Chapter Eight.
A Double Tragedy.
A moment or two in the open air sufficed to settle in some measure Walford’s disordered faculties and to restore to him his reason, of which he had been pretty nearly bereft by the terror of the preceding half-hour.
He found himself in the midst of the—by this time—more than half-intoxicated seamen, none of whom appeared to be paying much attention to him, for they were all talking loudly together, discussing and arranging the details of the punishment of those whom they chose to regard as the two chief offenders.
The men were all greatly excited by the potations in which they had freely indulged during the mockery of a trial in the saloon, and their differences of opinion on some points were so strong that at one moment the proceedings seemed more than likely to be diversified by a pitched battle. Rogers, however, whose head seemed capable of resisting the effects of almost any amount of liquor, interposed between the belligerents, and by a determined exercise of his newly-acquired authority, and by most frightful threats of the chastisement which he personally would inflict on the first man who ventured to disobey him, succeeded at length in restoring some semblance of order. This achieved, he ordered a grating to be rigged in the larboard gangway, and that, when this was done, the chief mate should be seized thereto.
His orders were speedily carried out; and when the man Nicholls, stripped to the waist, was firmly lashed to the grating in readiness to receive his punishment, Rogers ordered that the second mate should be brought to him.
The miserable Thomson was thereupon led before him, and a more wretched spectacle than this man presented it would be difficult to find. His old blustering, bullying, overbearing manner had completely deserted him; the fear of death was upon him; and he shivered like a man in an ague-fit.
“You Thomson,” said Rogers, addressing him in a calm matter-of-fact tone of voice, as if what he was about to say had reference only to some trifling everyday affair, “you was present at the trial of that man Nicholls as stands seized up to yonder grating, and you knows the punishment as it was decided for to give him. It was five and twenty lashes, well laid on; you hears that, well laid on. Wery good. Now, this here same man Nicholls, it seems to me, is in a sort o’ way to blame for getting you into your trouble. If he’d been a proper sort of man, understandin’ that he owed a dooty to the crew as well as to the owners of the ship, instead of encouraging you in your goin’s-on agin us, he’d have took you o’ one side, and he’d ha’ said to you, ‘Look here, Thomson, my good feller, you mustn’t be too hard upon them poor sailor-men for’ard; you knows as they don’t muster a full-handed crew, and so it don’t stand to reason as they can do so much as if they was full-handed; they’re a decent enough willin’ lot of men, and we mustn’t axe too much from ’em. Just keep that in mind, and make things as easy as you can for ’em.’ If he’d been a proper sort of man, I say, he’d have said some’at of that sort to you, now wouldn’t he? And you’d have listened to him, and then you wouldn’t have been in this here precious scrape as you’re in now, would you?”
“You’re right, Rogers; I should not,” eagerly exclaimed Thomson, his eyes lighting up with a gleam of fresh hope, as he thought he detected in the boatswain’s speech some signs of relenting. “If Mr Nicholls had only put the matter to me as you have just now put it, I should never have given a single man of you the slightest reason for complaint against me. But he never did anything of the kind; on the contrary, both he and Captain Arnold encouraged me to believe you an idle, worthless lot of scamps, and to treat you as such. And that is the plain, simple truth, I swear it.”
“Wery good,” commented Rogers. “Then, you see, Thomson, you and us thinks alike, namely, that Nicholls in a kind of a sort of a way led you into this here miserable scrape. That bein’ the case, we thinks it’ll be only fair if you gives him the twenty-five lashes—well laid on—that the court have condemned him to receive.”
Thomson looked eagerly into the face of the boatswain, hoping that in this proposal he saw a commutation of his death-sentence. Rogers returned the gaze with a look of grim satisfaction, which the second mate mistook for a half-drunken leer of benevolence; and, anxious above all things to propitiate this man, who undoubtedly held the power of life and death in his hands, he excitedly exclaimed—
“I’ll do it! Give me the cat, and you shall have no cause to complain of the way in which I will execute your sentence.”
“All right; that’s a bargain,” agreed Rogers. Then, turning to the rest of the mutineers, he ordered them to fetch all hands on deck to witness punishment, “All hands exceptin’ the ladies, I mean; they’d be shocked at the sight, pretty dears, and we must take care as they don’t see nor hear nothin’ as’d shock ’em, sweet, delicate creeturs,” he added with a contemptuous laugh, which was echoed by his comrades as they staggered forward to drag the male passengers on deck.
