“Ah! It would be very dreadful if they did, Dale. Have they been fed this morning?”
“Why, you talk as if they were wild beasts in a cage, Mr Preddle,” I said merrily.
“So they are,” he cried,—“worse. I feel sometimes as if I could kill them all.”
“Gone to her own cabin, Dale,” said Mr Frewen, meeting us at the saloon-door-way, and Mr Preddle looked at us inquiringly.
“Dale is afraid of Miss Denning seeing his wounds,” said Mr Frewen, laughing. “He does not think they look the proper kind to be proud of.”
“I wish you wouldn’t joke me about my bad face, Mr Frewen,” I said, as we entered the far cabin, where the mate was seated by Captain Berriman’s cot, and I was startled to see how changed he looked.
But his eyes were bright, and he held out his hand to each in turn, as we stood about with the door well open, the place of course being very small.
“Now, sir,” said Mr Brymer, firmly, “you know how we stand. I’m horribly averse to taking life, but things cannot go on as they are.”
“No,” said the captain, in a voice hardly above a whisper. “You must act now, and firmly, before there is loss of life on our side.”
“That means then,” said Mr Frewen, “shooting down every man who attacks us.”