Part 6 (1/2)
At that, the crew, who had gathered round, thinking that Rushby was with them, became bolder than ever. Knives were drawn from belts, and one of these was flourished in the face of the captain who still lay upon the deck, bound hand and foot.
”Ho!” cried Amos. ”So that's your tune, is it? I see you must all be taught a lesson.”
He talked with all the confidence in the world, though--with the exception of Mr. Gilbert Forsyth, who had just strolled on deck with both hands in his trouser pockets--there was no one at his back, and he faced a crowd of angry, drunken seamen who would not then have stopped short of murder.
From Rushby he turned once more to Hogg. ”And so,” said he, ”you claim to be the captain of this s.h.i.+p?”
The negro glanced in his direction, but would not meet those cruel, steadfast eyes.
”If I'm not,” he blurted out, ”then who is de captain? Tell me dat?”
”Why, I am,” roared Amos. ”And what have you to say to it?”
Hogg realised he was challenged. Perhaps, under the influence of rum, he had already gone further than he meant to; but, in any case, so far as he was concerned there was no question of retreat.
”Put up your fists!” he shouted. ”We fight for it and let de best man win.”
He grinned from ear to ear, as, standing in front of Amos--above whom he towered by a good clear head and shoulders--he lifted his great, black fists to the level of his face. I thought that he would kill Amos with a single blow; for the one was so big and bony, and the other so frail and shrivelled up. But I did not then know Amos Baverstock.
”Come on!” cried Hogg, still grinning.
I looked at Amos, thinking to find him alarmed; but never upon the face of any man have I beheld an expression of such complete contempt.
”You black dog!” said he, with an oath.
He drew back his right hand, as if about to strike, and immediately I caught the glint of a revolver barrel in the moonlight.
There was a flash, a single loud report, and then a dull, heavy thud as the negro's great ungainly body came down upon the deck. And there he lay, full in the red moons.h.i.+ne, upon that tropic night, huddled and stone-dead--the black, bragging fool who had claimed to be our captain.
”And now, then,” said Amos, as cool as ever, turning to the crew, ”is there any man else who would like to command this s.h.i.+p?”
CHAPTER VII--AND AM MADE TO PAY FOR IT
And that was the end of the mutiny on board the _Mary Greenfield_. The match was struck by a negro; the flames were fed with rum; and the fire flared up, just to be stamped out by the one strong man on board.
Amos at once released both the captain and his mate; whereupon Dagg treated the crew to a long-winded, high speech upon the subject of what he would do, if such insubordination occurred again; but as he had done naught during the crisis, but to get knocked down the moment he opened his mouth, there were few of his audience who were not laughing up their sleeves.
I have told the full story of the disturbance, to ill.u.s.trate the character of Amos Baverstock. I have yet to write of the sequel to the trouble, which more nearly concerned myself.
For Amos was as good as his word, and made short work of William Rushby and of me. Though the crew had been bound over to keep the peace, as you might call it, admonished to behave themselves in future, the boatswain was not only degraded of his rank, but forthwith cast into irons.
As for myself, I was led before a kind of tribunal, a.s.sembled in the saloon. Captain Dagg, Amos Baverstock, and Joshua Trust were my judges; and a strange triumvirate they made, Amos chewing his black cigar, and all three seated before their gla.s.ses of grog, with their greasy playing-cards scattered before them on the table.
”Boy,” said Dagg, ”you joined in a mutiny. Do you know that, you whelp?
Do you know what it means?”
”No, sir,” said I.
”It means death,” said Dagg. ”The yard-arm--that's what it means.”