'Take that fellow first,' said the captain, pointing to the native nearest to him, 'trice him up, and flog him until he speaks.'
Shuddering and sick at heart, Tom saw the man--a strong, well-built savage with a mop of hair twisted into hundreds of greasy curls--seized for punishment, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips when at the third or fourth lash he called out that he would tell.
Dewarrian, he said, was the man who had planned the attack. Dewarrian had killed many white men before, and so they listened to him.
Dewarrian, a big native, was brought before the captain by two seamen; Mr. Harvey stood with them to interpret.
'Dewarrian,' said Hayes, quietly, 'you ought to die. But there are too many blood-stains on this deck. So I will spare your life. Trice him up and give him six dozen. Then let the hands get breakfast.'
'Oh, captain, don't, please don't!' cried Tom. 'Can't you give him some other punishment? Do, I beg of you, let him off any further flogging.'
The passionate tone of entreaty that rang in his voice had its effect; and Hayes considered a moment.
'Very well, Tom, I'll let him off. Put him in irons again, Mr. Harvey, and send him below. I guess he's scared enough as it is.'
At breakfast Tom did not join the captain, who sat alone at the table, apparently not caring for the society of any one. During the rest of the day he scarcely spoke, even to his officers, though Mr. Kelly came and reported himself as fit for duty again. A curt nod was the only recognition he received.
Then followed days of weariness and vexation to all, for the wind failed, and a long calm ensued, and the captain gave way to such mad bursts of rage, that Tom began to sicken of the Leonie and her strange master. One night he spoke to Maori Bill on the matter.