Page 118 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

shoulder to flank, exposed the play of his huge muscles.
He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and the blood,
trickling down his face, mingled with the foam on his lips,
and dropped sluggishly on his hairy breast. Each time that
an assailant came within reach of the swinging cutlass, the
ruffian’s form dilated with a fresh access of passion. At one
moment bunched with clinging adversaries—his arms, legs,
and shoulders a hanging mass of human bodies—at the
next, free, desperate, alone in the midst of his foes, his hid-
eous countenance contorted with hate and rage, the giant
seemed less a man than a demon, or one of those monstrous
and savage apes which haunt the solitudes of the African
forests. Spurning the mob who had rushed in at him, he
strode towards his risen adversary, and aimed at him one
final blow that should put an end to his tyranny for ever. A
notion that Sarah Purfoy had betrayed him, and that the
handsome soldier was the cause of the betrayal, had taken
possession of his mind, and his rage had concentrated itself
upon Maurice Frere. The aspect of the villain was so ap-
palling, that, despite his natural courage, Frere, seeing the
backward sweep of the cutlass, absolutely closed his eyes
with terror, and surrendered himself to his fate.
As Gabbett balanced himself for the blow, the ship, which
had been rocking gently on a dull and silent sea, suddenly
lurched—the convict lost his balance, swayed, and fell. Ere
he could rise he was pinioned by twenty hands.
Authority was almost instantaneously triumphant on
the upper and lower decks. The mutiny was over.

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