His great red head bore a gash above his ear, and the clotted blood made a sickening spectacle. But his spirit was neither bent nor broken.
“’Twould have been better if we was all killed in th’ scuffle,” he said, in a deep, sad voice. It may have been the roaring in my head from the blow I received, but there was something in his tone that made me think of the low, deep murmur of the sea on a quiet night.
“I’ve lived too long already, but if I’d lived t’ be a hundred I’d never expected to see a thing like that,” and he looked at the paper on the table. “I’ll take the walk on nothin’, me friend, for there ain’t no power you’ve got can make a damned, dirty convict av th’ second mate av this ship.”
At that moment I felt meaner than I would care to own, and I noticed that Brown was busy bandaging his wounded leg. A sudden feeling of shame came over me, and, for an instant, I glanced around the cabin for a weapon to make a last rally. Then my eye fell upon that stateroom door, and I remembered.
Men crowded suddenly through the door of the forward cabin, and O’Toole was led out to his doom.
As I saw him hold his head up, and a hard, determined look settle over his seamed and lined face when he turned away, my voice came back to me, and I called loudly for my captain.
I had learned the villain’s name before this. He had no intention of leaving Brown and myself alone in the cabin, so he turned at my hail and stood in the doorway.
“Give him a chance,” I said. “Don’t do that!” and I pointed forward.
The scoundrel raised his eyebrows and drew a revolver from his belt. He slowly cocked the weapon, while men crowded up on either side.
“If you murder him, I’ll stand by him,” I said, and I began to measure my distance. “You may set him adrift and let him take his chance.”