ith their fists for
honest fighting.

Naturally enough, with such men as these the mates frequently
quarrelled, and on one or two occasions the officers were driven to
resort to blows to maintain proper discipline. And a Chileno, or
any other Spanish South American, never forgives a blow, though a
knife-thrust or a pistol-shot in the dark would not be considered
anything else than proper to vindicate wounded honour. But the mates
of the _Indefatigable_ were simple-minded, rough British seamen. They
wanted the Chilenos to work the ship like sailormen should work a
ship--the Chilenos hated work of any kind, and especially hated the
steady discipline of this English merchant ship--the officers of which,
when necessity demanded it, would rout out the watch below and send them
aloft to shorten sail. And so, in less than a week from the day the brig
sailed from Conception, mutiny and murder was plotted in the foc's'cle
by the Chilenos, But none of the Englishmen on board had any thought of
danger.

* * * * *

Mr. Loftgreen, the chief mate, had the middle watch. It was a
marvellously clear and starlight night, with just enough wind astern
to keep the brig's light canvas full and give her steerage way. As the
officer slowly paced the short poop, he with difficulty resisted the
soothing lullaby of the murmur of the water as it rippled past the
ship's side.

On the foc's'cle, one of the Chileno sailors, named Antonio Mancillo,
kept the watch, and just as Loftgreen, overcome by the stillness of his
surroundings, had stopped his walk and was leaning on the rail at the
break of the poop, almost dozing--good seaman as he was--he heard the
Chileno cry out sharply--

"There is an island close ahead!--Come for'ard, Senor Loftgreen."

The mate ran hastily forward, but as he reached the short ladder which
led to the topgallant foc's'cle, two Chilenos, each carrying a cutlass,
sprang upon and seized him by the arms, while Mancillo held the point of
a knife to his throat.

"Ha, you Ingleese dog! If you speak, you die now; we shall kill you,"
said one of the mutineers in a fierce whisper.

Loftgreen, a tough, wiry young fellow, struggled desperately, and
freeing his right arm struck one of the Chilenos a blow that sent
him down as if he had been shot, and cried out loudly, "Murder!"
"Mutiny!", Mancillo meanwhile making savage thrusts at him with his
knife, and the other man trying to run him through with his cutlass;
but the mate