rd the man he
had selected, and putting an end to his life, either by the sword or
pistol, launched the corpse into the waves.

My blood curdled as I beheld the scene, but I said nothing. I
considered myself too fortunate to escape with life. When it was all
over, the boatswain roared out, "_That job's done_! Now, Mr Barber,
swab up all this here blood, and be damned to you! and recollect that
you are one of us." I obeyed in fear and silence, and then returned to
my former station near the taffrail.

The people who had captured us, as I afterwards found out, were part of
the crew of an English Guinea-man, who had murdered the master and mate,
and had taken possession of the vessel. As our brig was a much finer
craft in every respect, they determined upon retaining her and scuttling
their own. Before night they had made all their arrangements, and were
standing to the westward with a fine breeze.

But exactly as the bell struck eight for midnight, a tremendous voice
was heard at the hatchway, if possible more than a hunched times louder
than the boatswain's, roaring out "_All hands ahoy_!"

The concussion of the air was so great, that the ship trembled as if she
had been struck by a thunderbolt; and as soon as the motion had
subsided, the water was heard to rush into every part of the hold.
Every body ran on deck astonished with the sound, expecting the vessel
immediately to go down, and looking at each other with horror as they
stood trembling in their shirts. The water continued to rush into the
vessel until it reached the orlop beams; then as suddenly it stopped.

When the panic had to a certain degree subsided, and they perceived that
the water did not increase, all hands applied to the pumps, and by eight
o'clock in the morning the vessel was free. Still the unaccountable
circumstance weighed heavy on the minds of the seamen, who walked the
deck without speaking to each other, or paying any attention to the
ship's course; and as no one took the command, no one was ordered to the
helm.

For my own part, I thought it a judgment upon them for their cruelty;
and, expecting that worse would happen, I had made up my mind to my
fate. I thought of Marie, and hoping for pardon yet fearing the worst,
I vowed if I escaped that I would amend my life.

At night we again retired to our hammocks, but no one slept, so afraid
were we of a second visitation. The bell was not struck by the men, but
it struck itself,