Фредерик Марриет
The Pirate
Chapter Eight.
The Attack
In the meantime, the sea-breeze had risen in the offing, and was sweeping along the surface to where the schooner was at anchor. The captain ordered a man to the cross-trees, directing him to keep a good look-out, while he walked the deck in company with his first mate.
“She may not have sailed until a day or two later,” said the captain, continuing the conversation; “I have made allowance for that, and, depend upon it, as she makes the eastern passage, we must soon fall in with her; if she does not heave in sight this evening, by daylight I shall stretch out in the offing; I know the Portuguese well. The sea-breeze has caught our craft: let them run up the inner jib, and see that she does not foul her anchor.”
It was now late in the afternoon, and dinner had been sent into the cabin; the captain descended, and took his seat at the table with Francisco, who ate in silence. Once or twice the captain, whose wrath had subsided, and whose kindly feelings towards Francisco, checked for a time, had returned with greater force, tried, but in vain, to rally him to conversation, when “Sail ho!” was shouted from the mast-head.
“There she is, by God!” cried the captain, jumping from, and then, as if checking himself, immediately resuming, his seat.
Francisco put his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes as his elbow leant upon the table.
“A large ship, sir; we can see down to the second reef of her topsails,” said Hawkhurst, looking down the skylight.
The captain hastily swallowed some wine from a flagon, cast a look of scorn and anger upon Francisco, and rushed on deck.
“Be smart, lads!” cried the captain, after a few seconds’ survey of the vessel through his glass; “that’s her: furl the awnings, and run the anchor up to the bows: there’s more silver in that vessel, my lads, than your chests will hold: and the good saints of the churches at Goa will have to wait a little longer for their gold candlesticks.”
The crew were immediately on the alert; the awnings were furled, and all the men, stretching aft the spring cable, walked the anchor up to the bows. In two minutes more the Avenger was standing out on the starboard tack, shaping her course so as to cut off the ill-fated vessel. The breeze freshened, and the schooner darted through the smooth water with the impetuosity of a dolphin after its prey. In an hour the hull of the ship was plainly to be distinguished; but the sun was near to the horizon, and before they could ascertain what their force might be, daylight had disappeared. Whether the schooner had been perceived or not, it was impossible to say; at all events, the course of the ship had not been altered, and if she had seen the schooner, she evidently treated her with contempt. On board the Avenger, they were not idle; the long gun in the centre had been cleared from the incumbrances which surrounded it, the other guns had been cast loose, shot handed up, and everything prepared for action, with all the energy and discipline of a man-of-war. The chase had not been lost sight of, the eyes of the pirate-captain were fixed upon her through a night-glass. In about an hour more the schooner was within a mile of the ship, and now altered her course so as to range up within a cable’s length of her to leeward. Cain stood upon the gunwale and hailed. The answer was in Portuguese.
“Heave to, or I’ll sink you!” replied he in the same language.
A general discharge from a broadside of carronades, and a heavy volley of muskets from the Portuguese, was the decided answer. The broadside, too much elevated to hit the low hull of the schooner, was still not without effect—the foretopmast fell, the jaws of the main-gaff were severed, and a large proportion of the standing as well as the running rigging came rattling down on her decks. The volley of musketry was more fatal: thirteen of the pirates were wounded, some of them severely.
“Well done! John Portuguese,” cried Hawkhurst: “by the holy poker! I never gave you credit for so much pluck.”
“Which they shall dearly pay for,” was the cool reply of Cain, as he still remained in his exposed situation.
“Blood for blood! if I drink it,” observed the second mate, as he looked at the crimson rivulet trickling down the fingers of his left hand from a wound in his arm—“just tie my handkerchief round this, Bill.”
In the interim, Cain had desired his crew to elevate their guns, and the broadside was returned.
“That will do, my lads: starboard; ease off the boom-sheet; let her go right round, Hawkhurst,—we cannot afford to lose our men.”
The schooner wore round, and ran astern of her opponent.
The Portuguese on board the ship, imagining that the schooner, finding she had met with unexpected resistance, had sheered off, gave a loud cheer.
“The last you will ever give, my fine fellows!” observed Cain, with a sneer.
In a few moments the schooner had run a mile astern of the ship.
“Now then, Hawkhurst, let her come too and about; man the long gun, and see that every shot is pitched into her, while the rest of them get up a new foretopmast, and knot and splice the rigging.”
