University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MUTINEERS.

—Corsair

The Halcion left the waters of New York,
with the conspirators on board. Captain
Lewis, her master, was a blunt, careless sea-man,
who took the world as it came. He
had toiled long in the minor grades of the
merchant service, and this was the first ship
he had commanded.

“Mr. Richards,” said he, addressing one
of his passengers, “was you ever at sea before?”

“No,” said our friend Dick, “it's my first
voyage. It was at the urgent request of my
friend Nichols here,” continued he, pointing
to Stimson, who walked the quarter-deck,
“that I have come on board. He fears for
my health.”

The villains laid their schemes well. The
crew of the Halcion consisted of eight men.
Of these, four were leagued with Stimson,
and three more associates, in the character of
passengers, occupied with Stimson and Martin
the after cabin. The chief rascal had
taken the name of Nichols, and Martin was
called by that of Richards.

The vessel was three days out from the
harbor of New York, when the rising took
place. It was all over in an hour. Captain
Lewis was stabbed in his berth; two of the
crew joined the pirate; the mate and one
seaman, as Stimson expressed it, “carried the
news to Neptune.”

In eighty hours from the time the Halcion
left the wharf, a fearful crime had been committed
on her decks; a bloody deed planted
a new banner on her topmast—the flag of the
pirate-captain Spanker.

Richard Martin had wellnigh attained the
topmost round in the ladder of villany. He
had plunged his knife to the heart of an innocent
man, and given his hand to the chief
of an outlaw crew. Truly he was an apt
scholar.

Six months the pirate cruised on the Spanish
Main, and gained a harvest of blood and
gold. But Richard was not one to play the
second to a greater villain. Twice had his
temper broken out, when the pirate captain's
aims had clashed with his own, and already
had the crew taken sides; Richard's promises
had sapped the regard they had for their
commander.

There was an old Spaniard on board who
had joined the ship at Florida; a dark, designing
man, forever plotting, who had passed
his life in acts of villany; and with him
Richard Martin had tampered, till they had
conceived a new conspiracy.

In the memory of the young villain there
still shone the star of a better day — the
image of one whom, when a boy, he had
loved, as far as his bad heart was capable of
affection. It was his orphan foster-sister,
Fanny Fowler. It was she who had first
attracted his eye when the budding of her
youthful beauty had made her a rich object
to possess. He could not bear for the sweet
orphan the absorbing love of a brave and
generous soul, but the passion of a wild heart
had nourished itself into intensity, and as he
hourly dwelt on the recollection of the young

maiden, he resolved that he should one day
possess her. This had prompted him the
night of the assault on the Mexican captain,
to wrench from Fowler's neck the ken
which he knew his fellow-clerk hel dear
and sacred—the locket of his sister's hair.
And, mingled with his dark plots with his
Spanish associate, came the thought of soon
possessing the lovely orphan girl.

It was the third watch, and the lights
were out in the forecastle of the pirate-bark.
Stimson lay asleep in the after cabin, his
pistols, as was his wont, beneath his pillow,
and his cutlass chained to his wrists, for such
is the happy security of suceessful crime.

At once a slight noise aroused the watchful
captain; his quick eyes unclosed, and
bending over him was the form of Richard
Martin; he sprang from the bed, and grasped
his pistols.

“What mean you, Martin?”

“Nothing, but that I command this craft,
now.”

“Rebel—take that!” cried Stimson, as he
discharged his pistol at the head of his lieutenant.

Richard laughed. “You forgot to charge
with ball eartridge,” said he.

“Mutiny, by heaven!” shouted Stimson,
and grasping his eutlass, he sprang upon the
traitor. But a swift blow met his. The
dagger of the Spanish sailor pierced his heart.
The Pirate chief fell dead at the feet of his
treacherous lieutenant.

“Ha!” cried Martin, springing to the door
of the magazine, as the crew, aroused by the
pistol-shot, poured into the cabin. “My
boys! behold Spanker, who would have
murdered me but for this brave man. Will
you sail with me, or shall I blow the ship to
hell, by firing my pistol there?” and he levelled
it at the open magazine.

“Hurra! hurra! for Captain Martin,” cried
a voice.

“The booty that we take is the crew's;
the beauty shall be your captain's. What
say you, my hearties?”

“Hurra for Captain Martin, our brave commander,”
was the response.

“Then chuck this dead dog over the taffrail,
and let the liquor run. What say you
my boys? we'll make a night of it.”

“Hurra for Captain Martin, and death to
mutineers!”