It was a strange scene, one which I shall never forget. The tropic shore, the shipwrecked crew, the young girl standing forth as the exponent of right—foolhardy, if you like, but fearless in her righteous indignation.
She raised her hand, commanding the attention of the men.
"Tomkins," she said, "as you shall answer at the day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed, did you wreck the Yankee Blade?"
The man shifted from one foot to the other, his head hanging down. He looked up with ferret eyes from under his sparse eyebrows.
"'Fore God——" began Tomkins.
"You are before God!" said Cynthia sternly.
He ground his feet restlessly, making little pools in the gravel of the shore.
"O Lord!" groaned the Skipper helplessly.
"Well, then, miss, 'fore God, I didn't!"
"Remember you're on oath, Tomkins. Well, then, who did?"