The schooner’s head was again turned towards the ship; her position was right astern, about a mile distant or rather more; the long 82-pounder gun amidships was now regularly served, every shot passing through the cabin-windows, or some other part of the ship’s stern, raking her fore and aft. In vain did the ship alter her course, and present her broadside to the schooner; the latter was immediately checked in her speed, so as to keep the prescribed distance at which the carronades of the ship were useless, and the execution from the long gun decisive. The ship was at the mercy of the pirate; and, as may be expected, no mercy was shown. For three hours did this murderous attack continue, when the gun, which, as before observed, was of brass, became so heated that the pirate-captain desired his men to discontinue. Whether the ship had surrendered or not it was impossible to say, as it was too dark to distinguish: while the long gun was served, the foretop-mast and main-gaff had been shifted, and all the standing and running rigging made good; the schooner keeping her distance, and following in the wake of the ship until daylight.
We must now repair on board of the ship; she was an Indiaman; one of the very few that occasionally are sent out by the Portuguese government to a country which once owned their undivided sway, but in which, at present, they hold but a few miles of territory. She was bound to Goa, and had on board a small detachment of troops, a new governor and his two sons, a bishop and his niece, with her attendant. The sailing of a vessel with such a freight was a circumstance of rare occurrence, and was, of course, generally bruited about long before her departure. Cain had, for some months, received all the necessary intelligence relative to her cargo and destination; but, as usual with the Portuguese of the present day, delay upon delay had followed, and it was not until about three weeks previous that he had been assured of her immediate departure. He then ran down the coast to the bay we have mentioned, that he might intercept her; and, as the event had proved, showed his usual judgment and decision. The fire of the schooner had been most destructive; many of the Indiaman’s crew, as well as of the troops, had been mowed down one after another; until at last, finding that all their efforts to defend themselves were useless, most of those who were still unhurt had consulted their safety, and hastened down to the lowest recesses of the hold to avoid the raking and destructive shot. At the time that the schooner had discontinued her fire to allow the gun to cool, there was no one on deck but the Portuguese captain and one old weatherbeaten seaman who stood at the helm. Below, in the orlop-deck, the remainder of the crew and the passengers were huddled together in a small space: some were attending to the wounded, who were numerous; others were invoking the saints to their assistance; the bishop, a tall, dignified person, apparently nearly sixty years of age, was kneeling in the centre of the group, which was dimly lighted by two or three lanterns, at one time in fervent prayer, at another, interrupted, that he might give absolution to those wounded men whose spirits were departing, and who were brought down and laid before him by their comrades. On one side of him knelt his orphan niece, a young girl of about seventeen years of age, watching his countenance as he prayed, or bending down with a look of pity and tearful eyes on her expiring countrymen, whose last moments were gladdened by his holy offices. On the other side of the bishop, stood the governor, Don Philip de Ribiera, and his two sons, youths in their prime, and holding commissions in the king’s service. There was melancholy on the brow of Don Ribiera; he was prepared for, and he anticipated, the worst. The eldest son had his eyes fixed upon the sweet countenance of Teresa de Silva—that very evening, as they walked together on the deck, had they exchanged their vows—that very evening they had luxuriated in the present, and had dwelt with delightful anticipation on the future. But we must leave them and return on deck.
The captain of the Portuguese ship had walked aft, and now went up to Antonio, the old seaman, who was standing at the wheel.
“I still see her with the glass, Antonio, and yet she has not fired for nearly two hours; do you think any accident has happened to her long gun? if so, we may have some chance.”
Antonio shook his head. “We have but little chance, I am afraid, my captain; I knew by the ring of the gun, when she fired it, that it was brass; indeed, no schooner could carry a long iron gun of that calibre. Depend upon it, she only waits for the metal to cool and daylight to return: a long gun or two might have saved us; but now, as she has the advantage of us in heels, we are at her mercy.”
“What can she be—a French privateer?”
“I trust it may be so; and I have promised a silver candlestick to St. Antonio that it may prove no worse: we then may have some chance of seeing our homes again; but I fear not.”
“What, then, do you imagine her to be, Antonio?”
“The pirate which we have heard so much of.”
“Jesu protect us! we must then sell our lives as dearly as we can.”
“So I intend to do, my captain,” replied Antonio, shifting the helm a spoke.
