134 WHALING 



'' If there is no hope," he cried at last, '' I will at least die like a 

 man. I am ready." 



Comstock fired, killing him instantly; then turned on Mr. 

 Lumbert, who was begging for life, though desperately wounded, 

 and twice more stabbed him with the bayonet, roaring like 

 the very caricature of a villain, '' I am a bloody man! I have a 

 bloody hand and will be avenged." 



''Thus it appears," runs the old narrative, "that this more 

 than demon murdered, with his own hand, the whole! Gladly 

 would we wash from 'memory's waste' all remembrance of 

 that bloody night. The compassionate reader, however, whose 

 heart sickens within him at the perusal, as does ours at the 

 recital, of this tale of woe, will not, we hope, disapprove our 

 publishing these melancholy facts to the world. As, through 

 the boundless mercy of Providence, we have been restored to 

 the bosom of our families and homes, we deemed it a duty we 

 owe to the world, to record our 'unvarnished tale.'" 



Meanwhile, Smith, the other boat-steerer, had started aft 

 when he first heard the sounds of disorder; but learning what 

 was on foot, he had immediately gone forward again. Realizing 

 at last that there was no hiding-place on board, he turned to 

 face Comstock, having made up his mind that, if worst came 

 to worst, he would die fighting. But Comstock, emerging from 

 the cabin, met him with every appearance of goodwill and with 

 a cordial invitation to join hands with the mutineers, which 

 Smith promptly accepted as representing his only chance for life. 



Having assumed command of the ship, Comstock called up 

 all hands to make sail and shake out the reefs she was carr3dng, 

 and, setting the lantern as a signal for the hyra to tack, held the 

 Globe to her course, thus making sure that the two would part 

 company. He then had the bodies of the four officers thrown 

 overboard under circumstances of unspeakable brutality — and 

 laid the course of the Globe for the Mulgrave Islands. 



The monotony of those long voyages, when a man was forced 

 in upon himself, with only the same few faces about him, day 

 after day, month after month, and year after year, was worse 

 than deadly. Is it surprising that, once in a while, such a man 



