fell upon the dark waters,--I heard his shout of ‘murder’ and ‘revenge’ repeatedly as he went astern, but the waves closed over him, and he was seen no more. “A short but ineffectual struggle took place upon the quarter-deck, where the marines still adhered to the officers; but they were soon subdued, and after being horribly mutilated, were thrown overboard. As soon as the mutineers had obtained possession, Farmer took command, and it was intended to haul in for St. Domingo; but fearing that daylight would bring ’em in with some of the British cruisers, it was agreed upon to up-helm and run down to the Spanish main. “The work of destruction was not, however, yet complete;--the boatswain had been discovered in his store-room, (where he had concealed himself at the earnest entreaties of his wife,) and dragged upon deck. Poor Fanny Martin implored Farmer to spare his life; but the boatswain set the mutineers at defiance, and swore they would one day or other be frying in hell for their wickedness. “‘Fore yard-arm, there!’ cried out Farmer, ‘have you got a good seizing for that block?’ “The boatswain turned pale, for he well knew the hint this was meant to convey, though his wife did not; and grasping Farmer by the arm, he exclaimed ‘No, you never can mean that!--Bill, we’ve sailed together and fought together;--did you ever know me shrink from the gale, or tremble at my gun? Here am I,--ready to live or die, just as your breath may turn the vane,--indeed I ax no mercy for myself,--’ “‘Is the yard-rope rove?’ inquired Farmer, trying to free himself from the other’s hold. “‘Ay, ay,’ was the response from the fokstle. “‘Then,’ continued Farmer, ‘Martin, say any prayers you know, for by every fiend in ----, you swing up there in ten minutes from this time.’ “‘Consider, Farmer,’ expostulated the boatswain, ‘we’ve been messmates and have shared each other’s dangers; you may take my life, but do not, do not disgrace me in my death;--nay, you cannot hang me like a dog!’ “Poor Fanny had remained silently clinging to her husband during this conversation, insensible to its true meaning; but when the last expression escaped the boatswain’s lips, the truth flashed upon her, and wildly shrieking, she fell at Farmer’s feet, embraced his knees, and in the most frantic and abject terms implored for her husband’s life. “‘Force her away,’ commanded Farmer, in a voice of thunder to some of the seamen who had gathered round, ‘and, Martin, to your prayers; the sand is fast running through the glass,--to your prayers, man--to your prayers, I say,’ and the wretch laughed like a demon.