‘Take the helm,’ I cried, and I sprang through the cabin-door.
At that instant Tom and Bates came out of Rotch’s berth. The mate turned the key and thrust his shoulder against the door to make sure all was fast. Tom held a handkerchief to his jaw. He removed it to look at it; it was stained with blood.
‘What has happened?’ I called out.
‘He jumped upon me, threw me down, and his teeth met in my cheek—a true hound of hounds, a very dog of very dogs,’ said Tom.
I drew his hand from his face and witnessed the marks of a severe bite above the right jaw; a little blood flowed.
‘It is nothing at all,’ said he. ‘But how consistent is his trick of fighting with the nature of the animal!’
I hastened to the galley for some warm water, carefully bathed the wound, and bound it up. Mr. Bates, whose face was very pale, had gone on deck to look after the brig; he now returned and found Tom at the table with his face swathed.
‘Has the villain gone mad?’ said I.
‘Butler,’ said the mate, ‘the sight of you and your talking to him drove him mad. I feared it. That man’ll never confess.’
‘He’ll hang then,’ said Tom in a fierce, muttering voice.