The day broke, and showed the schooner continuing her pursuit at the same distance astern, without any apparent movement on board. It was not until the sun was some degrees above the horizon that the smoke was again seen to envelop her bows, and the shot crashed through the timbers of the Portuguese ship. The reason for this delay was, that the pirate waited till the sun was up to ascertain if there were any other vessels to be seen, previous to his pouncing on his quarry. The Portuguese captain went aft and hoisted his ensign, but no flag was shown by the schooner. Again whistled the ball, and again did it tear up the decks of the unfortunate ship: many of those who had re-ascended to ascertain what was going on, now hastily sought their former retreat.
“Mind the helm, Antonio,” said the Portuguese captain; “I must go down and consult with the governor.”
“Never fear, my captain; as long as these limbs hold together, I will do my duty,” replied the old man, exhausted as he was by long watching and fatigue.
The captain descended to the orlop-deck, where he found the major part of the crew and passengers assembled.
“My lords,” said he, addressing the governor and the bishop, “the schooner has not shown any colours, although our own are hoisted. I am come down to know your pleasure. Defence we can make none; and I fear that we are at the mercy of a pirate.”
“A pirate!” ejaculated several, beating their breasts, and calling upon their saints.
“Silence, my good people, silence,” quietly observed the bishop; “as to what it may be best to do,” continued he, turning to the captain, “I cannot advise; I am a man of peace, and unfit to hold a place in a council of war. Don Ribiera, I must refer the point to you and your sons. Tremble not, my dear Teresa; are we not under the protection of the Almighty?”
“Holy Virgin, pity us!”
“Come, my sons,” said Don Ribiera, “we will go on deck and consult: let not any of the men follow us; it is useless risking lives which may yet be valuable.”
Don Ribiera and his sons followed the captain to the quarter deck, and with him and Antonio they held a consultation.
“We have but one chance,” observed the old man, after a time: “let us haul down our colours as if in submission; they will then range up alongside, and either board us from the schooner, or from their boats; at all events, we shall find out what she is, and, if a pirate, we must sell our lives as dearly as we can. If, when we haul down the colours, she ranges up alongside, as I expect she will, let all the men be prepared for a desperate struggle.”
“You are right, Antonio,” replied the governor; “go aft captain, and haul down the colours!—let us see what she does now. Down, my boys! and prepare the men to do their duty.”
As Antonio had predicted, so soon as the colours were hauled down, the schooner ceased firing and made sail. She ranged up on the quarter of the ship, and up to her main peak soared the terrific black flag; her broadside was poured into the Indiaman, and before the smoke had cleared away there was a concussion from the meeting sides, and the bearded pirates poured upon her decks.
The crew of the Portuguese, with the detachment of troops, still formed a considerable body of men. The sight of the black flag had struck ice into every heart, but the feeling was resolved into one of desperation.
“Knives, men, knives!” roared Antonio, rushing on to the attack, followed by the most brave.
“Blood for blood!” cried the second mate, aiming a blow at the old man.
“You have it,” replied Antonio, as his knife entered the pirate’s heart, while, at the same moment, he fell and was himself a corpse.
The struggle was deadly, but the numbers and ferocity of the pirates prevailed. Cain rushed forward followed by Hawkhurst, bearing down all who opposed them. With one blow from the pirate-captain, the head of Don Ribiera was severed to the shoulder; a second struck down the eldest son, while the sword of Hawkhurst passed through the body of the other. The Portuguese captain had already fallen, and the men no longer stood their ground. A general massacre ensued, and the bodies were thrown overboard as fast as the men were slaughtered. In less than five minutes there was not a living Portuguese on the bloody decks of the ill-fated ship.
Chapter Nine.
The Capture
“Pass the word for not a man to go below, Hawkhurst,” said the pirate-captain.
“I have, sir; and sentries are stationed at the hatchways. Shall we haul the schooner off?”
“No, let her remain; the breeze is faint already: we shall have a calm in half an hour. Have we lost many men?”
“Only seven, that I can reckon; but we have lost Wallace,” (the second mate).
“A little promotion will do no harm,” replied Cain; “take a dozen of our best men and search the ship, there are others alive yet. By-the-by, send a watch on board of the schooner; she is left to the mercy of the Kroumen, and—”
“One who is better out of her,” replied Hawkhurst.
“And those we find below—” continued the mate.