In a few minutes these were all mustered, Walford contriving, seemingly without attracting attention, to mingle with them and take up an unobtrusive position, from which he intended, if possible, to quietly effect a retreat at the first convenient opportunity.
When all was at length ready, the scene which presented itself was a sufficiently curious one.
The chief object of the picture was, of course, the figure of the unhappy chief mate, who, naked to the waist, stood firmly lashed to the grating, with arms and legs wide spread in the orthodox attitude of a man about to be flogged. Opposite him, and some four or five feet distant, stood Thomson, his coat and vest laid aside, his shirt-sleeves rolled above his elbows, and the cat in his hand, with the knotted tails prone upon the deck. Around these two figures, in a compact ring, stood the gentlemen passengers and the captain of the ship, a group of unwilling spectators of the outrage about to be inflicted; whilst outside them again, and completely hemming them in beyond all possibility of escape, crowded the half-drunken mutineers, armed to the teeth, and bandying brutal and obscene jests back and forth. Then there was the huge bulk of the disabled ship, surging madly forward like a hunted creature dizzy and reeling with terror, her spacious decks knee-deep in the water which was incessantly pouring in over her bulwarks as she rolled gunwale-under; and for a background the mountainous seas careering swiftly past, with their lofty crests towering high and menacingly all round the ship, and the leaden-hued, stormy sky.
The deep and painful silence which prevailed was broken by Rogers’ harsh voice remarking—
“Now, Thomson, you knows your dooty, which is to give the pris’ner on the gratin’ five and twenty lashes, well laid on. So go ahead, my man, and let’s see if you can’t make him yell a bit louder than you did poor Dicky Rudd.”
Thomson glanced at the speaker and nodded. The hope which he entertained of an eventual escape from death had thrown him into a state of terrible excitement, bordering almost upon madness; his ghastly pallor had vanished, and was now superseded by a deep purplish tinge, resulting from the violent rush of blood to the head; the veins upon his forehead stood out like cords, his eyes glowed like those of a wild animal, and his jaws were flecked with foam streaked with blood, which trickled from a wound in his lower lip, where in his terrible excitement he had unconsciously bitten it through.
This frenzied creature nodded his comprehension of Rogers’ command, and, gathering himself up like an animal about to make a spring, he drew the tails of the cat slowly through his closed left hand, measured his distance carefully, and, making a quick bound forward, brought the nine knotted lashes down upon the mate’s naked shoulders with a demoniac strength which seemed to literally bury them in the quivering flesh. The mate responded to this with a sharp yell, which was greeted by the mutineers with mocking laughter, Rogers remarking to Thomson that, “That was pretty well; but, you know, you can do a deal better’n that.” The second stroke—but why go further with the description of the sickening scene? Let it suffice to say that when the inanimate body of the mate was cast loose from the grating, it bore the appearance of having been mangled by the teeth and claws of some savage beast rather than by a human being.
“So far, so good,” observed Rogers. “That ends act the first. Now, Thomson, it’s your turn, you know. Strip, my boy, without makin’ any bones about it; and let’s see if you can take y’ur punishment any better’n your superior hossifer.”
The man spoke in a rallying tone of such geniality that Thomson grew more sanguine than ever as to the remission of the more serious part of his sentence, and, with a ghastly grin in response to Rogers’ patronising smile, he began to slowly strip. He even, after drawing his shirt over his head, summoned the courage to walk up to the grating, and, leaning his body upon it, to spontaneously stretch out his arms and legs to the proper position.
When the wretched man was securely “spread-eagled” on the grating, Talbot and another man were ordered to step forward and administer the flogging, which they did, relieving each other at the completion of every dozen lashes, until the entire fifty had been inflicted. The punishment was terribly severe; but the intense excitement under which the second mate laboured enabled him to retain his consciousness throughout, and even to stand without assistance on being cast loose. A stiff “reviver” of grog was administered to him by Rogers’ order, and he was then told to dress himself.
The critical moment was now at hand when the miserable Thomson’s state of torturing suspense was to cease, when he would know for certain whether these men were actually relentless, or whether, having already wreaked an ample vengeance upon him, they would be content to ignore the remainder of his sentence; which, after all, he was more than half-inclined to believe was nothing but a cruel hoax, arranged beforehand for the purpose of giving him a good fright.
