The Ocean Waifs Part 35

The two men, one of whom was doomed to die, stood face to face; the others forming a sort of circle around them. All eyes were bent upon them, while theirs were fixed only upon each other. The reciprocated glance was one of dire hostility and hate,--combined with a hope on the part of each to see the other dead, and then to survive him.

Both were inspired by a belief--in the presence of such an unexpected contingency it was not unreasonable--that Fate had singled them out from their fellows to stand in that strange antagonism. They were, in fact, convinced of it.

Under the influence of this conviction, it might be supposed that neither would offer any further opposition to Fate's decree, but would yield to what might appear their "manifest destiny."

As it was, however, fatalism was not the faith of either. Though neither of them could lay claim to the character of a Christian, they were equally unbelievers in this particular article of the creed of Mahomet; and both were imbued with a stronger belief in strength or stratagem than in chance.

On the first-mentioned the Irishman appeared most to rely, as was evidenced by the proposal he made upon the occasion.

"I dar yez," said he, "to thry which is the best man. To dhraw them b.u.t.tons is an even chance between us; an' maybe the best man is him that'll have to die. By Saint Pathrick! that isn't fair, nohow. The best man should be allowed to live. Phwat do _yez_ say, comrades?"

The proposal, though unexpected by all, found partisans who entertained it. It put a new face upon the affair. It was one that was not more than reasonable.

The crew, no longer interested in the matter,--at least, so far as their own personal safety was concerned,--could now contemplate the result with calmness; and the instinct of justice was not dead within the hearts of all of them. In the challenge of the Irishman there appeared nothing unfair. A number of them were inclined to entertain it, and declared themselves of that view.

The partisans of Le Gros were the more numerous; and these remained silent,--waiting until the latter should make reply to the proposal of his antagonist.

After the slight luck he had already experienced in the lottery,-- combined with several partial defeats erst inflicted upon the man who thus challenged him,--it might have been expected that Le Gros would have gladly accepted the challenge.

He did not. On the contrary, he showed such an inclination to trust to _chance_ that a close observer of his looks and actions might have seen cause to suspect that he had also some reliance upon _stratagem_.

No one, however, had been thus closely observing him. No one--except the individual immediately concerned--had noticed that quick grasp of hands between him and one of his partisans; or, if they had, it was only to interpret it as a salute of sympathy, extended towards a comrade in a situation of danger.

In that salute, however, there pa.s.sed between the two men something of significance; which, if exhibited to the eyes of the spectators, would have explained the indifference to death that from that moment characterised the demeanour of Le Gros.

After that furtive movement, he no longer showed any hesitancy as to his course of action; but at once declared his willingness, as well as his determination, to abide by the decision of the drawing.

"_Sacre_!" cried he, in answer to the challenge of the Irishman; "you don't suppose, _Monsieur Irlandais_, that I should fear the result as you propose it? _Parbleu_! n.o.body will believe that. But I'm a believer in Fortune,--notwithstanding the scurvy tricks she has often served me--even now that she is frowning upon me black as ever. Neither of us appears to be in favour with her, and that will make our chances equal. So then, I say, let us try her again. _Sacre_! it will be the last time she can frown on one of us,--that's certain."

As O'Gorman had no right to alter the original programme of the lottery, of course the dissenting voices to its continuance were in the minority; and the general clamour tailed upon fate to decide which of the two men was to become food for their famis.h.i.+ng companions.

Le Gros still held the bag containing the two b.u.t.tons. One of them should be black, the other red. It became a subject of dispute, which was to make the draw. It was not a question of who should draw first, since one b.u.t.ton taken out would be sufficient. If the red one came out, the drawer must die; if the black, then the other must become the victim.

Some proposed that a third party should hold the bag, and that there should be a toss up for the first chance. Le Gros showed a disposition to oppose this plan. He said that, as he had been intrusted with the superintendence so far, he should continue it to the end. They all saw,--so urged he,--that he had not benefited by the office imposed upon him; but the contrary. It had brought nothing but ill-luck to him; and, as everybody knew, when a run of ill-luck once sets in, there was no knowing where it might terminate. He did not care much, one way or the other: since there could be no advantage in his holding the bag; but as he had done so all through,--as he believed to his disadvantage,--he was willing to hold on, even if it was death that was to be his award.

The speech of Le Gros had the desired effect. The majority declared themselves in favour of his continuing to hold the bag; and it was decided that the Irishman should make choice of the _penultimate_ b.u.t.ton.

The latter offered no opposition to this arrangement. There appeared no valid grounds for objecting to it. It was a simple toss of heads and tails,--"Heads I win, and tails you lose"; or, to make use of a formula more appropriate to the occasion, "Heads I live, and tails you die."

With some such process of reasoning current through the brain of Larry O'Gorman, he stepped boldly up to the bag; plunged his fist into its obscure interior; and drew forth--_the black b.u.t.ton_!

CHAPTER SEVENTY.

AN UNEXPECTED TERMINATION.

The red b.u.t.ton remained in the bag. It was a singular circ.u.mstance that it should be the last; but such strange circ.u.mstances will sometimes occur. It belonged to Le Gros. The lottery was over; the Frenchman had forfeited life.

It seemed idle for him to draw the b.u.t.ton out; and yet, to the astonishment of the spectators, he proceeded to do so.

"_Sacre_!" he exclaimed, "the luck's been against me. _Eh bien_!" he added, with a _sangfroid_ that caused some surprise, "I suppose I must make a die of it. Let me see the accursed thing that's going to condemn me!"

