But I made up my mind that, if it were possible, Dao Singh should not be obliged to go before any court, or any consul, to explain that matter. The fact was, there wasn’t anything he could explain. Under a dreadful provocation he had killed the sailor. But I doubted if his excuse for committing the act would be accepted by the law.
The men were mainly interested, however, in the circumstances surrounding the collision of the sister ships and the sinking of the Seamew. The great question was: Who was at fault? But we conducted the discussion in very low tones, that the officer on deck might not overhear us.
“Talk as ye please,” grunted Job Perkins. “If two other men—men that warn’t Barneys—had been at the helm of the two ships, there wouldn’t never been no trouble.”
“Well,” declared I, “our Mr. Barney sheered off.”
“Not soon enough,” said Tom Thornton, shaking his head.
“Just as soon as the order was given!” I cried. “And it wasn’t our place to give way, at that.”
“Oh,” said Job, “we’ll all grant the old man—Cap’n Si—was the main one to blame. Leastways, he’s the one dead, and the dead man is always blamed. But Mr. Alf Barney never got no word to change his helm—and yours did.”
“The ships come together; they was bound to do so, sooner or later,” said old Stronson, shaking his head. “It iss not de men iss to blame—no! You remember the Chieftain and de Antelope? Dey was sister ships, too. Dey could not be anchored within a cable’s length of each odder, or dey come togedder.”
“By jings! the old man’s right,” declared Tom Thornton. “I sailed on the Antelope once. There seemed to be magnets drawin’ them two ships together. Gettin’ under way at Savannah we bumped the Chieftain and tore away her fore chains and made a mess of our own bows.”
“I heered if the two craft was anchored full and plenty apart, and in no tideway, they’d rub sides within twenty-four hours,” said another man.