The old steward obeyed with alacrity, for it was only too evident what he wanted them for. Hicks, however, burst forth into a laugh.
“Hold on, Captain Howard,” said he. “You forget this isn’t exactly a pirate ship. Bless your old heart, you would pistol them both.”
“And I will,” said the old villain, cocking back the flints of the weapons.
He had formerly had the playful habit of loosing off one or both of his pistols under the table, to suddenly emphasize an after-dinner argument, and the rough habits of his early days stuck to him, only now the weapons appeared above the board. The game of grub, I learned, was one he had practised with his mates in the old days when the gambling habit had taken so strong hold upon him he must play at something.
Hicks, however, would hear of no such thing as shooting us without trial. The captain’s will, he admitted, was law, but we were in an English harbour and not on the high seas, and such action might cause endless trouble if the governor heard of it. Hawkson also urged the necessity of care for the sake of the voyage, and indeed he appeared somewhat worried about the matter until the pistols were finally laid aside and our case taken up.
Tim was asked if he had anything to say why the sentence of death should not be pronounced upon him. It would be fulfilled, with the governor’s permission, sometime that day. He had admitted the testimony of two witnesses, who swore they had seen him wound Renshaw.
He was silent and hung his head. Then he raised it and stood straight before them.
“I don’t mind the sentence,” said he, “but I do mind it coming from such as you.”
“You may gag and take him forward,” said Howard. “He shall be blown from a gun.”
He was led away, and they turned to me.