Here the agony of his wound
overcame him, and he fell into a deep swoon.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Hard Times.
When the second mate revived there were sounds of high rejoicing
overhead. He saw that the fastenings of his door had not been
disturbed.
After dressing his wound as best he could, he set about securing the
best possible means of prolonging and perhaps saving his life. If the
drink-crazed blacks could be kept out of his stateroom, it might be
that he would not be molested until some passing vessel, noting the
unseaman-like appearance and maneuvers of the Wanderer would come to
his rescue.
The blacks evidently did not know of his whereabouts, but considered
that all of their whilom masters had been put to death. But the chance
for ultimate safety was slight, he felt.
When the schooner might be fired or dismantled in a gale, through
ignorance, he knew not, but he realized that the negroes were liable to
commit almost any blunder. Again, the passing ships might not stop.
He also must have something to eat and drink, his wound rendering him
especially thirsty.
Limping to the door he listened long and intently. As far as he could
tell, the entire crowd of blacks were on deck, carousing over their
victory and enjoying the fresh air of which they so long had been
deprived.
He unlocked and peered through the door. Then he quickly slipped into
the cabin and reconnoitered. All seemed to be quiet.
Without wasting time he went into the store rooms, secured a bag of
biscuit and filled a breaker with water from one of the butts.
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