If the men had a friend among the officers, it was Mr. Every. I thought
to see him turn sour with this slow making of his fortune, but not he;
the farther into the doldrums we got, the higher he flew his topsails.
He praised and petted the crew, spent some money on them, went ashore
with them and even made chief cronies of a dozen or so, of whom I am
sorry to say that some of my fellows in this condemned hold were a part.
He loitered, too, a good deal over on the _James_, which barnacled a
few lengths from us, and made as good friends there as he did on his
own ship. When the month of May began, there was always a confabulation
going forward, with Mr. Every in the middle of it and certain chosen
ones about him. And all the time my old commander lay grievously sick
in his bed.
How could I have any idea Mr. Every was stewing a mutiny? Yet so he
was. On the 30th of May, in the year 1694, I was at evening in my
cabin, thinking of home and wishing I had my wages to send to my poor,
good wife at Bristol. At between ten and eleven of the night I felt the
ship move.
“Ho!” thinks I. “What does this mean?”
I rushed out in my shirt and stockings to the under deck and from there
up the hatchway. The wind hit me full in the face, and I could see the
lights of town dropping astern.