A moment or two of complete silence followed the utterance of his closing words; and then Rogers, looking him straight in the face, said—
“Well, pris’ner, have yer quite finished?”
“Surely I have said sufficient to demonstrate to you the impolicy, as well as the injustice, of making me suffer for the faults of others?” exclaimed Walford.
“Glad you think so,” replied Rogers, with a sardonic grin. “Howsoever,” he continued, “you may keep y’ur mind easy about one thing; we ain’t goin’ to make yer ‘suffer for the faults of others,’ as you calls it; you’ll only be made to suffer for faults of y’ur own; and bad enough you’ll find that, I reckon. Now, Ben, what’s the charge agin this one?”
“I charges him,” answered Talbot, “with havin’ wilfully spoke the words what got poor Dicky Rudd two dozen lashes at the gangway, when the poor feller was ’most too sick to stand upright. If he hadn’t spoke as likely as not the skipper had never ha’ thought of it, and, so far as that goes, I believes that all hands of us is agreed that he wouldn’t. Therefore I charges this here pris’ner with bein’ the man what acshully got poor Dicky his floggin’.”
“You hears, pris’ner, what the crew has against yer; what have yer got to say to it?” interrogated Rogers.
Walford had evidently either forgotten all about his ill-advised suggestion, or had believed the crew to be ignorant of it: he seemed to have thought that the utmost extent of the mutineers’ complaint against him would be that he had not interfered in their behalf. When therefore he heard the charge against him, and realised the fact that he was wholly in their power, and utterly at their mercy, his courage—which at the best of times was only of a very flimsy and unreliable character—utterly gave way; he involuntarily turned his eyes for a moment upon the miserable second mate; recalled the fact that the wretched man had been doomed to a speedy and degrading death by the same individuals who were now sitting in judgment upon him; and a shameful panic took possession of him. An uncontrollable shivering fit seized his frame, he was obliged to clench his teeth together, to prevent them from chattering audibly; he glanced wildly round him as if seeking for some means of escape; and, after two or three ineffectual efforts to speak, he managed to gasp out brokenly through his clenched teeth and quivering lips—
“I—I—I give you—my—my sacred word of honour, gen-gentlemen, that I was o-only in—jest. I nev-never believed for a—a moment that Cap-t-tain Arnold would t-take my remark seriously, or I as-sure you I would n-n-ever have uttered it. And besides, I re-real-ly believed that your—friend R-R-udd was—was only sh-h—er—ah—I beg your pardon gentlemen, I sc-scarcely know what I am saying, but—oh, gentlemen I don’t be hard upon me—have mercy upon me, for God’s sake! Spare my life, and you may do with me what you will.”
He ceased, from sheer physical inability to utter another word, and, sinking upon his knees, stretched forth his quaking hands in a mute appeal for mercy.
This disgraceful exhibition of cowardice was almost successful in winning for Walford an ignominious release. The mutineers were so unutterably disgusted that, for a moment, their impulse was to kick him out of the cabin like a craven hound and henceforward ignore his existence. But this impulse lasted only for a moment; they recalled to mind the insolent arrogance with which this same cowering creature had treated them when he deemed himself secure from retaliation; and they determined that, while his miserable life was not worth the taking, he should still receive so salutary a lesson as should effectually deter him from any repetition of the offence for the remainder of his life.