‘With regard to the light,’ I continued, looking from him to Wilfrid, ‘you will decide for yourselves, gentlemen, which end of the vessel you will face.’
‘It is immaterial,’ said the Colonel, with a slight shrug.
‘Then,’ said Wilfrid, ‘I will have my back to the wheel.’
I could not be sure that he was well advised, for the blue dazzle of sunshine past the awning would throw out his figure into clear relief, as I noticed Crimp’s was projected, clean lined as a shadow cast by the moonlight on a white deck.
‘It may be as well to toss for position,’ I said.
‘No,’ cried Wilfrid, ‘I am content.’
I loaded his pistol and handed the weapons to the men. My heart thumped like a coward’s in my breast, but I strove hard to conceal my agitation for Wilfrid’s sake. Each took up his respective post, and both held their pistols at level. The Colonel exclaimed ‘Tell your mad relative to feather-edge himself. He is all front. ’Tis too irrational to take advantage of.’
Wilfrid heard him and cried out, ‘Let him look to himself. Ready with the signal, Charles.’
I pulled out my pocket-handkerchief, and as I did so old Crimp suddenly let go the wheel and came skimming up to Finn, rumbling out, in a voice half choked with tobacco-juice, that the gent’s pistol (meaning the Colonel’s) was upon him full, and that he wasn’t going to be made cold beef of for any man.