Chapter II: The Doom of the Mutineers

Johnnie Smart’s note ran as follows:--

“Which I is a-makin’ on ’em berlieve I’se the biggest mootineer
hout. They is now a clammerin’ for grog. Said I’d go aft and ax ye.
I goes back now to say what I knows’ll please ’em. Which I means to
save Teenie and ye all, if I can. Will let ye out when the time
comes. Keep up yer peckers, I says, says I, and trust to yours
truly,

“JOHNNIE SMART.”

We will follow Johnnie forward.

The mutineers, completely armed with knives and pistols, were seated in the galley. They had been eating; now they were smoking, and talking low together.

It was determined that as the ship was now an unmanageable hulk, they should first seize all the gold and pearls--with as little bloodshed as possible; then leave in two of the boats, and make their way to the nearest island. Here it would be easy to explain that they were the only survivors of a merchant ship--the _Juno_, for example--and so secure a passage to London.

“As soon’s daylight comes in the work begins,” said the evil Finn, feeling the edge of his knife, and smiling grimly to himself.

“Ah! here comes Johnnie,” cried Petersen.

“Now, Johnnie, what about the grog?”

“Which I never axed for it,” was the quiet reply.

“Never asked for it,” cried the leader. “Go back at once and tell them from me, that if the rum is not at once handed out we’ll commence shooting through the door.”

“Don’t try to fool with us,” said another fellow, “else we’ll knife you, sure’s your name is John.”

“Ay, that will we,” from several.

“Look ’ere,” replied the boy. “Which I’se doin’ all for the best. Listen--I knows Captain Antonio, and he is as wise and wicked as----”

He pointed with his finger downwards, instead of completing the sentence.

“Go on,” cried Petersen.

“Mind, then, he ain’t a chap as ’ill stand much ’umbug.”

“He’s our prisoner, lad, and we’ve drawn the wasp’s sting. They haven’t even a knife to make a flourish with.”

“Listen again,” said Johnnie. “If Antonio’s going to die, we’ve all got to go up together.”

“Explain.”

“Which the magazine is connected with a hellectric wire. All that the hold man’s got to do is to touch a button, and----”

The men were for a moment paralysed with terror.

“Now the reason I didn’t ax for grog like is this: he might ha’ pized it, see!”

“Bravo! Johnnie, you’re good and wise.”

“All the same,” said the leader, “a glass all round would be precious handy.”

“Well,” said Johnnie, his eyes getting wider than usual, “I could tell ye how to get it. But that beast Shenkoff, he torked about knifin’ I. I’se got a knife too, and----”

“Bah!” cried the leader, “he didn’t mean it. Shenkoff, if you’re going to make yourself so darned disagreeable, we’ll have to do without you. That’s a fair warning. Now, Johnnie, how are we to get the rum?”

Johnnie sheathed his knife.

Then he held back his head, and laughed in the old way.

“As simple as sinning,” he replied.

“Stop a minute,” he added.

Aft he went, and returned shortly with three sharp adzes and two saws.

“D’ye catch on, men?” he asked.

“No, Johnnie, no.”

“Take off your boots, and follow Johnnie. Just three on ye--no more.”

He handed an adze to each; he himself carried a saw.

As soon as they were on deck under the stars, and a bright scimitar of a moon, that silvered all the calm and heaving sea, Johnnie whispered to his followers--

“We scuppers the deck right over the store-room. Down we goes, and there’s the rum.”

* * * * *

Those below heard with fear and trembling the blows and thuds on the upper deck abaft the saloon.

“They’re scuppering the deck to descend to the spirit-room,” said Archie the mate.

“Heaven be praised!” cried Antonio, “even in that there is a ray of hope.”

In less than ten minutes a hole had been made through the upper deck. A candle was lit, and down went one of the men. Shortly after, the door leading to the saloon was barricaded. Then first one huge black jack, and then another, was hauled up.

These were coolly emptied into a bucket, another bucket was filled, and once more the men went forward.

* * * * *

Just an hour after this, the prisoners could tell that the rum was doing its work. Maudlin songs, and the sound of revelry, rose higher and higher.

But there was no quarrelling.

