At the Fall of Port Arthur/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII
TURNING THE TABLES
The meal which Jeff prepared put all in the cabin in better humor, and as soon as it was over a council of war was held.
It was decided to wait until darkness had set in, and then try to gain the deck of the ship by way of the fore hatch. In the meantime the door to the companionway was to be locked and barred, so that the mutineers could not attack them very well from that direction, should a running fight ensue.
As Jeff would be of no use in a struggle he was delegated to remain in the cabin, to make as much noise as possible, singing and talking to himself, so that the mutineers might not suspect what was taking place.
Each member of the party armed himself both with a pistol and a cutlass, and Larry led the way as before, candle in hand. It was easy for Luke to follow him, but rather difficult for the captain, who was more portly.
"Reckon as how ye shouldn't have eaten so much, captain," chuckled the old tar, as he helped Captain Ponsberry through a particularly narrow place.
"True, Striker," was the answer. "But you be careful that you don't slip into some slit between the cases and go out of sight."
They soon gained the spot where the canned goods had been found. They had now to climb over some machinery that reached nearly to the top of the hold, and then over a varied collection of boxes and barrels and bags. On the bags lay some of the old sails of the ship and several coils of discarded rope.
They were just approaching the open fore hatch when they saw a rope ladder let down. Instantly Larry uttered a warning and put out the light.
"Somebody is coming down," he whispered.
It was the sailor Wilbur, who had been sent to get some canned goods for cooking purposes. He came down the rope ladder with a lantern slung over one arm.
"We'll make him a prisoner!" cried Captain Ponsberry. "And let us do it as quietly as we can, so as not to disturb those on deck."
The others understood and crouched back in the darkness. Then, as Wilbur passed them, the captain caught him from the back and Larry clapped a hand over the fellow's mouth.
"Oh!" spluttered Wilbur, but that was as far as he got.
"Not a word! Not a sound, Wilbur!" said Captain Ponsberry, earnestly.
The sailor understood, and being a craven at heart he almost collapsed. It was an easy matter to take one of the old ropes and tie his hands behind him. Then Captain Ponsberry confronted the mutineer, making a liberal exhibition of his pistol as he did so.
"Wilbur, answer me truthfully," said the master of the Columbia. "Are you all in this mutiny or not? Don't speak above a whisper."
"I ain't in it!" whined Wilbur. "They dragged me in, they did. I ain't kicking about grub, or nothing!"
"Are all the others in it?"
"Kind of, yes. Groot didn't care much to go in. Guess he wish he was out of it now."
"What has become of Grandon and Vincent?"
"Both of 'em are prisoners in the brig."
"Are they wounded?"
"Not much. Grandon had his thumb cut and Vincent got a kick in the back that lamed him."
"Is anybody guarding them?"
"I guess not. All of 'em have got to drinking again. Say, captain, let me out of this fix and I'll never go against you again, never," continued Wilbur, earnestly.
"We'll see about that later," was the grim reply.
"Captain Ponsberry, I have a scheme," put in Larry, and he drew the master of the ship to one side. "Wilbur is about the same build as myself. Let me take his coat and cap and go on deck and down to the brig. If I can release Grandon and Vincent we'll be sure to knock out the mutiny in no time."
"It's a dangerous game, Larry."
"Oh, please let me do it!" pleaded the young second mate. The hazard was one which appealed to him strongly.
The matter was talked over for a few minutes and it was decided to let Larry have his way. Wilbur was soon stripped of his coat and the young second mate donned the garment. Then he took the mutineer's cap and pulled it as far over his brow as possible and turned up the coat collar.
"I'll leave the lantern here," he said, and a second later was mounting the rope ladder slowly and cautiously.
With his head on a level with the deck Larry paused to reconnoiter the situation. He knew exactly how dangerous his mission was and that he was running the risk of being shot. But his life in our navy had made him bold, and seeing nobody in sight, he leaped out on deck, and hurried with all speed to the ladder leading to the brig. Soon he was in front of the barred door.
"Grandon! Vincent!" he called, softly.
"Hullo, who's that?" came in the voice of the first mate.
"It is I, Larry. Is Vincent there?"
"Yes. Where did you come from?"
"The cabin." Larry unbarred the door. "Are you hurt?"
"Not much. How are you?"
"I am all right, and so are the captain and Luke Striker. They are in the hold, ready to come on deck. We have made Wilbur a prisoner."
"Good enough," came from the boatswain. "The rascals! They ought all to walk the plank!" he added, vehemently.
The two men had their hands tied behind them, but it was an easy matter for Larry to liberate them. Then each provided himself with a belaying pin, and all three of the party stole to the deck.
