"It's me, sir; it's Jack Bisset, the man you reported to the commander. You were quite right, and though we haven't been friends since, I couldn't sleep to-night of all nights—for it is Christmas morning—till I came to shake hands and make it up."
"All right, Bisset. Let us be friends. I bear no ill-will."
He held out his right hand as he spoke.
This the sailor grasped tightly with his left, then aimed a murderous blow at the poor bos'n's skull, with an iron bar or huge file.
The bos'n fell back; and thinking he had done his murderous work, Bisset dropped the piece of iron and rushed up the ladder. He flew past the sentry, and reaching the forecastle, leaped at once into the sea.
Once again the shout of "Man overboard!" rang fore and aft, and every one was aroused.
But the would-be murderer was seen but for a moment in the moonlight. He threw up his arms as if making one last appeal to Heaven, then sank like a stone.
The bos'n was not killed. The man's blow had missed the skull, but cut the ear almost off.
So ended that tragedy.
* * * * *