As he said this, he held up the bag in his left hand,--at the same time plunging his right into its dark interior. For some seconds he appeared, to grope about, as if he had some difficulty in finding the b.u.t.ton. While fumbling in this fas.h.i.+on he let go the mouth of the wallet, which he had been holding in his left hand,--adroitly transferring his hold to its bottom. This was done apparently for the purpose of getting the b.u.t.ton into a corner,--in order that he might lay hold of it with his fingers.

For some moments the bag rested upon his left forearm, while he continued his hunt after the little piece of horn. He appeared successful at length; and drew forth his right hand, with the fingers closed over the palm, as if containing something,--of course the dread symbol of death. Stirred by a kind of curiosity, his comrades pressed mechanically around, and stood watching his movements.

For an instant he kept his fist closed, holding it on high to that all might see it: and then, slowly extending his fingers, he exhibited his spread palm before their eyes. It held the b.u.t.ton that he had drawn forth from the bag; but, to the astonishment of all, it was a _black_ one, and not the _red_ token that had been expected!

There were but two men who did not partake of this surprise. One was Le Gros himself,--though, to all appearance, he was the most astonished individual of the party,--the other was the man who, some minutes before, might have been observed standing by his side, and stealthily transferring something from his own fingers to those of the Frenchman.

This unexpected termination of the lottery led to a scene of terrific excitement. Several seized hold of the bag,--jerking it out of the hand of him who had hitherto been holding it. It was at once turned inside out; when the red b.u.t.ton fell upon the planking of the raft.

Most of the men were furious, and loudly declared that they had been cheated,--some offering conjectures as to how the cheat had been accomplished. The confederate of Le Gros--backed by the ruffian himself--suggested that there might have been no deception about the matter, but only a mistake made in the number of b.u.t.tons originally thrown into the bag. "Like enough,--d.a.m.ned like enough!"--urged Le Gros's sharping partner; "there's been a b.u.t.ton too many put into the bag,--twenty-seven instead of twenty-six. That's how it's come about.

Well, as we all helped at the counting of 'em, therefore it's n.o.body's fault in particular. We'll have to draw again, and the next time we can be more careful."

As no one appeared able to contradict this hypothesis, it pa.s.sed off, with a number, as the correct one. Most of the men, however, felt sure that a trick had been played; and the trick itself could be easily conjectured. Some one of the drawers had procured a b.u.t.ton similar to those inside the bag; and holding this b.u.t.ton, had simply inserted his hand, and drawn it out again.

Out of twenty-six draws it would have been impossible to fix upon the individual who had been guilty of the cheat, though there were not a few who permitted their suspicions to fall on Le Gros himself. There had been observed something peculiar in his mode of manipulation. He had inserted his hand into the wallet with the fist closed; and had drawn it out in similar fas.h.i.+on. This, with one or two other circ.u.mstances, looked suspicious enough; but it was remembered that some others had done the same; and as there was not enough of evidence to bring home the infamous act to its perpetrator, no one appeared either able or willing to risk making the accusation.

Yes, there _was_ one who had not yet declared himself; nor did he do so until some time had elapsed after the final and disappointing draw made by the master of the ceremonies. This man was Larry O'Gorman.

While the rest of the crew had been listening to the arguments of the Frenchman's confederate,--and one by one signifying their acquiescence,--the Irishman stood apart, apparently busied in some profound mental calculation.

When at length all seemed to have consented to a second casting of lots, he roused himself from his reverie; and, stepping hastily into their midst, cried out in a determined manner, "No--

"No, yez don't," continued he, "no more drawin', my jewels, till we've had a betther undherstandin' ov this little matther. That there's been chatin' yez are all agreed; only yez can't identify the chate. Maybe I can say somethin' to point out the dirty spalpeen as hasn't the courage nor the dacency to take his chance along wid the rest ov us."

This unexpected interpolation at once drew the eyes of all parties upon the speaker; for all were alike interested in the revelation which O'Gorman was threatening to make.

Whoever had played foul,--if it could only be proved against him,--would be regarded as the man who ought to have drawn the red b.u.t.ton; and would be treated as if he had done so. This was tacitly understood; even before the suggestion of such a course had pa.s.sed the lips of anyone.

Those who were innocent were of course desirous of discovering the "black sheep,"--in order to escape the danger of a second drawing,--and, as these comprehended almost the entire crew, it was natural that an attentive ear should be given to the statement which the Irishman proposed to lay before them.

All stood gazing upon him with expectant eyes. In those of Le Gros and his confederate there was a different expression. The look of the Frenchman was more especially remarkable. His jaws had fallen; his lips were white and bloodless; his eyes glared fiend-like out of their sunken sockets; while the whole cast of his features was that of a man threatened with some fearful and infamous fate, which he feels himself unable to avert.

CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE.

LE GROS UPON TRIAL.

As O'Gorman gave utterance to the last words of his preparatory speech, he fixed his eyes steadfastly upon the Frenchman. His look confirmed every one in the belief that the allusion had been to the latter.

Le Gros at first quailed before the Irishman's glance; but, perceiving the necessity of putting a bold front on the matter, he made an endeavour to reciprocate it.

"_Sacre bleu_!" he exclaimed. "_Monsieur Irlandais_ why do you look at me? you don't mean to insinuate that I've acted unfairly?"

"The divil a bit," replied the Irishman. "If it's insinivation yez be talkin' about, the divil a bit ov that do I mane. Larry O'Gorman isn't agoin' to bate about the bush wan way or the tother, Misther Laygrow.

He tells ye to yer teeth that it was yer beautiful self putt the exthra b.u.t.ton into the bag,--yez did it, Misther Laygrow, and n.o.body else."