stern, eight bells struck on deck. The
lookout on the forecastle called out, 'Eight bells, t'gallant
fo'cas'le! All's well!' in the peculiar singsong they have in that
trade. I repeated my call from the weather yard arm; but I left out the
crow and the prayer for blessings. The skipper and mates were looking
up at me, and I saw that the first was about to sing out something; but
Casey over to leeward interrupted.

"'Eight bells!' he called. 'See maintopsail yard arm. All's well, an'
blankety blank yer black hearts and cowardly sools to damnation,
Captain Black, Mister Macklin, an' Mister Parker!'

"'What's that--what?' stuttered the skipper. 'Weather yard arm there!
What do _you_ say?'

"'Go to hell!' I answered furiously.

"The skipper was near his cabin window, and I saw him reach within.
Casey, over to leeward, filled the night with his imprecations. He
called down, not blessings, but the tortures of the damned on his
tormentors, and attracted the skipper's attention from me. When he
stood up he held a short-barreled rifle, and with this he took careful
aim at Casey. Then there was a spat of flame, a report, a puff of smoke
floating over the house, and Casey, an oath stopped on his lips,
sprawled downward into the sea.

"The watch had been called, and appeared in time to see this. I heard
the explosive but muttered comments, and then a concerted snarl of
hatred and rage as they rushed aft. But I paid no present attention to
it. I had drawn my pistol, and was taking careful aim with my left hand
at the captain, not so much determined by fear that I should be next as
by a resolve, born of my emotions before the shooting, to bring things
to an end.

"The skipper looked up at me and got the bullet, fairly in the face, I
think, but I never was sure just where I hit him. He dropped, however,
and lay still, while the two mates made a dive for the forward
companion.

"Macklin got in; but not so Parker. The enraged men caught him just
outside the door, slammed in his face by Macklin, and I had one glimpse
of him as I scrambled in along the footrope. He was in the center of a
circle of flourishing sheath knives, his voice of command nearly
silenced by the vengeful shouts and oaths of the men, and when I looked
again, as I dropped into the rigging, he was prone on his back, while
the men were surging aft to enter the cabin by the after companion. But
Macklin was ahead of them, and had bolted it as he had the other.