But later on one of the
men found a demijohn of liquor in the cook's pantry. Neb, thoroughly
cowed by his uncivilized brethren below, had deserted his post and was
in hiding somewhere. The liquor was secretly hidden away, and the men
began drinking.
By the time Gary found out what was up, every one but himself and Duff
was recklessly intoxicated. He made a search for the stuff, but was
recalled by another effort of the blacks to force open one of the
hatches.
The attempt was foiled, but night had fallen before Gary found where
the liquor was hidden. He promptly broke the demijohn, and was knocked
down thereupon by one of the drunken sailors. This led to a general
melee on the quarter deck, where the row began.
The forecastle was entirely deserted by the men, who were maddened by
the destruction of their liquor. Duff used his efforts to part them,
but growing uneasy over the unguarded state of the ship, he started to
go forward.
He had hardly reached the main deck when he saw a black form leaping
out of the forecastle. The blacks, taking advantage of the fight
overhead, and the absence of a guard, had battered down the bulkhead
between the main hold and the sailors' sleeping quarters with the very
howitzer which had been mounted below for their subjection.
Duff raised the alarm, but it was too late. Scores of negroes poured
upon the decks, now dimly lighted by ship's lanterns, and fell upon
their oppressors with a fury intensified by rum and a sense of
cruelties that had been inflicted upon them when bound and helpless.
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