These sounds, however, died gradually away, and by three bells in the morning watch not a sound was to be heard in the ship.

Twenty long weary minutes passed by; each minute seemed an hour.

At last, at last!

The fastenings were being undone, and the door was opened.

It was Johnnie, sure enough.

But before he could enter or even speak, he had to hold back his head several times, his eyes taking refuge behind his fat cheeks, and laugh low to himself.

“All drunk as biled owls,” said the fat boy at last, “and a-sleepin’, jist like babes as ever was.”

Then he handed Antonio a basket: seven loaded revolvers and as many daggers lay within.

“We are saved,” cried Leona. “Heaven has heard our humble prayers.”

“Mi’d you’d better look main sharp,” said Johnnie, “and not shout t’ll you’se clear o’ the wood.”

But he told Antonio that every mutineer was disarmed, and that all that was required now was to batten down the deck before they should awake.

The noise inseparable from this, however, did awaken the drunken men.

They were like a hive of hornets.

“Stand down,” roared Antonio. “The first head that pops up above the ladder will have a bullet through it.”

The mutineers held back.

“Who is the traitor?” cried the evil Finn. “’Tis you, Petersen! You! Have that!”

There was the sound of a horrid blow delivered with some blunt instrument, then for a moment all was still.

“Now,” continued Antonio, “I have to inform you that the tables are turned. Better go to sleep till eight bells. Then I’ll shoot a few of you, to encourage the others.”

* * * * *

The sun rose soon. Every wave caught up its rosy light; and even far in the west, the clouds that erst were grey and purple, were now ablaze with crimson and fiery gold.

And now, with the assistance of two of the black men who had escaped death, the largest boat was got out and swung overboard, a bagful of biscuits and a small cask of water was placed in the bows, and the boat was then lowered to the sea.

An armed guard was next formed around the hatchway, and the battenings at once cast off.

“One at a time now, men. No arms of any sort. Not even a chunk of wood.”

“Archie and Barclay Stuart, you will see the men into the boats. Keep the pistol to their heads, and shoot the first man that even looks defiant.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” from the mate and our hero. But the mutineers were stupid, heavy-headed, and thoroughly cowed.

All but two came up, and were allowed to descend to the boat.

“Davie Drake,” said Antonio now, “you go aft and look after Miss Leona and Teenie. On no account let them come forward.”

“Now then, Shenkoff and Matteo” (this was the leader), “on deck, and be quick about it.”

They came slowly, fearfully up, and were immediately seized and bound.

A brief court-martial was held, and they were condemned to die.

The faces of these two villains, as they stood on the fo’c’s’le head, were pale and haggard.

Right well they knew their hour had come. There was no relenting in Antonio’s face, no mercy there, but justice--stern, determined.

“Busy yourselves now, lads,” the captain said to the two blacks.

They did; the fore-yard was squared, a block and tackle--a long rope with a noose on the end--was rigged at each point.

Then down came the blacks, and slipped the nooses over the necks of the condemned men.

“I will give you five minutes,” said Antonio, “to pray.”

Whether those murder-stained villains prayed or not may never be known. We do know, however, that the thief on the cross was forgiven, and that--

“As long’s the lamp holds on to burn,
The greatest sinner may return.”

And now the captain fired a pistol in the air, and the black men did their duty.

In a few minutes all was over. The murderers were lowered.

Two sullen plashes were heard as their bodies were thrown into the sea, where they floated a moment, then slowly sank.

The boat was next ordered to cast off. Not a word more was said on either side, and by ten o’clock the cutter had disappeared beneath the eastern horizon.

The mutiny was at an end.

That same forenoon, the bodies of Petersen and the poor fellow who had sunk to death beside the stove, were sewn in hammocks with shot at their feet, and laid aft on a grating.

Few and short were the prayers that were said; but the bodies were committed to the deep. As Antonio spoke the last words the grating was tilted; two solemn booming plashes, and all was over.

Their souls were commended to the God who gave them.

* * * * *

There were tears in the captain’s eyes as he turned away, and both Barclay and Davie were greatly affected.

“Heigh-ho!” said Antonio, “I could have trusted Petersen with anything.”

Then he dashed his hand across his eyes, and was himself again once more.