His face was white, hard and wild; his manner that of one who is full of rage and whose struggle to command it fills his eyes with the light of madness. Mr. Bates gazed at me when the door closed upon my sweetheart, and, plunging his hands in his pockets, said: ‘I owe him my life. He locked me in my cabin, and a number of the convicts were forcing the door when he thrust through and brought me out. He shouted: “Men, I have three friends; two are youngsters below, this is the third. You know our compact. You know who this man is. You have seen him often enough. He is an old shipmate of mine and a friend, and if a hair of his is harmed, you sail the ship yourselves.” The cuddy was full of convicts; but there fell a silence whilst he roared this out. He has a noble voice. He put his arm through mine and walked me to the hatch. The devils fell away from me and started shouting on other matters, as though I was out of it and concerned them no longer. He saved my life. They’ve killed poor Masters. They would have killed me.’ ‘Is the second mate dead?’ gasped Will. ‘Butler told me so. Masters showed fight when they killed the sentry and rushed on to the poop, and he was cut down. So Butler told me as we came here. The convicts got hold of the soldiers’ arms, and it was all done out of hand. And what’s to become of the ship?’ ‘What will they do with the captain and the doctor?’ said Will. ‘How many have been killed?’ I asked. ‘Three convicts were dropped by the sentries,’ answered Will. ‘Suppose them dead. Then two soldiers. Then the lieutenant and Mr. Masters. The tally’ll run to near half a score, sir,’ said he, looking at the mate. ‘And you’re a cousin of this lady?’ said Mr. Bates. ‘I’m no lady on board this ship. Pray take heed, sir!’ I cried. ‘She has nothing to do with this business!’ cried my cousin. ‘She was afraid of losing sight of Captain Butler if she followed him in another ship.’ The poor man durst not ask questions, for fear of offending me. ‘What noise is that?’ cried Will. I heard a kind of pounding, like the stroke of a pump or the hitting of timber. Mr. Bates put his head out of the door to listen. A dull, confused tumult of voices came down the hatch--wild cries as of mad or drunken delight; but I seemed to catch a level note in the hubbub, and supposed that the first delirium and wild-beast-like transports were passing. Mr. Bates was about to shut the door, when he was arrested by a noise of rushing feet. He looked out, and said: ‘Here’s a mob of convicts streaming into the steerage!’