Hopeful as he was, however, upon this score, he could not help feeling terribly anxious; and it was with the utmost difficulty that he controlled his quaking nerves sufficiently to replace his clothing without assistance. During the time that he was thus engaged, the circle which hemmed him in was maintained unbroken; the mutineers watching his motions with strong interest, and indulging freely in jocular comments and jeering encouragement as he winced and shrank at the chafe of his clothing on his lacerated back and shoulders.
At length he stood once more before them, fully clothed, his eyes glowing like carbuncles, his visage blanched, and his whole frame quivering with pain and the tensity of excitement and suspense.
“Wery good, Thomson; wery good indeed,” remarked Rogers approvingly; “you’ve showed a great deal more pluck than any of us have ever give you credit for—so far. If you only behaves as well for the next ten minutes, we shall feel quite a respec’ for y’ur mem’ry. Now, shipmates, and pris’ners all, for’ard we goes, to carry out the second part of the sentence.”
At the word, two of the mutineers stepped forward, and, placing themselves one on each side of the second mate, linked their arms in his and led him forward, halting him just beneath the fore-yard; the remainder of the crowd following in a body and forming in a circle round him as before. Then, at Rogers’ command, one of the mutineers separated himself from the main body, and in the course of a minute or two was seen leisurely ascending the fore-rigging with a tail-block in one hand and the end of a coil of light line in the other.
Thomson glanced upward at this man, and like a lightning-stroke the conviction flashed upon him that his doom was indeed sealed—that the death-sentence passed upon him was no grim and ghastly piece of jocularity, no hoax practised upon him to test his courage, but that it was spoken in cruel and bitter earnest. For a second or two his heart stood still, his head swam, his sight failed him, and a feeling of horrible nausea oppressed him. He realised at last that he was about to die; that, standing there on that reeling deck as he did in the full strength and prime of lusty manhood, with all his energies mental and physical at their best, the sands of his life had so nearly run out that the few last grains were even now falling in the hour-glass of his fate. Then, in a single instant, the whole of his past life rose up before him, with every thought, word, and deed clearly and sharply reproduced. And, as it did so, the present world and all its concerns, its petty aspirations, ambitions, hopes, and strivings, dwindled away into the most contemptible insignificance; his mental vision cleared; he saw how full had been his life of great and noble possibilities—as are the lives of all of us, would we but allow ourselves to see that it is so—and he saw, too, how completely he had missed his mark; how very far his own evil passions had led him astray from the narrow and seldom-trodden path which, faithfully followed, leads to that highest possible attainment of humanity—True Goodness.
Ah! how bitterly he repented him then of all his lost, or rather his cast-away, opportunities. From his earliest youth he had chosen to follow evil rather than good; he had turned persistently away from the right; and now there was neither time nor opportunity left him for reparation. The utter blankness and uselessness of his life stood revealed to him as one long, unbroken, unanswerable accusation; and, in his mad despair, he suddenly dashed aside the two men who held him in their custody, sprang with a single bound to the rail, and, placing his hands upon the top of the topgallant-bulwark, vaulted clear over it before a single hand could be outstretched to restrain him, and with a yell which evermore rang in the ears of those who heard it, threw up his hands and vanished for ever into the dark and terrible depths of his ocean-grave.
The little crowd of spectators stood for a few moments silent and almost stupefied at this sudden and tragic disappearance of the second mate from their midst. The occurrence was so totally unexpected that it in a measure sobered the mutineers, who regarded each other with some such expression as that of a group of school-boys terrified at the sudden occurrence of some disaster, the result of their own mischievous acts, and each anxious to shift the blame and responsibility from his own shoulders to those of the others.
The first to recover his self-possession was Rogers, who exclaimed with an obviously forced laugh—
“Well, curse me if that ain’t a good un! What, in the name of all that’s foolish, made the man do that? He might ha’ knowed as we was only goin’ to frighten him a bit. You’ll bear me out, shipmates, that we was all agreed to go no further than the frightenin’ of him a bit, and meant to let him off arter we’d made fast the rope, and let him stand with it round his neck a minute or two. Now, ain’t them there the facts o’ the case?”
“Ay, ay, Ned; you’re right, bo’; that’s just exactly how’t was,” was the reply.
