free to converse unreservedly.
"No, I cannot say I had," answered Gaunt; "but I thought I might so far
shake his purpose as to make him hesitate about his future plans, and so
give us a little more time in which to act. But it is evident enough
that he has no wish to be convinced; if, therefore, we are to do
anything we must make our arrangements speedily. Come on deck and have
a smoke, old fellow."
The ladies had no fancy for being left alone just then; the entire
party, therefore, children included, adjourned to the poop. Williams
was then standing in the waist talking to the boatswain, to whom he
appeared to be giving some instructions; but on observing the movements
of the passengers he signed to Ned, who was standing near, to follow
him, and hastily made his way into the saloon.
"Bring me the captain's charts," he said, as soon as Ned joined him.
The charts were produced; and after carefully looking them over Williams
selected a track-chart of the world, which he carefully spread out on
the table.
"Now, show me whereabouts we are," he said.
Ned indicated the position of the ship by making a pencil dot on the
paper, and a long period of anxious study on Williams' part followed.
"What is the course to the Straits of Sunda?" was the next question.
Ned told him; whereupon Williams left the saloon, and a moment later was
heard altering the course of the ship in accordance with Ned's
information. He then returned to the saloon, and unrolled a chart of
the North Pacific, which he pored anxiously over for fully a quarter of
an hour, finally huddling the charts all together in a heap, with the
remark, "That will do for the present;" which Ned construed into a token
of dismissal, and accordingly left the cabin.
Day followed day with little or no variety, the weather continuing fine
all the time, and at length the _Flying Cloud_ arrived within a few
days' sail of the Straits of Sunda. Ned now spent on deck every moment
he could possibly spare from sleep, as he was not without hopes that
hereabout a man-of-war might be fallen in with; and he was resolved
that, in such a case, it should go hard but he would make some effort to
communicate to her the state of affairs on board.
And, as a matter of fact, they actually did sight a frigate on the day
upon which they entered the straits. But Williams was not to be caught
napping; he too had evidently contemplated some such possibility, and
had taken such precautions as not only rendered it impossible for anyone
to make a private signal, but had also arranged such answers to the
signals usually made on such occasions that the frigate was completely
hoodwinked, and passed on her way without attempting to send a boat
alongside.
This was a terrible disappointment, not only to Ned but also to Gaunt
and the doctor, each of them having confidently reckoned upon a certain
deliverance in the event of a man-of-war being fallen in with.