Translated, it was a warning to the Claytons to refrain
from reporting the loss of the revolvers, or from repeating
what the old sailor had told them--to refrain on pain of death.
"I rather imagine we'll be good," said Clayton with a rueful
smile. "About all we can do is to sit tight and wait for
whatever may come."
Chapter 2
The Savage Home
Nor did they have long to wait, for the next morning as
Clayton was emerging on deck for his accustomed walk before
breakfast, a shot rang out, and then another, and another.
The sight which met his eyes confirmed his worst fears.
Facing the little knot of officers was the entire motley crew
of the Fuwalda, and at their head stood Black Michael.
At the first volley from the officers the men ran for shelter,
and from points of vantage behind masts, wheel-house and
cabin they returned the fire of the five men who represented
the hated authority of the ship.
Two of their number had gone down before the captain's
revolver. They lay where they had fallen between the
combatants. But then the first mate lunged forward upon his
face, and at a cry of command from Black Michael the mutineers
charged the remaining four. The crew had been able to muster
but six firearms, so most of them were armed with boat
hooks, axes, hatchets and crowbars.
The captain had emptied his revolver and was reloading as
the charge was made.
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