From the forecastle and the cook's galley came loud talking, showing that the mutineers were making themselves at home. One man was trying to do some cooking.
"What's keeping Wilbur so long?" he demanded of the others.
Nobody knew, and one of the crowd, the sailor named Groot, volunteered to look the missing one up.
"Let us follow him to the hatch," whispered Larry. "Perhaps we can make him a prisoner."
"Right you are," answered Tom Grandon.
With caution they came up behind the man, and just as Groot leaned over the open hatchway, they caught him tightly.
"Keep silent, Groot!" said Grandon. "Keep silent, or we'll throw you overboard."
"Stop!" roared the mutineer. "Help! hel"
He got no further, for raising his belaying pin, Vincent brought it down on the mutineer's head. Groot had been the one to lame the boatswain's back and the latter had not forgotten it. Over went the fellow and sank down as if dead.
"Drop him into the hold," ordered Grandon, and this was done just as Captain Ponsberry and Luke Striker appeared at the foot of the rope ladder.
"Another, eh?" said the master of the Columbia. "Good enough! How are you, Tom? How are you, Vincent?"
"We're ready to fight 'em," answered the first mate. "Come on! They've got so much liquor aboard they can't do much to us!"
"Be careful, I don't want anybody shot if it can be avoided," responded Captain Ponsberry.
"I think it would be a good plan to dump them all into the hold," said Larry. "Then we could nail up that pantry door, put the hatch into place, and keep them at our mercy."
"If the plan will work, it's a good one," answered the captain.
One after another they came out on deck, leaving Wilbur and Groot in the hold. They found the mutineers equally divided between the galley and the forecastle. The only man in charge of the schooner was Conroy, who was at the wheel.
As they advanced upon the forecastle they saw Semmel come out, accompanied by Peterson.
"There are the ringleaders!" cried Captain Ponsberry, and rushing up to them he exclaimed: "Surrender, you rascals!" And he aimed his pistol, while the others also raised their weapons.
The Russian and his companion were taken completely by surprise, and before they could draw any weapons of their own it was too late. Grandon tripped one up and fell upon him, and then Vincent and Larry tripped up the other. There was a brief scuffle, the exchange of several blows which did little damage, and in a trice Semmel and Peterson were thrown down into the hold bodily, and the ladder was hauled up out of their reach.
"Put that hatch over the opening," cried Captain Ponsberry to Larry. "And then go into the cabin pantry and nail up that door. Be quick about it, or they may get out!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" cried the young second mate, and ran off with all speed. The hatch was large and heavy, but the excitement lent him strength and he dragged it forward and threw it over the hatchway.
"Stop dat!" roared Semmel, in a drunken voice, but Larry paid no attention. His next movement was toward the cabin.
"Don't yo' tech me!" roared Jeff, in alarm. "Oh, it am yo'!" he added, as he recognized Larry. "How am de battle gwine?"
"We've got 'em on the run—four are prisoners in the hold," was Larry's reply. "Get me that box of nails, Jeff—I must put that door back as it was!"
"Yes, sah; yes, sah!" answered the cook, eagerly, and brought forth the nails in question. Then he helped to put the door into place, and held it while Larry nailed the barrier. The job was just completed when the young second mate heard voices from the hold.
"Hi, dare, you let us out," came from Peterson. "Ve vill mak it right, yes!"
"You keep quiet," ordered Larry, and would say no more. Against the door he and Jeff placed several trunks and boxes taken from the staterooms opening off of the cabin.
During this time the party led by Captain Ponsberry had attacked the balance of the mutineers. There was a brief fight and Shamhaven got a cutlass cut on the knee. But then the men surrendered, and one after another was made to drop down into the hold, and the hatch was shut and battened down.
The only man who was not thus made a prisoner was Conroy, who begged at once to be forgiven.
"They got me to drink, captain," he pleaded. "I didn't know what I was doing. Forgive it, and I'll be the best man you ever had on board."
"Can I depend upon you, Conroy?" asked Captain Ponsberry, sternly.
"You can, sir—I give you my word on it."
"You won't try to help the mutineers?"
"No, sir; no, sir!"
"Very well then, I'll try you. But, remember, if you try any dirty work it will go hard with you. Now tell me, was Wilbur in favor of this mutiny?"
"No, sir, he was not. Semmel forced him into it."
"What of the others. Who were the ringleaders?"
"Semmel and Peterson and Shamhaven. The others didn't want to do anything but complain about the grub," answered Conroy, and then told the particulars of the mutiny from beginning to end.