One day he treated with unusual brutality the Italian sailor already referred to, Guido Leporelli.
Guido was a short man, not much over five feet in height, and the captain probably regarded him with contempt, as one whom it would be safe to bully. In personal strength, Leporelli was as a mere child compared to the robust captain, but he had his share of the fiery and revengeful spirit that characterizes a large number of his countrymen.
On this day the mate caught the glance with which he regarded the captain. It made him shudder.
“I should not like to make an enemy of Leporelli,” he said to himself. “I think he means mischief.”
It was in his mind to warn Captain Richmond of his danger, but he reflected that, should he do so, it would bring upon the Italian worse treatment than ever, and he was not willing to run this risk.
“The captain must take his chances,” he decided.
It was on the morning of the ninth day after leaving the island that Captain Richmond, in pacing the deck, came upon Leporelli. The Italian was moving at a slow pace, for he had a rheumatic affection in his left leg.
“Move faster, you lazy hound!” said the captain, roughly, and he dealt the little Italian a cruel blow in the face.
The eyes of Guido Leporelli blazed with wrath. With a smothered ejaculation in his native tongue he pulled out a murderous-looking knife, which he had been carrying for several days, and in a flash it was buried in the breast of the burly captain.
Captain Richmond fell forward, dying almost instantly, for the knife had penetrated his heart.