cabin for some food, where, a moment later, the mate joined him.
In a few minutes, their hunger satisfied, they began to speak and almost at once they were wrangling.
“Shooting up the lagoon—well, you’ve shot it up and much good it has done us,” said Carlin. “I’m not against killing, but seems to me the killing has been most on their side. What’s the use of talking? It will take a year at this game to do any good and how are you to manage it from the boat?”
“To-morrow,” said Rantan, “I’ll move the ship up, anchor her off that village and then we’ll see. Chaps won’t come swimming out to attack a ship, and we can pot them from the deck till they put their hands up. We’ve no time to wipe them all off, but I reckon a few days of the business will break them up and once a kanaka is broken, he’s broken.”
Carlin without replying got into his bunk and stretching at full length, lit his pipe; as he flung the Swedish match box to Rantan, a sound from the deck above like the snap of a broken stick, made him raise his eyes towards the skylight. Rantan, the box in his hand paused for a moment, then the sound not being repeated, he lit his pipe.
Throwing the box back to the other he came on deck.
The deck was still empty, but the spear that had been leaning against the rail was gone. Rantan did not notice this, he came forward passing the galley
