"I saw it thrown, sir," I answered; "but I could not tell which one threw it."
"And wouldn't tell me if you could!" he sneered. "I can see that in your face."
"Mr. Butterell," I said as calmly as was possible, "if I knew which one threw it, I should tell you; for their unbrotherly conduct just now destroyed what sympathy I may have felt for them."
"Sympathy for them!" he exploded. And now I knew the animus of his heckling of me—his audience was again looking down at us. "Sympathy for them!" He shook one finger under my nose. "Now I'll tell you, young fellow," he continued, "before we go any further, that I'm first mate of this craft and I'll dictate the sympathies of any man under me!"
"And I'm second," I retorted hotly, "with a right to sympathize with whom I like! And take your hand away from my face, Mr. Butterell!"
Let me forestall any sympathy I may have aroused for myself. I am not the hero of this story. There is a heroine, but no hero; for neither the mild-natured Captain Merwin, half hypnotized by the dashing Mr. Butterell into a surrender of his principles, Mr. Butterell, actuated by the cheapest motives of vanity and self-love, nor myself, embittered by disappointment, jealousy, and other unworthy emotions—none of us, I say, acted a heroic part from beginning to end. Mr. Butterell took his hand away from my face, as I had demanded; but it became a fist and came back.
I parried the blow and struck back at his face; but it was like parrying a battering ram and striking a stone wall. It was the only blow I struck in that fight, if fight it may be called. He was larger, heavier, and quicker than myself, and soon I felt his fist crashing between my eyes, and my world went out in a blinding flash of light. I came to in a few moments, I think, and found myself in the lee scuppers with Mabel bending over me, her face all sympathy and kindliness. I could barely see it between my closing eyelids; but could also see Mr. Butterell standing up to windward with Captain Merwin, laughingly explaining his code of ethics. "Yes, sir," he was saying. "I consider that there's less difference between your second mate and the dubs I kicked forward than between myself and a captain. That goes, Captain Merwin, or you can put me aboard the first inbound ship!"
I struggled to my feet and, pushing past Mabel, approached the two as the captain answered, "Yes, yes, Mr. Butterell, I understand; but I am sorry, very sorry. I had hoped—I hope there will be no more fighting."
"No, sir," I broke in rather insanely, "there'll be no more fighting with fists, I promise you that. But let me say to you, sir," I faced Mr. Butterell, "that there's less difference between you and a dead man than there is between you and a captain. If you ever strike me again, I'll kill you, if I have to knife you through your window while you are asleep."