The German put something between his dished palms and shook it violently; then clinched one hand, and thrust it out into the full blaze of the lamplight.
The quartermaster cried “head.” The other unwrapped his grimy fingers with slow jerks, and showed. The coin was a halfpenny, Britannia uppermost. The quartermaster buttoned his cardigan jacket, and drew himself up to face the upper bridge.
“Hold up your hand!”
It shot up to the full length, fingers splayed out. Then crack! and a bullet ripped through the middle of the palm. The fellow let out a short yelp of surprise, and clapped the wounded member tightly under his armpit. The men around him, utterly cowed, stood in frozen silence; and Captain Owen Kettle from the bridge waved slow patterns over them with a revolver muzzle.
Then he crammed both weapons into his jacket pockets again, and gave orders—sharply, crisply, and with decision.
“Watch below, get forward, and turn in. Watch on duty, go to your posts. Quartermaster of the watch, tumble up here. Sou’-west and by sou’.”
A quartermaster ran briskly up the bridge ladder.
“S’-west and by sou’ it is, sir,” he replied. It was the only comment any of the crew made to Captain Kettle on his method.