“Nevertheless,” answered Captain Arnold sternly, “you are as much murderers, every one of you, as if you had hanged the man—as you seemed about to do—or had taken him up and flung him over the side with your own hands. You drove him to his death; his blood is upon your hands; and you will individually be called upon to answer for your accursed deed, if not in this world, certainly in the next.”
The men cowered like whipped hounds before the captain’s denunciation, which they knew in their inmost souls to be just; for an instant they stood appalled before the awful conviction that they were indeed murderers, none the less guilty because their crime was unintentional; and, but for the swift intervention of Rogers, they would there and then, in their horror and remorse, have yielded up possession of the ship, and returned to their duty. But the boatswain, taking in at a glance the critical state of affairs, and fully realising his own perilous position as the ring-leader in the mutiny, rallied his men by exclaiming—
“There now, belay all that, you Arnold; we wants none of your preachin’, and, what’s more, we won’t have it. And, shipmates, don’t you take no notice of what he says; we never meant to take the second mate’s life; we’d ha’ stopped him from drownin’ hisself if we could; and so it’s just all gammon to talk about our bein’ his—his—murderers. Now march the pris’ners down into the fo’c’s’le again; clap the bilboes on ’em; shut down the scuttle upon ’em; and then come aft into the cabin, all hands, and we’ll ‘freshen the nip.’”
This proposal to “freshen the nip”—or take another glass or two of grog—was eagerly welcomed by the mutineers, who felt that they must have something to dispel those qualms of conscience which so greatly disturbed them; and in another quarter of an hour they were all—with the exception of two men at the wheel and one on the poop, who was supposed to be acting as lookout—once more assembled round the saloon-table, busily endeavouring to drown their sense of guilt in a flood of liquor.
The ladies—who had long before effected a retreat to their own state-rooms, where they had locked themselves in—were for some time allowed to remain unmolested; but when the libations in which the mutineers liberally indulged had at last achieved their desired effect, and the spirits of the men began to rise, one of the most reckless of them proposed that the ladies should be invited to grace the revel with their presence. The proposal was received with acclamation, and the unhappy women were forthwith ordered into the saloon. The poor terrified creatures at first made no response, hoping that if no notice were taken of them the intoxicated mutineers would forget all about them, and leave them in peace. But this hope was of short duration, for the mutineers, drinking deep and rapidly, soon grew excited, and, finding their repeated demands of no avail, staggered to their feet, and, breaking open the state-room doors, dragged forth their victims, compelling them to seat themselves at the same table and partake with them of the liquor with which it was bountifully supplied. The scene which followed is simply too shameful for detailed description. The men, inflamed by drink and rendered reckless by a feeling which none of them could entirely shake off—that they had already offended past all forgiveness—speedily grew more and more outrageous in their behaviour, until the orgie became one of such unbridled licence that one of the ladies—the young and lovely wife of one of the passengers imprisoned in the forecastle—in her desperation drew a pistol from the belt of the man nearest her, and, quickly cocking it, placed the muzzle to her breast, pulled the trigger, and sank upon the saloon floor a corpse, shot through the heart.
This second fatality, more sudden if possible than the first, brought the unholy revel to an abrupt conclusion; the mutineers, thoroughly horrified at the occurrence, notwithstanding their drunken condition, staggering to their feet with one accord, and making the best of their way out on deck, where they sought to sober themselves by plunging their heads into buckets of water.
Having to some extent succeeded in this endeavour, they next bethought themselves of the desirability of putting the ship to rights. It was still blowing very heavily, and the sea was higher than ever—dangerously so indeed, as the ship had more than once narrowly escaped being pooped—but the sky looked a trifle less wild than before, and the glass was rising. Rogers therefore determined, as a first step, to get up a new foresail, bend, and set it. The sail-room was accordingly opened, and then, in pursuance of their resolution to do as little work as possible themselves, the prisoners in the forecastle were brought up on deck, and ordered, first to rouse out the sail, and then to go aloft and bend it. This the unfortunate passengers, aided and directed by the captain, at length accomplished, though it was at the imminent risk of their lives, the violent motion of the ship momentarily threatening to send them—unaccustomed as they were to such work—whirling off the yard into the sea. The sail being bent, it was loosed and set, close-reefed; after which the disabled ship not only steered more easily, but also became more steady; all further danger, too, of being pooped was at an end.
The spare spars were next cast adrift, and preparations made for getting new topmasts on end as soon as the weather should moderate sufficiently; and thus passed that eventful day.
