“Not it,” said Rasp; “and if it is, what then? I only mean to give him a dose of it, and if he dies, why that’s his fault.”
“And ours,” said Oakum.
“Yah!” ejaculated Rasp. “Look here, old squeamish, that chap’s a tiger, and if he gets loose, he’ll be the death of all on us, won’t he?”
“Devil a doubt on it,” said Oakum.
“Very well, then: I’ve got a score to pay him off,” growled Rasp; “so’s them poor fellows who’ve got the mark of his knife on them; and, besides, I kep him from cutting my soots to pieces on purpose to give him a taste.”
“But it’s like murder,” said Oakum.
“It was like murder for him to cut that there chube when the best diver in England was down; and now we’ll see how he likes it.”
“What, and cut the toob?” said Oakum, with a look of horror on his honest face.
“Not I. I’ll only send the warmint down, and give him a quarter of an hour, that’s all.”
Oakum gave way, and felt a grim kind of satisfaction in helping to bring the Cuban on deck, where, in spite of his struggles, he was forced to assume one of the diving suits, and almost before he knew it the helmet was thrust over his head and secured, making him a complete prisoner, at the mercy of his tormentors.