There was another order, in the same sharp voice. Instantly, while the fisherman still stood, staring, with his weapon in the motion of striking, a blast of fire spat at him from six carbines. His head went up, exposing his broad brown throat. He thrust his hands before him, all the fingers out-spread. With his eyes wide open, he tottered and pitched face down.
Another order, and the sailors wheeled, covering the islanders.
“Dan!” screamed a girl in the crowd. “Hush! Don’t look!” An older woman caught her around the neck and pressed the girl’s face to her breast.
“He brought it on himself!” said the Lieutenant to the fishermen. “Take warning! That is war!” He turned, and walked to the beach.
The dead man lay where he had fallen. The bluejackets, lowering their carbines, came to rest beyond him, facing the Block Islanders impassively.
None of these had said a word. Save for the outcry of the girl and the woman’s “Hush!” there had been utter silence, as if the discharge of the weapons had swept away speech. Slowly clenching and unclenching their hands, the big, weather-beaten, strong men stared at the corpse that lay huddled so awkwardly before them.
One of the women touched a white-haired, white-bearded islander on the arm. “Won’t they let us have him!” She turned her eyes toward the dead man. “It don’t seem hardly right—to let him lay there.”
The old man looked at her as if waking from a trance. He passed his rough hand over his brow. With his slow, wide fisherman’s stride, he stepped forward. The sailors instantly brought their weapons up.
The old man pointed dumbly to the corpse. In reply, a sailor indicated the Lieutenant with a gesture.
The fisherman walked to the Lieutenant. “I wanted to ask you—” he began, but a signalman interrupted him, pointing at his head. The Block Islander looked at him, bewildered. Impatiently, the sailor pointed again, and the islander understood.