“Haggony, sir—Doctor, sir—an—oh—make it hot!”
“Hah! You dog!”
I tried to say more, but the words were choked in my throat, for when, lantern in hand, I bent over the convulsed face, as its owner writhed heavily in his hammock, two great sinewy hands seized me by the throat, I was twisted as it were down upon the deck, and Bird wrenched himself round over me, saying in a hoarse voice to drown my struggles and gurgling attempts to cry for help,
“Can’t help kicking, sir. It’s haggony! but I’m a bit better, sir, thank ye, sir. No, sir, I don’t want the doctor, sir.”
All this and more, repeated, as if in mockery over my distorted face, as the ruffian gripped my throat with all his force, while above the singing in my ears and his words, I could hear that something was going on at the door where I had left my two fellow warders, but what I could not tell.
All I knew was, that I tried hard to throw the ruffian off my chest as he knelt upon me, that my senses were departing fast, that Bird would be hung for my murder, and that I was dying of strangulation.
Then, as if it were part of a dream, I saw the men racing out to attack and murder the sentries, and make the vessel their own.
“All through my neglect,” I thought, as there were a thousand lights dancing before my eyes; and then, almost at my last, there was a violent concussion, a savage snarl, a cessation of the compression at my throat, and a tremendous struggle going on upon me in the dark.
“Two great sinewy hands seized me by the throat.”