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“Did you hear what he said?” I asked.

“About notifying his father in case anything happened? Yes; I couldn’t help eavesdropping. My father made no such request of me—which only goes to show that he has no hope of my not coming back.... I must have a drink. I’ve been thinking of nothing but water this past hour, and I’m not entitled to one before morning. What would you do, in my case?”

“Mr. Peckover has just gone below for a moment,” I said. “You might chance it.”

“Has he?” Tinkler leaped to his feet. He ran up the shrouds for the gun barrel and had carried it aloft again before Peckover returned. As we went below together I heard three bells strike, and the far-off call of the lookout in the foretop: “All’s well!” I settled myself in my hammock and was soon asleep.

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Shortly after daybreak I was awakened by someone shaking me roughly by the shoulder, and at the same time I was aware of loud voices, Mr. Bligh’s among them, and the heavy trampling of feet on deck. Churchill, the master-at-arms, stood by my hammock with a pistol in his hand, and I saw Thompson, holding a musket with the bayonet fixed, stationed by the arms chest which stood on the gratings of the main hatch. At the same time two men, whose names I do not remember, rushed into the berth, and one of them shouted, “We’re with you, Churchill! Give us arms!” They were furnished with muskets by Thompson and hurried on deck again. Stewart, whose hammock was next to mine in the larboard berth, was already up and dressing in great haste. Despite the confused tumult of voices overhead, Young was still asleep.