He half raised himself, and looked at us. "Let there be no trouble, boys—for God's sake, no fighting!" he said. Then he fainted away again.
We undressed him, and Boston pronounced his ribs sound. Then we carried him into the starboard foc'sle, and placed him in my bunk, which had a comfortable mattress.
"Now you see what he got?" said Boston, wiping his hands on his greasy pants. "And you see what you got. And you know what happened to Big 'Un. Well, how about it, Shreve? Do you stand with us?"
"With the crowd, sink or swim—that's what we want to know?" added
Blackie.
I sized them up. Sailors and stiffs, they stood shoulder to shoulder. There was no longer a division in that crowd. And they looked to me to lead them.
I was thinking, desperately trying to discover a course that would help
Newman. So I tried to put the crowd off.
"You heard what Holy Joe said?" I asked.
"He's balmy—and besides what d'ye think a Holy Joe would say?" retorted Boston. "Now, here's the lay, Shreve—we got to put a stop to this sort o' work." He pointed to the bunk that held Holy Joe. "That means we got to take charge of this hooker," he went on. "All hands are agreed to it. But where do you stand—with us, or against us?"
I made my plea for peace, knowing beforehand it was useless. "How about Newman?" I said. "You know as well as I that the skipper is out to kill him. And I have Newman's word for it that the Old Man wants to kill the lady, too. He's just waiting for an excuse. That's why he's dressing us down this way, and hazing us raw—so we'll mutiny, and give him the excuse he needs. Can't you see that?"
"He'll croak 'em anyway—and maybe we can save them," retorted Boston.