Gary's next move was to order the two sound boats lowered and attached
by ropes to the side. He was impressed by this last effort of the
blacks that the worst might happen, and that they had better be
prepared. Once the horde of savages gained the decks, the vessel would
afford no refuge to their hated oppressors.
The night was somewhat advanced. In the horizon a few darker spaces
denoted the presence of clouds, though all above was clear.
The Wanderer's sails hung limp, unless now and then a feeble expansion
caused by some desultory puff be excepted. Gary divided the remainder
of the men into two watches, one of whom he caused to lie down on deck
for a little rest, with their arms at their sides.
Below, amid the darkness, a single light shone from the cabin. Some
one of the blacks, evidently acquainted with the use of matches
(through traders or missionaries, doubtless), had found a way of
lighting the cabin lamp. Pandemonium reigned there. Inflamed by rum,
furious efforts were made from time to time to burst through the
hatches.
Along towards morning, however, a certain degree of quiet began to
prevail. Perhaps the negroes were growing weary.
A light breeze had arisen that sent the schooner ahead. Gary had
determined to make for the nearest port, provided they could hold out
to reach it. He saw no chance to do aught to subdue and confine the
blacks with his reduced force. If they saved the vessel and their own
lives, they would do more than some of them expected.
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