“I'll lie here and rot first sir,” he said to Lopez; “my father was an Englishman, and I consider myself as good a boatsteerer and as good a man as any one on board. But I do not mean any disrespect to you, sir.”
Lopez was sorry for the man, but could not say so. “Keep a still tongue between your teeth,” he said roughly, “and I'll talk the old man round by to-morrow.”
“Do as you please, sir. But I won't lift an iron again as long as I am in this ship,” he replied quietly.
He kept his word. On the following morning he was liberated, and in a week's time he had recovered the use of his foot. Then, when the barque was off the Tonga Islands, a large “pod” of whales were sighted. It was a clear, warm day. The sea was as smooth as a lake, and only the faintest air was ruffling the surface of the water. Three miles away were two small, low-lying islands, clad with coco-palms, their white belting of beach glistening like iridescent pearl-shell under the glowing tropic sun.
As the boats were lowered he said to Frewen, “You know what I have said, sir. I won't lift a harpoon again on this cruise; so don't ask me.”
Frewen did not believe him. “Don't be a fool, Randall. We'll show the old man something to-day.”
“I will, sir, if it costs me my life.”
Five minutes later he was in his old place on the for'ard thwart, pulling stolidly, but looking intently at Frewen, whom he loved with a dog-like affection.
Frewen singled out a large bull whale which was lying quite apart from the rest of the “pod” sunning himself, and sometimes rolling lazily from side to side, oblivious of danger. In another five minutes the boat would have been within striking distance.
“Stand up, Randall,” he said.