Mr. MacFarlane, however, maintained with polite firmness—land to starboard not being a theological matter—that land there was on the starboard bow, N. by NE. as well as he could reckon.
"Nonsense, Mr. MacFarlane," said the Old Man.
But he rose from his tea at once, took his binoculars and clambered on deck. A little while afterwards he returned in a state of odd excitement, accompanied by Mr. Thompson, and they spread out a chart on the cabin table.
"By God," said the Old Man, "it's the Island of San Pedro." And he suddenly brought his fist down on the chart. Moreover, he pronounced the name with a curious intensity. "By God," he said, "I haven't seen that island for four and twenty years. We tried to dodge a typhoon, but was caught in her, and went aground on the Island of San Pedro. There was only me and the ship's bye as lived to tell the tale."
The voice of the Old Man had grown hoarse, and in his eyes was a glow of dark excitement. Suddenly they met full and square the startled eyes of the boy who was listening eagerly.
"Only me and the ship's bye," said the Old Man, his voice falling lower. "We lived six weeks on shellfish and the boots and clothes of the dead."
The voice of the Old Man sank to a thrilling whisper. He then said sharply: "Bye, a bottle o' brandy."
When Henry Harper brought the brandy his face was like a piece of white chalk.
"Only me and the ship's bye," repeated the Old Man in a hoarse whisper. "The others went ravin' mad. We knifed 'em one by one; it was the kindest thing to do. The bye didn't go ravin' mad till afterwards. And there weren't no Board of Trade Inquiry."
"No, sir," said Mr. Thompson, nodding his ugly head and speaking in a slow, inhuman voice.