“His only son. Have mercy on him, as you hope for mercy yourself.”
“Stop, Captain Marsland. Do not ask for mercy for me. I did this man a grievous wrong. My life is his. Let him have his due.”
Stenhouse threw down his cutlass with an oath, turned his back on his enemy, and put his hand to his forehead.
Then he faced round sharply, and once more he looked into Fullerton's unmoved face.
“Go,” he said.
And without another word he strode away, followed by his comrades and his savage companions.
SAUNDERSON AND THE DYNAMITE
Saunderson was one of those men who firmly believed that he knew everything, and exasperated people by telling them how to do things; and Denison, the supercargo of the Palestine, hated him most fervently for the continual trouble he was giving to every one, and also because he had brought a harmonium on board, and played dismal tunes on it every night and all day on Sundays. But, as Saunderson was one of the partners in the firm who owned the Palestine, Denison, and Packenham the skipper, had to suffer him in silence, and trust that something might happen to him before long. What irritated Denison more than anything else was that Saunderson frequently expressed the opinion that supercargoes were superfluous luxuries to owners, and that such work “as they tried to do could well be done by the captains, provided the latter were intelligent men.”
“Never mind, Tom,” said Packenham hopefully, one day, “he's a big eater, and is bound to get the fever if we give him a fair show in the Solomons. Then we can dump him ashore at some missionary's—he and his infernal groan-box—and go back to Sydney without the beast.”