“No, sir, I wouldn’t leave him to-night for the value of the ship and her cargo. I’m sorry, sir, to go agen your wishes, but he’s my chum, an’ I want to look after his life. Nothing matters to me just now but that.”
Such unexpected opposition on the part of the most docile and quiet of all his officers added to the annoyance he was already feeling nearly maddened the skipper. Besides, he was angry with himself for what he could not but feel was the injustice he was contemplating. He stormed and raged and threatened until the doctor said laconically—
“If you want to kill this man, captain, you can’t do better than go on as you’re doing.”
That sobered him, and calling up all the self-control he had temporarily lost he replied more quietly—
“Oh, all right, it seems I’m bound to be wrong anyway. But as for you, you yellow image, I’ll make you sweat for this. I’ll let you see if you’ll disobey my orders an’ have your own way for nothing”; but there he stopped dead, for Merritt coming closer to him said—
“Don’t talk like that, captain, you ain’t thinkin’. You know you ain’t got a more willin’ man than I am in the ship, an’ I know you’re too good a man to mean what you say. You wouldn’t like this man to be left here at the mercy of a careless Kanaka.”
The captain looked at Merritt doubtfully, and then his better feelings conquered him, and holding out his hand he said—
“You’re right, Merritt, of course. I’m so upset I don’t know what I’m sayin’. But I feel that rattled that nothin’ ’d please me better than to have a number one row with somebody, an’ I only hope Winsloe don’t get talkin’ to-night. Good-night, I’ll be ashore before breakfast.” And he departed for the jetty, where his patient boat’s crew were still sitting, waiting through all the stirring scenes that had transpired. He stepped into the boat, crying, “Shove off! Pull two stern three, so, give way together,” and off flew the boat to the ship.
Fortunately Mr. Winsloe was not on watch, and Spurrell was far too good a man to be caught napping, so as soon as the captain came alongside the officer was ready to receive him, the hands stood by the fall and the boat was immediately hoisted to her place. And in ten minutes all was quiet again on board, for the captain went straight to his bunk and turned in, determined to sleep off his annoyance.
During the night the captain had several long intervals of wakefulness, every one of them occupied by reflections upon the happenings of the day. And suddenly he remembered the promise he had made to C. B.’s mother at that meeting which now seemed to be so far away, and his conscience smote him, for that he found himself willing to sacrifice an innocent man to avoid trouble for himself. It is done every day and by people who ordinarily would scorn to do an unjust or unkind action, but under the plea of business exigencies they will perpetrate this basest of all betrayals. I hear now the voice of a good man, a man whose name stands above all possibility of defamation, saying to me—