Walford was soon found to be so exceedingly timid when aloft, that he was not only of no use there, he was absolutely a clog and hindrance to the efforts of the others; he was accordingly relegated to the ignominious post of cook’s mate, in which an abundance of the dirtiest work was carefully provided for him.
On the second day after his assumption of his new duties, this unfortunate individual, while engaged in the task of getting up coals from the fore-peak, was unlucky enough to capsize the lamp which he was using, and so set the ship on fire. Instead of giving the alarm instantly, as he ought to have done, he rushed on deck with the intention of getting some buckets of water, and endeavouring to extinguish the fire unaided. No sooner, however, did he make his appearance than he was hustled peremptorily off by the cook upon another errand; and when he returned, a quarter of an hour later, the forecastle was all ablaze, and the smoke just beginning to curl up through the scuttle.
Then indeed he shouted “Fire!” with all his might, and at the terrible cry all hands rushed forward, to find the alarm only too true.
In the first mad hurry and confusion, no one seemed to think of inquiring how the fire had originated; and Walford was beginning to congratulate himself that, whatever happened, his complicity would not be suspected, when Talbot, happening to run up against him, stopped abruptly, and exclaimed—
“Ha! you lubber, I saw you creeping up and down the forecastle ladder just now, as gingerly as a cat walking upon hot bricks—you ought to know something about this job—and by Jove you do, too; I can see it by the blink of your eyes—so out with it, you long-shore lantern-jawed son of a baked monkey.”
To this elegant adjuration Walford began to stammer out an exculpatory explanation, which, however, was abruptly nipped in the bud by the boatswain’s mate exclaiming—
“There, belay all that and coil up the slack of your jawing-tackle; there’s no time to talk now; tail on there and try to make yourself useful. But look out, my lad if this fire gets the upper hand of us; curse me, if we don’t leave you to roast in it.”
A vigorous attack upon the fire was speedily organised, Rogers and Talbot each taking command of a separate party, which they were careful so to arrange that there should be no possibility of their prisoners concerting together in a successful attempt to retake the ship. So far, however, as the passengers were concerned, they appeared to be far too anxious to subdue the flames to have time for any other thought or consideration.
All through the ensuing night this curiously-constituted party laboured in their efforts to get the upper hand of the fire; but it had been allowed to obtain too firm a hold upon the ship before the alarm was given; much of the cargo was of a highly combustible nature, and though, by the zeal and energy with which all hands worked, they succeeded to some extent in retarding the progress of the flames, when day at length broke, it became apparent to all that the ship was doomed.
When at last they were compelled, from sheer exhaustion, to desist for a time from their long-continued and fatiguing efforts, the fact—which had hitherto escaped their notice—became apparent that, happily, the gale had blown itself out; the wind had already dropped considerably, and the sea, though it was still very high, no longer broke in its former dangerous and menacing fashion.
Upon seeing this, Rogers at once came to the determination not to waste any further labour in the useless endeavour to save the ship, but to devote all his energies to the getting of the boats safely into the water. The mutineers were by this time perfectly sober once more, and having shaken off with their intoxication the recklessness which it had engendered, they felt keenly anxious to escape the responsibility of any further waste of human life.
But, as usual in such cases, their own escape, not only from the danger of being burnt with the ship, but also from the punishment due to their misdeeds, was of paramount importance with them. Before commencing, therefore, upon the difficult task of launching the boats, Rogers informed his unfortunate prisoners that he was willing to give them a couple of boats, with all necessary provisions and water, if they would individually take a solemn oath never to reveal any of the circumstances connected with the mutiny, nor to say or do anything which would place the mutineers within the power of the law. If they would do this, they might have the boats; if not, he informed them that they would be left on board the burning ship, and that the mutineers would take such measures as would effectually preclude any possibility of escape. Under the circumstances the prisoners had no alternative but to comply, which they did, and the launching of the boats was then vigorously proceeded with.
This task, after an immense amount of difficulty, and two or three exceedingly narrow escapes from the accident of having the boats stove or swamped, was at length satisfactorily accomplished; after which no time was lost in provisioning and manning them.