“Alive!”
“True; we may else be puzzled where to find that portion of her cargo which suits us,” said Hawkhurst, going down the hatchway to collect the men who were plundering on the main deck and in the captain’s cabin.
“Here, you Maltese! up, there! and look well round if there is anything in sight,” said the captain, walking aft.
Before Hawkhurst had collected the men and ordered them on board of the schooner, as usual in those latitudes, it had fallen a perfect calm.
Where was Francisco during this scene of blood? He had remained in the cabin of the schooner. Cain had more than once gone down to him, to persuade him to come on deck and assist at the boarding of the Portuguese, but in vain—his sole reply to the threats and solicitations of the pirate was—
“Do with me as you please—I have made up my mind—you know I do not fear death—as long as I remain on board of this vessel, I will take no part in your atrocities. If you do respect my mother’s memory, suffer her son to seek an honest and honourable livelihood.”
The words of Francisco were ringing in the ears of Cain as he walked up and down on the quarter-deck of the Portuguese vessel, and, debased as he was, he could not help thinking that the youth was his equal in animal, and his superior in mental, courage—he was arguing in his own mind upon the course he should pursue with respect to Francisco, when Hawkhurst made his appearance on deck, followed by his men, who dragged up six individuals who had escaped the massacre. These were the bishop; his niece, a Portuguese girl; her attendant; the supercargo of the vessel; a sacristan; and a servant of the ecclesiastic; they were hauled along the deck and placed in a row before the captain, who cast his eye upon them in severe scrutiny. The bishop and his niece looked round, the one proudly meeting the eye of Cain, although he felt that his hour was come; the other carefully avoiding his gaze, and glancing round to ascertain whether there were any other prisoners, and if so, if her betrothed was amongst them; but her eye discovered not what she sought—it was met only by the bearded faces of the pirate-crew, and the blood which bespattered the deck.
She covered her face with her hands.
“Bring that man forward,” said Cain, pointing to the servant. “Who are you.”
“A servant of my lord the bishop.”
“And you?” continued the captain.
“A poor sacristan attending upon my lord the bishop.”
“And you?” cried he to a third.
“The supercargo of this vessel.”
“Put him aside, Hawkhurst!”
“Do you want the others?” inquired Hawkhurst significantly.
“No.”
Hawkhurst gave a signal to some of the pirates, who led away the sacristan and the servant. A stifled shriek and a heavy plunge in the water were heard a few seconds after. During this time the pirate had been questioning the supercargo as to the contents of the vessel, and her stowage, when he was suddenly interrupted by one of the pirates, who in a hurried voice, stated that the ship had received several shot between wind and water, and was sinking fast. Cain, who was standing on the side of the carronade with his sword in his hand, raised his arm and struck the pirate a blow on the head with the hilt, which, whether intended or not, fractured his skull, and the man fell upon the deck.
“Take that, babbler! for your intelligence; if these men are obstinate, we may have worked for nothing.”
The crew, who felt the truth of their captain’s remark, did not appear to object to the punishment inflicted, and the body of the man was dragged away.
“What mercy can we expect from those who show no mercy even to each other?” observed the bishop, lifting his eyes to heaven.
“Silence!” cried Cain, who now interrogated the supercargo as to the contents of the hold—the poor man answered as well as he could—“the plate! the money for the troops—where are they?”
“The money for the troops is in the spirit-room, but of the plate I know nothing; it is in some of the cases belonging to my lord the bishop.”
“Hawkhurst! down at once into the spirit-room, and see to the money; in the mean time I will ask a few questions of this reverend father.”
“And the supercargo—do you want him any more?”
“No; he may go.”
The poor man fell down on his knees in thankfulness at what he considered his escape: he was dragged away by the pirates, and, it is scarcely necessary to add that in a minute his body was torn to pieces by the sharks, who, scenting their prey from a distance, were now playing in shoals around the two vessels.
The party on the quarter-deck were now (unperceived by the captain) joined by Francisco, who, hearing from the Krouman, Pompey, that there were prisoners still on board, and amongst them two females, had come over to plead the cause of mercy.
“Most reverend father,” observed Cain, after a short pause, “you have many articles of value in this vessel?”
“None,” replied the bishop, “except this poor girl; she is, indeed, beyond price, and will, I trust, soon be an angel in heaven.”
