Hearing the blow and the
      plunge of the body, the men below could now be induced to venture
      on deck neither by threats nor promises, until a proposition was
      made to smoke them out. A general rush then ensued, and for a
      moment it seemed possible that the brig might be retaken. The
      mutineers, however, succeeded at last in closing the forecastle
      effectually before more than six of their opponents could get up. These six, finding themselves so greatly outnumbered and without
      arms, submitted after a brief struggle. The mate gave them fair
      words—no doubt with a view of inducing those below to yield, for
      they had no difficulty in hearing all that was said on deck. The
      result proved his sagacity, no less than his diabolical villainy. All in the forecastle presently signified their intention of
      submitting, and, ascending one by one, were pinioned and then
      thrown on their backs, together with the first six—there being in
      all, of the crew who were not concerned in the mutiny,
      twenty-seven. A scene of the most horrible butchery ensued. The bound seamen
      were dragged to the gangway. Here the cook stood with an axe,
      striking each victim on the head as he was forced over the side
      of the vessel by the other mutineers. In this manner twenty-two
      perished, and Augustus had given himself up for lost, expecting
      every moment his own turn to come next. But it seemed that the
      villains were now either weary, or in some measure disgusted with
      their bloody labour; for the four remaining prisoners, together
      with my friend, who had been thrown on the deck with the rest,
      were respited while the mate sent below for rum, and the whole
      murderous party held a drunken carouse, which lasted until
      sunset. They now fell to disputing in regard to the fate of the
      survivors, who lay not more than four paces off, and could
      distinguish every word said. Upon some of the mutineers the
      liquor appeared to have a softening effect, for several voices
      were heard in favor of releasing the captives altogether, on
      condition of joining the mutiny and sharing the profits. The
      black cook, however (who in all respects was a perfect demon, and
      who seemed to exert as much influence, if not more, than the mate
      himself), would listen to no proposition of the kind, and rose
      repeatedly for the purpose of resuming his work at the gangway. Fortunately he was so far overcome by intoxication as to be
      easily restrained by the less bloodthirsty of the party, among
      whom was a line-manager, who went by the name of Dirk Peters. This man was the son of an Indian squaw of the tribe of
      Upsarokas, who live among the fastnesses of the Black Hills, near
      the source of the Missouri. His father was a fur-trader, I
      believe, or at least connected in some manner with the Indian
      trading-posts on Lewis river. Peters himself was one of the most
      ferocious-looking men I ever beheld. He was short in stature, not
      more than four feet eight inches high, but his limbs were of
      Herculean mould. His hands, especially, were so enormously thick
      and broad as hardly to retain a human shape. His arms, as well as
      legs, were bowed in the most singular manner, and appeared to
      possess no flexibility whatever. His head was equally deformed,
      being of immense size, with an indentation on the crown (like
      that on the head of most negroes), and entirely bald. To conceal
      this latter deficiency, which did not proceed from old age, he
      usually wore a wig formed of any hair-like material which
      presented itself—occasionally the skin of a Spanish dog or
      American grizzly bear. At the time spoken of, he had on a portion
      of one of these bearskins; and it added no little to the natural
      ferocity of his countenance, which betook of the Upsaroka
      character. The mouth extended nearly from ear to ear, the lips
      were thin, and seemed, like some other portions of his frame, to
      be devoid of natural pliancy, so that the ruling expression never
      varied under the influence of any emotion whatever. This ruling
      expression may be conceived when it is considered that the teeth
      were exceedingly long and protruding, and never even partially
      covered, in any instance, by the lips. To pass this man with a
      casual glance, one might imagine him to be convulsed with
      laughter, but a second look would induce a shuddering
      acknowledgment, that if such an expression were indicative of
      merriment, the merriment must be that of a demon. Of this
      singular being many anecdotes were prevalent among the seafaring
      men of Nantucket. These anecdotes went to prove his prodigious
      strength when under excitement, and some of them had given rise
      to a doubt of his sanity. But on board the Grampus, it seems, he
      was regarded, at the time of the mutiny, with feelings more of
      derision than of anything else. I have been thus particular in
      speaking of Dirk Peters, because, ferocious as he appeared, he
      proved the main instrument in preserving the life of Augustus,
      and because I shall have frequent occasion to mention him
      hereafter in the course of my narrative—a narrative, let me here
      say, which, in its latter portions, will be found to include
      incidents of a nature so entirely out of the range of human
      experience, and for this reason so far beyond the limits of human
      credulity, that I proceed in utter hopelessness of obtaining
      credence for all that I shall tell, yet confidently trusting in
      time and progressing science to verify some of the most important
      and most improbable of my statements. After much indecision and two or three violent quarrels, it was
      determined at last that all the prisoners (with the exception of
      Augustus, whom Peters insisted in a jocular manner upon keeping
      as his clerk) should be set adrift in one of the smallest
      whaleboats. The mate went down into the cabin to see if Captain
      Barnard was still living—for, it will be remembered, he was left
      below when the mutineers came up. Presently the two made their
      appearance, the captain pale as death, but somewhat recovered
      from the effects of his wound. He spoke to the men in a voice
      hardly articulate, entreated them not to set him adrift, but to
      return to their duty, and promising to land them wherever they
      chose, and to take no steps for bringing them to justice. He
      might as well have spoken to the winds. Two of the ruffians
      seized him by the arms and hurled him over the brig’s side into
      the boat, which had been lowered while the mate went below.