"Poor Walters is not with us, sir."
"What?" cried Captain Berriman. "Poor lad! Poor lad!" Then after a
pause, "He is a prisoner then?"
"Yes, sir, we suppose so," replied Mr Brymer, and I heard the captain
groan, while a hot feeling of indignation rose in my breast.
"Poor Walters!" and all that pity and sympathy for the ill-conditioned
cowardly young wretch. I felt that I must speak out and tell all that I
knew, but somehow I could not; and to this day I have never been able to
settle in my own mind whether I was right or wrong.
"Well," said the captain at last, "we have no time to waste upon
sympathy. I am sorry to say, gentlemen, that I fear I can do little in
this terrible emergency. You have decided to defend yourselves, and,
God helping us we may get back our positions in the ship, but it can
only be by making a stout defence, and waiting for an opportunity to
surprise the scoundrels at some weak moment, say when they have been for
a long time at the spirits on board."
"To be sure," said Mr Frewen. "There is no cause for despair with such
a formidable arrangement. The scoundrels dare not attack us."
"Well," said Captain Berriman, slowly, "I have brought out all the arms,
but I have a painful announcement to make. The traitor who came round
to secure us in our cabins had carried off all the cartridges he could,
and those left in the cases had been deluged with water."
"Great heaven!" cried Mr Frewen, excitedly; "then the weapons are
useless." Captain Berriman was silent.
"Stop a moment!" cried Mr Frewen; and he ran into his cabin, to return
with a revolver which he threw on the table. "Useless," he said. "The
case of cartridges gone. Here, Mr Denning, see to your gun,--see what
cartridges you have."
Mr Denning threw open the breech of his double-barrelled gun, examined
the two cartridges, and closed the breech again.
"All right!" he said, and then he reeled and would have fallen if Mr
Preddle had not caught him.
"Don't!" he cried, pettishly. "I mean, thank you. It was a horrible
thought. I saw some one come out of my cabin last evening, I'm sure
now. I thought then it was fancy. Some one has been--to steal--the
case of cartridges I brought."
He walked feebly but quickly to his cabin, shut the door after him, and
then Mr Preddle went to his cabin, to come back directly, shaking his
head.
"Some one has taken all mine but one," he said. "The lid is off the
box, and this is the only one left."
"But your gun is loaded?"
"Yes, there are two in that," replied Mr Preddle, "and I hope Mr
Denning will be more fortunate in his search."
At that moment Mr Denning made his appearance, and from his aspect we
all thought that his supply had been taken too, but his face lit-up as
he exclaimed--
"They could not find them. The cartridge-box was at the bottom of the
locker."
"Ha!" cried Mr Frewen, triumphantly. "How many have you?"
"A hundred, for I have not fired off one."
"And what bore is your gun?"
"Twelve-bore."
"And yours?"
"Sixteen."
"That's the same size as mine," said Mr Preddle, quietly. "I'm afraid
those of yours would not fit."
"Fit? No!" cried Mr Frewen, impatiently. "They would be absolutely
useless."
"And of course we could not load in the old-fashioned way if we took out
the powder," said Mr Preddle.
The doctor turned away, and I saw him look anxiously toward the
barricade he had so carefully built up. Then gravely--
"We have the charges in our guns, gentlemen; when they are expended we
must trust to Mr Denning."