O’Toole was led aft to the quarter-deck.
“Bring a boat alongside,” ordered Benson.
Several boats were towing astern, where
“GAZING SILENTLY AFTER US, ADRIFT AND ALONE.”
they had been dropped by the convicts after they had gained the deck.
One of these, a double-ended craft, was hauled alongside.
There was a breaker of water in the stern-sheets, and several oars lay upon the thwarts. A man was sent below and presently he came back with a bag of ship’s biscuit which he tossed over the side into the boat. O’Toole’s lashings were cast adrift as he stood in the mizzen channels, and he was shoved into her. A man let go the painter, forward, and, before the second mate could turn around, he was adrift and going slowly astern.
I watched him as he stood there in the sunlight, while the breeze, which just ruffled the ocean, made long, dark streaks in the water around his boat. I thought of his past and what a fine mate he had been. Rough man as he was, he appeared grand to me, standing there gazing silently after us, adrift and alone.
The ruffians crowded to the rail and hailed him with jeers and curses.