“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