“Yes; I believe Him to be omnipotent, both on earth and in heaven.”
It was as I had expected—my reply had provoked him to murder; for as the words left my lips he, for the second time, drew his pistol from his belt, cocked it, and deliberately pressed the muzzle of the barrel to my temple, exclaiming, as he did so—
“Very well. Then let us see whether He has the power to save you from my bullet!”
And, glaring like a madman straight into my eyes, he held it there while one might perhaps have slowly counted ten, and then pulled the trigger. There was a sharp click and a little shower of sparks as the flint-lock fell, and—that was all.
“Missed fire, by all the furies!” he exclaimed, dashing the weapon violently to the deck, where it instantly exploded. “Well, you have proved your faith, at all events, and have escaped with your life by the mere accident of my pistol having missed fire, and there is an end of it for the present. Here, take my hand; you are a plucky young dog and no mistake, but you did wrong to provoke me; take my advice and don’t do it again, lest worse befall you.”
“No,” said I, “I will not take your hand. You saved—or rather, spared—my life once, it is true, but you have threatened it twice, and it is no thanks to you that I am alive at this moment. We are now quits, for this last act of yours has wiped out whatever obligation I may have owed you for your former clemency. I will not take your hand; and I warn you that I will leave your ship on the first opportunity that presents itself.”
And I turned away and left him.
Shortly afterwards Mendouca went below; and a few minutes after his disappearance the steward came up to me and informed me that “supper”—as the evening meal is called at sea—was ready.
“I shall not go below, steward,” I said. “If Captain Mendouca will allow you to do so, I should like you to bring me a cup of coffee and a biscuit up here.”
“Very well, señor,” the man answered. “I will bring them.”