As soon as the boats were ready to receive them, the ladies were summoned from the saloon to take their places therein. The poor creatures could hardly be persuaded, in their terror and distraction, to leave even such inefficient protection as the saloon afforded them, so great was their horror and repugnance at the idea of being brought once more, even though it might be for ever so short a time, into the presence and propinquity of the mutineers. And when at length they emerged from the saloon, and, standing upon the wet and slippery deck, glanced first aloft at the splintered spars, the tattered remains of the sails, and the ends and bights of rope streaming in the wind, then at the great tongues of flame and clouds of smoke which enwrapped the forepart of the ship, and, lastly, over the side at the boats tossing like egg-shells upon the mountainous seas which swept hissing past, their courage entirely failed them; and it was not until Rogers, growing impatient at the delay, strode up to them and gave them the choice of going instantly and without further ado over the side and into the boats, or of being left behind altogether, that they could be persuaded to essay the dangerous adventure.
At length, however, by the exercise of great care and circumspection on the part of all concerned, the trans-shipment of the ladies was safely effected, and then the gentlemen were ordered to go. The husband of the unhappy lady who had been so cruelly driven to suicide had been for some time eagerly looking about for his wife, and, not seeing her, he at last made inquiry of the other ladies as to her whereabouts. His grief, when the dreadful news of her death was gradually broken to him with all that gentleness of which a woman’s tender, loving heart alone is capable, was something pitiful to witness; he rushed into the saloon, and entering the state-room in which the poor lady’s inanimate body had been reverently deposited by her companions in misfortune, flung himself upon his knees by the side of the berth, and uttered alternately the wildest prayers that heaven would pardon her act of desperation, and the bitterest curses upon the heads of those who had driven her to it. It was with the utmost difficulty that he was at last persuaded by Captain Arnold to bid an eternal farewell to the beloved remains, and to join the rest of the party in the boats allotted to them.
On hearing the order given for the gentlemen to pass down into the boats, Walford mingled with the group and pressed quietly forward to the gangway, having a vivid remembrance of Talbot’s terrible threat, and not caring to remind him of it by a too obtrusive exhibition of his anxiety to escape. But in consequence of the still heavy run of the sea, several of the mutineers—both Rogers and Talbot being among them—were assisting at the transfer; and when Walford’s turn came to pass down over the side, he was summarily ordered back by the boatswain’s mate, who gruffly exclaimed, as his eye fell upon the quaking lieutenant—
“Here, you! stand back, will yer? Your turn ain’t come yet.”
Walford at once fell back, in a state of most painful trepidation, but still hopeful that he would be allowed to go with the rest. When all the passengers but himself, however, had passed down the side, the order was given for them to cast off, which they at once did, ignorant or forgetful of the fact that one of their number still remained behind. Walford was about to rush to the gangway, and hail the fast receding boat, when the ever-watchful Talbot caught him by the collar, and flung him from him with an “Ah! would yer,” and a kick which sent the unfortunate officer sprawling upon the deck.
It was now the turn of the mutineers to take to the boats, and it was not long before they stood in the gangway, each with the bag containing his few belongings in his hand, waiting to be passed in turn down over the side. Rogers rapidly ran his eye over them, satisfied himself that everybody was present, and then began to call out their names in the order in which they were to leave the ship. When one boat had received its complement and shoved off, Walford once more pressed forward, half wild with anxiety now, and begged in piteous terms that he might not be left on board, as now seemed to be the actual determination of the mutineers. Upon this Talbot lost all patience with him, and, seizing him once more by the collar, thrust him before him into the saloon, exclaiming as he did so—
“Now look here, you meddlesome young jackanapes, there’s been enough blood spilt on board this ship already—chiefly in consekence of your havin’ shoved in your oar where it weren’t wanted, and advisin’ the skipper to flog a sick man—and I don’t want to have to shed any more, you understand? Wery well, then; you stay in here until that there clock have marked off a good half-hour; arter that you may come out and do the best you can for yourself; there’s plenty o’ spars knockin’ about the decks here, which you can lash together, and make a tip-top raft out of ’em, upon which you can go for a cruise on your own account; but if you shows your ugly head outside this here cabin before the half-hour’s out, damn me if I won’t lash your neck and heels together, and heave you into the middle of the fire there for’ard. Comprenny?”
So saying, he coolly shifted the key from the inside to the outside of the saloon-door, slammed the latter, turned the key, and then the wretched Walford heard the heavy tramp of his footsteps upon the deck rapidly growing fainter and more faint as he walked away.