Evan pulled the trigger.  The cap snapped and nothing more, and now, worked into an ungovernable passion, he clubbed his gun, and bringing the stock down upon the boatswain’s head, stretched him upon the deck with a cracked skull.  Swinging his weapon, the Captain dashed at the men, but a dozen pair of hands were on him, and he was dragged down.  Bently, the first mate, who went to his assistance, was served similarly.  In a few moments they lay helpless, trussed like turkeys ready for the roasting.  The cabin passengers gathered about, white-faced, full of terror, thinking of piracy and all its attendant horrors.  Some of the women were screaming.  The sailors lifted Evan and Bently; and Done, who was watching the turn of events, greatly agitated, was startled into a new train of thought by a woman who had thrown herself at his feet, clinging to his knees, crying: 

‘Help him! help him!  They are going to do murder!’

It was Mrs. Macdougal.  Done started forward, and half a dozen sailors moved to intercept him.

‘You don’t mean mischief?’ he said.

‘Devil a bit!’ replied a big Irishman.  ’We’ll stow them out of harm’s way till we’re safe on shore, an’ never a mischief will be done to annywon at all.  Come along, Captain darlin’,’ he added.  ’Ye’ll rist aisier in yer cabin.  We’re goin’ diggin’ fer the gould, an’ not all the fiends out iv Connaught could shtop us.’

Captain and mate were bestowed under lock and key, and, like a band of schoolboys at breaking-up, the men continued their mutinous work.  One section had started a quaint chanty; the rest caught it up presently, and with the rhythm of the song came something like order among the mutineers.  Singing lustily, they piled their baggage into the boats, and Done, who had recovered the feeling of annoyance his impulsive interference had occasioned him, watched them, rejoicing in sympathy.  He had brought no particular respect for law and order from the Old Land, and this happy revolt delighted him.  He would have loved to join the merry adventurers in their defiance of authority.  It was grand!  Lustily he sang the chanty, and as the boats, loaded down with sailors and their traps, and towing astern in the warm sea strings of deserters for whom there was no room aboard, moved off, he leaned over the bulwarks waving his hat, and shouted with all the power of his lungs: 

‘Good luck to you, boys!’

They answered with a cheer, forgetting all differences in their present robust animal spirits.  Ryan sprang up in one of the boats.

‘Come wid us, man; why don’t you?’ he cried.

Jim had a strong impulse to follow, but a small hand seized his.

‘No, no—­please, no!’ whispered Lucy at his side.

He shook his head at the men.  After all, there was no occasion for him to run away; he was bound to no man.