“Yet is this world, if what you preach be true, a purgatory which must be passed through previous to arriving there, and that girl may think death a blessing compared to what she may expect if you refuse to tell me what I would know. You have good store of gold and silver ornaments for your churches—where are they?”
“They are among the packages intrusted to my care.”
“How many may you have in all?”
“A hundred, if not more.”
“Will you deign to inform me where I may find what I require?”
“The gold and silver are not mine, but are the property of that God to whom they have been dedicated,” replied the bishop.
“Answer quickly; no more subterfuge, good sir. Where is it to be found?”
“I will not tell, thou blood-stained man; at least; in this instance, there shall be disappointment, and the sea shall swallow up those earthly treasures to obtain which thou hast so deeply imbrued thy hands. Pirate! I repeat it, I will not tell.”
“Seize that girl, my lads!” cried Cain; “she is yours, do with her as you please.”
“Save me! oh, save me!” shrieked Teresa, clinging to the bishop’s robe.
The pirates advanced and laid hold of Teresa. Francisco bounded from where he stood behind the captain, and dashed away the foremost.
“Are you men?” cried he, as the pirates retreated. “Holy sir, I honour you. Alas! I cannot save you,” continued Francisco, mournfully. “Yet will I try. On my knees—by the love you bore my mother—by the affection you once bore me—do not commit this horrid deed. My lads!” continued Francisco, appealing to the pirates, “join with me and entreat your captain; ye are too brave, too manly, to injure the helpless and the innocent—above all, to shed the blood of a holy man, and of this poor trembling maiden.”
There was a pause—even the pirates appeared to side with Francisco, though none of them dared to speak. The muscles of the captain’s face quivered with emotion, but from what source could not be ascertained.
At this moment the interest of the scene was heightened. The girl who attended upon Teresa, crouched on her knees with terror, had been casting her fearful eyes upon the men who composed the pirate-crew; suddenly she uttered a scream of delight as she discovered among them one that she well knew. He was a young man, about twenty-five years of age, with little or no beard. He had been her lover in his more innocent days; and she, for more than a year, had mourned him as dead, for the vessel in which he sailed had never been heard of. It had been taken by the pirate, and, to save his life, he had joined the crew.
“Filippo! Filippo!” screamed the girl, rushing into his arms. “Mistress! it is Filippo; and we are safe.”
Filippo instantly recognised her: the sight of her brought back to his memory his days of happiness and of innocence; and the lovers were clasped in each other’s arms.
“Save them! spare them!—by the spirit of my mother! I charge you,” repeated Francisco, again appealing to the captain.
“May God bless thee, thou good young man!” said the bishop, advancing and placing his hand upon Francisco’s head.
Cain answered not; but his broad expanded chest heaved with emotion—when Hawkhurst burst into the group.
“We are too late for the money, captain: the water is already six feet above it. We must now try for the treasure.”
This intelligence appeared to check the current of the captain’s feelings.
“Now, in one word, sir,” said he to the bishop, “where is the treasure? Trifle not, or, by Heaven—!”
“Name not Heaven,” replied the bishop; “you have had my answer.”
The captain turned away, and gave some directions to Hawkhurst, who hastened below.
“Remove that boy,” said Cain to the pirates, pointing to Francisco, “Separate those two fools,” continued he, looking towards Filippo and the girl, who were sobbing in each other’s arms.
“Never!” cried Filippo.
“Throw the girl to the sharks! Do you hear? Am I to be obeyed?” cried Cain, raising his cutlass.
Filippo started up, disengaged himself from the girl, and, drawing his knife, rushed towards the captain to plunge it in his bosom.
With the quickness of lightning the captain caught his uplifted hand, and, breaking his wrist, hurled him to the deck.
“Indeed!” cried he, with a sneer.
“You shall not separate us,” said Filippo, attempting to rise.
“I do not intend it, my good lad,” replied Cain. “Lash them both together and launch them overboard.”
This order was obeyed: for the pirates not only quailed before the captain’s cool courage, but were indignant that his life had been attempted. There was little occasion to tie the unhappy pair together; they were locked so fast in each other’s arms that it would have been impossible almost to separate them. In this state they were carried to the entering-port, and cast into the sea.
“Monster!” cried the bishop, as he heard the splash, “thou wilt have a heavy reckoning for this.”
“Now bring these forward,” said Cain, with a savage voice.
