"Aft, men; aft!" he shouted. "Let us up with the boats, get provisions and arms, and down with the men who would prevent us."
The brute bared his arm and flourished a knife as he spoke.
The Turk had run towards the saloon just as the mischief began to brew.
"You won't be safe, friend boy," he cried to poor Kep. Then he hurried the lad into his little cabin and locked the door.
He met the leader and mutineers as they were making aft.
The black man dashed him to the deck. Not stunned though, it would take a deal to quiet so powerful a Turk, he was on his feet in a moment; knives glittered, and the two were in deadly embrace. Both fell, but only one rose, and a rivulet of blood was straggling towards a scupper hole. The black man was triumphant.
It was the spirit-room that was first stormed, and soon the rum began to do its deadly work. Kep trembled in his den to hear the singing, shouting, and stamping. But there were wiser men on deck, and very quickly and even orderly the boats were hoisted to the davits and loaded. Some of the cases were opened, and found to contain sand, not specie.
I do not wish to redden my pages by describing the fearful scenes that followed, when the mutineers in the saloon quarrelled and fought.
Sounds of thuds and blows and shrieks and groans! It must indeed have been a terrible pandemonium.
After this, silence for a time. A consultation was evidently being held on deck. It was followed by a rush of feet down into the saloon again, and Kep could hear that the captain's stateroom was being opened--could hear the captain's voice, too, appealing for mercy.
Mercy from mutineers! He was being dragged on deck. A wild scream and a splash alongside--that was the mercy.
But for the mate a more ghastly doom was reserved. Dead men tell no tales, but a derelict ship may. The _Macbeth_ might not sink soon enough. She might float till sunrise and be found by the islanders, the very islanders on whose shores the mutineers were to land with a lie on their lips.
The mate, then, was gagged and bound and laid on the state-room deck. Not far from him was placed a barrel of gunpowder, and in this a lighted candle was stuck. When it tilted or fell, or when it burned down say in two hours' time, the gunpowder would explode and the mate, who had kicked the poor young sailor off the poop, would go to his doom, and the ship be blown to pieces.