While this was transacting upon the quarter-deck, a chance-medley fight
was going on throughout the ship. The crew fought desperately with
knives, handspikes, and whatever weapon they could seize upon in the
moment of surprise. They were soon, however, overpowered by numbers, and
mercilessly butchered.
As to the seven who had been sent aloft to make sail, they contemplated
with horror the carnage that was going on below. Being destitute of
weapons, they let themselves down by the running rigging, in hopes
of getting between decks. One fell in the attempt, and was instantly
despatched; another received a death-blow in the back as he was
descending; a third, Stephen Weekes, the armorer, was mortally wounded
as he was getting down the hatchway.
The remaining four made good their retreat into the cabin, where they
found Mr. Lewis, still alive, though mortally wounded. Barricading the
cabin door, they broke holes through the companion-way, and, with the
muskets and ammunition which were at hand, opened a brisk fire that soon
cleared the deck.
Thus far the Indian interpreter, from whom these particulars are
derived, had been an eye-witness to the deadly conflict. He had taken no
part in it, and had been spared by the natives as being of their race.
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