Boats and parts of the railing
and netting, had been carried away, and one or two sailors washed
overboard.
Then had come the mutiny, if such it could he called--an uprising of
some of the sailors, driven to almost insane anger because of the
refusal of the captain to put into a port, the harbor of which could
not he made in such a sea as was running, nor in the teeth of such
furious wind. The only thing to do was to scud before the gale, with
the engines and crew doing what they could.
There had been an incipient panic, and a rush for the boats quelled
hardly in time, for some had been lowered, and swamped and others had
gotten away.
There was an exchange of shots between the captain and some of the
mutineers, and, as our friends knew, one sailor, at least, was
wounded, though whether by the captain or by the mutineers was
uncertain.
Ben Wrensch, who appeared of better character than the usual run of
West Indian sailors, had his share in the mutiny--that is, he refused
to take sides with the small part of the crew who berated the captain
for something he could not do. He had sided with the small part of
the crew who remained loyal.
"And what did they do to you?" asked Jack. For the man had come to a
pause, after describing how many shouted that the ship was
foundering.
"The rascals drove me and some of the other to a boat, and lowered us
away," was the answer.
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