"Right as a trivet!--ready to sling astern!" came the answer directly over my head, followed by some laughter. As I lay holding my breath, scarcely knowing what was next to befall, the handle of my door was tried, the door pushed, then shaken passionately, after which a voice, in tones which might have emanated from a ghost, exclaimed-- "Mr. Royle, they have killed the captain and Mr. Duckling! For God Almighty's sake, ask them to spare my life! They will listen to you, sir! For God's sake, save me!" "Who are you?" I answered. "The steward, sir." But as he said this one of the men on the quarter-deck shouted, "Where's the steward? He's as bad as the others! He's the one what swore the pork was sweet!" And then I heard the steward steal swiftly away from my cabin door and some men come into the cuddy. They would doubtless have hunted him down there and then, but one of them unconsciously diverted the thoughts of the others by exclaiming-- "There's the second mate in there. Let's have him out of it." My cabin door was again tried, and a heavy kick administered. "It's locked, can't you see?" said one of the men. As it opened into the cuddy it was not to be forced, so one of them exclaimed that he would fetch a mallet and a calking-iron, with which he returned in less than a couple of minutes, and presently the lock was smashed to pieces, and the door fell open. Both swinging-lamps were alight in the cuddy, and one, being nearly opposite my cabin, streamed fairly into it. I was seated erect in my bunk when the men entered, and I immediately exclaimed, pointing to the irons, "I am glad you have thought of me. Knock those things off, will you?" I believe there was something in the cool way in which I pronounced these words that as fully persuaded them that I was intent upon the mutiny as any action I could have committed. "We'll not take long to do that for you," cried the fellow who held the mallet (a formidable weapon, by the way, in such hands!). "Get upon the deck, and I'll swaller this iron if you aren't able to dance a breakdown in a jiffy!" I dropped out of the bunk, and with two blows the man cut off the staple, and I kicked the irons off. "Now, my lads," said I, beginning to play the part I had made up my mind to act whilst listening to the onslaught on the captain and Duckling; "what have you done?" The fellow who had knocked off the irons, and now answered me, was named Cornish, a man in my own watch. "The ship's ourn--that's what we've done," he said. "The skipper's dead as a nail up there, I doubt," exclaimed another, indicating the poop with a movement of the head; "and if you'll step on to the main-deck you'll see how we've handled Mister Duckling!" "And what do _you_ mean to do?" exclaimed a man, one of the four who had accompanied me to the wreck. "_We_'re masters now, I suppose you know, and so I hope you aren't agin us." At this moment the carpenter, followed by a few others, came shoving into the cuddy.