s rum
a-plenty, d'ye see, and what was to prevent the rogues making off with
a keg or so that chanced to lie handy--not I, shipmate, not I!"

"And why not, in the Devil's name?"

"Because, Martin," says Adam, sitting at the table and beginning to set
his papers in order, "because there's nought like liquor for putting
the devil into a man, and of all liquor commend me to rum with a dash
o' tobacco or gunpowder, d'ye see. We shall be heaving dead men
overboard ere dawn, I judge, and all along of this same rum, Martin.
Black mutiny, murder and sudden death, shipmate, and more's the pity
say I. But if Providence seeth fit why so be it."

"Providence!" quoth I, scowling down into his impassive face, "Dare ye
talk of Providence? 'Twas you set this bloody business a-foot."

"Aye, Martin, it was!" says he nodding. "As to Providence--look'ee
now, if you can ape Providence to your own ends, which is vengeance and
bloody murder, I can do as much for mine, which is to save the lives of
such as stand true to me and the ship--not to mention the women.
There's Tressady skulking below, and I have but contrived that the
mutiny should come in my time rather than his and theirs. As it is, we
are prepared, fifteen stout lads lie in the round-house below with
musquetoon and fusee, and every gun and swivel that will bear (falconet
and paterero) aimed to sweep the waist when they rush, as rush they
will, Martin, when the drink hath maddened 'em properly--"

"And having maddened them with your hellish decoctions you'll shoot the
poor rogues down?"

"Aye, Martin, I will so, lest peradventure they shoot me. Then
besides, shipmate, what o' the women? I have the Lady Joan and her
maid to think on, 'twould be an ill fate theirs in the hands of yon
filthy rabblement. Hark to 'em yonder, hark what they sing!"

For a while I could hear nought but a clamour of fierce shouts and
hallooing, then, little by little, this wild, hoarse tumult rose and
swelled to a fierce chaunt:

"Some swam in rum to kingdom come,
Full many a lusty fellow.
And since they're sped, all stark and dead,
They're flaming now in hell O.
So cheerly O,
Hey cheerly O,
They're burning down in hell O!"

"D'ye hear it, Martin, did ye hear it? Shoot the poor rogues d'ye say?
Sink me, but I will so if Fortune be so kind. Yonder's short shrift and
quick dispatch for me, shipmate, and then--the women! Think of my Lady
Joan writhing in their clutches.