The bishop and his niece were led to the gangway.
“What dost thou see, good bishop?” said Cain pointing to the discoloured water, and the rapid motion of the fins of the sharks, eager in the anticipation of a further supply.
“I see ravenous creatures after their kind,” replied the bishop, “who will, in all probability, soon tear asunder those poor limbs; but I see no monster like thyself. Teresa, dearest, fear not; there is a God, an avenging God; as well as a rewarding one.”
But Teresa’s eyes were closed—she could not look upon the scene.
“You have your choice; first torture, and then your body to those sharks for your own portion: and as for the girl, this moment I hand her over to my crew.”
“Never!” shrieked Teresa, springing from the deck and plunging into the wave.
There was a splash of contention, the lashing of tails, until the water was in a foam, and then the dark colour gradually cleared away, and nought was to be seen, but the pure blue wave and the still unsatisfied monsters of the deep.
“The screws—the screws! quick! we’ll have the secret from him,” cried the pirate-captain, turning to his crew, who, villains as they were, had been shocked at this last catastrophe. “Seize him!”
“Touch him not!” cried Francisco, standing on the hammock-netting; “touch him not! if you are men.”
Boiling with rage, Cain let go the arm of the bishop, drew his pistol, and levelled it at Francisco. The bishop threw up the arm of Cain as he fired; saw that he had missed his aim, and clasping his hands, raised his eyes to heaven in thankfulness at Francisco’s escape. In this position he was collared by Hawkhurst, whose anger overcame his discretion, and who hurled him through the entering-port into the sea.
“Officious fool!” muttered Cain, when he perceived what the mate had done. Then, recollecting himself, he cried,—“Seize that boy and bring him here.”
One or two of the crew advanced to obey his orders; but Pompey and the Kroumen, who had been attentive to what was going on, had collected round Francisco, and a scuffle ensued. The pirates, not being very determined, nor very anxious to take Francisco, allowed him to be hurried away in the centre of the Kroumen, who bore him safely to the schooner.
In the meantime Hawkhurst, and the major part of the men on board of the ship, had been tearing up the hold to obtain the valuables, but without success. The water had now reached above the orlop-deck, and all further attempts were unavailing. The ship was settling fast, and it became necessary to quit her, and haul off the schooner; that she might not be endangered by the vortex of the sinking vessel. Cain and Hawkhurst, with their disappointed crew, returned on board the schooner, and before they had succeeded in detaching the two vessels a cable’s length the ship went down with all the treasure so coveted. The indignation and rage which were expressed by the captain as he rapidly walked the deck in company with his first mate—his violent gesticulation—proved to the crew that there was mischief brewing. Francisco did not return to the cabin; he remained forward with the Kroumen, who, although but a small portion of the ship’s company, were known to be resolute and not to be despised. It was also observed that all of them had supplied themselves with arms, and were collected forward, huddled together, watching every motion and manoeuvre, and talking rapidly in their own language. The schooner was now steered to the north-westward under all press of sail. The sun again disappeared, but Francisco returned not to the cabin—he went below, surrounded by the Kroumen, who appeared to have devoted themselves to his protection. Once during the night Hawkhurst summoned them on deck, but they obeyed not the order; and to the expostulation of the boatswain’s mate, who came down, they made no reply. But there were many of the pirates in the schooner who appeared to coincide with the Kroumen in their regard for Francisco. There are shades of villainy in the most profligate of societies; and among the pirate’s crew some were not yet wholly debased. The foul murder of a holy man—the cruel fate of the beautiful Teresa—and the barbarous conduct of the captain towards Filippo and his mistress, were deeds of an atrocity to which even the most hardened were unaccustomed. Francisco’s pleadings in behalf of mercy were at least no crime; and yet they considered that Francisco was doomed. He was a general favourite; the worst-disposed of the pirates, with the exception of Hawkhurst, if they did not love him, could not forbear respecting him; although at the same time they felt that if Francisco remained on board the power even of Cain himself would soon be destroyed. For many months Hawkhurst, who detested the youth, had been most earnest that he should be sent out of the schooner. Now he pressed the captain for his removal in any way, as necessary for their mutual safety, pointing out to Cain the conduct of the Kroumen, and his fears that a large proportion of the ship’s company were equally disaffected. Cain felt the truth of Hawkhurst’s representation, and he went down to his cabin to consider upon what should be done.
