Niven grinned in a sickly fashion. "He asked me where I felt bad, and I told him everywhere," he said. "Then he and the steward pulled the clothes off me and prodded me with their fists. They didn't seem to find anything broken, but I was sore all over, and I'd sooner be whacked with a horse-girth than go through that again."
"Smacked with a horse-girth!" said Lawson, reflectively. "Now I've been kicked—with sea boots—a good many times, but that would be a new sensation. What does it feel like?"
"If you want to know you can ask Appleby," said Niven. "I fancy he could tell you."
Appleby laughed, for he saw his comrade was recovering. "But what about the Dutchman?" he said.
Lawson shook his head. "I only know the old man went forward to look at him, and he's tolerably bad. He came down bang on his shoulder, you see. Did the mate know he had only one arm that was any good to him, Appleby?"
"Yes," said Appleby slowly. "He was there when the man hurt it, and just before he went up I heard him tell him. I saw the mate double up his fist too—and the Dutchman had to go."
There was silence for a moment or two, intensified by the roar of wind, and the lads looked at one another with a curious grimness which seemed out of place there in their young faces.
"If he doesn't get better it's manslaughter, any way," said somebody. "Now we've had almost enough of this. What's to be done, Lawson?"
Lawson stared at the lamp for almost a minute before he answered. "If the man comes round we can't do anything," he said. "Of course we and the men could make a declaration about ill-usage at Vancouver, but the old man would back the mate up and we'd only be quietly sat upon. If the Dutchman dies it would be a little easier. The old man would have to put down all about it in the log, but he'd fix it the nicest way and then get two witnesses—the mate and the second mate—to sign it."
"Would the second mate do it?" said Appleby.