MUTINY
them provisions for a week, weapons, and the pinnace, and set them free.”
Gratz glared around at him and past Barthier at the row of grim, hairy faces; and he knew that he was defeated. With an ill grace he sheathed his sword, thrust his pistol in his belt, and, muttering, waddled forward into the forecastle with his following.
When they were gone, Bras-de-Fer fell upon his knees beside a figure upon the deck at his feet. He lifted Cornbury’s head upon his knee, and, calling for a pannikin of rum, forced a small quantity of the fluid between the lips of the Irishman. Jacquard felt for his heart, and Barbara tore a bit of her skirt to stanch the flow of blood. They bathed his forehead with water, and in a moment were rewarded by a flicker of the eyelid and a painful intaking of the breath. Presently, resting upon Jacquard’s knee, he opened his eyes and heaved a deep sigh.
“I am near spent,” he muttered. And then, as his eye caught those of Bras-de-Fer, a smile with the faintest glimmer of professional pride twitched at his lip.
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