was up, though, when I saw her white face, and her leaning against the door and pointing.
"It's him!" she cried; "It's him! I saw him in the court-house. Oh, don't let him hurt the baby!"
"Who is it?" asked the steward and half a dozen others in a breath.
"It's him—Maloney—Maloney, the murderer—oh, take him away—take him away!"
I don't rightly remember what happened just at that moment. The furniture and me seemed to get kind of mixed, and there was cursing, and smashing, and some one shouting for his gold, and a general stamp round. When I got steadied a bit, I found somebody's hand in my mouth. From what I gathered afterwards, I concluded that it belonged to that same little man with the vicious way of talking. He got some of it out again, but that was because the others were choking me. A poor chap can get no fair-play in this world when once he is down—still, I think he will remember me till the day of his death—longer, I hope.
They dragged me out on to the poop and held a damned court-martial - on me, mind you; me,
