He groveled at the captain’s feet, he writhed in an agony of fright and dread torture.
A low murmur of disapprobation swept from the lips of the watching crew, but not one of them dared to openly manifest his disapproval of the captain’s course.
Will Bertram alone, boiling over with indignation, murmured audibly, with flushed face and flashing eyes:
“Shame!”
Captain Morris spurned the suppliant boy with his feet, glowered defiantly at the sullen faced crew, and then turned fiercely on Will.
“I’ll show you how I punish insolent and disobedient boys, my pert young friend,” he sneered, malignantly. “Off with your jacket, I tell you!” he thundered at the half-crazed Tom.
“Don’t let him whip me. Save me, save me!” shrieked the tormented boy, appealing to the silent sailors.
And then espying Will, he sprang to his side and caught his hand frantically.
There was not a fibre in Will Bertram’s frame that did not tremble with indignation. He was overwhelmed with sympathy for the friendless Tom, and burning with resentment against the brutal Morris.
One sentence, quickly and impulsively, he whispered into Tom’s ear: