The condemned felt once more the good dry land
of habit under foot; they touched again the familiar
guide-ropes of sanity; they were restored to a sense of
the blessed revolution and return of all things
earthly. The captain drew a bucket of water and began
to bathe. Tommy sat up, watched him a while, and
slowly followed his example; and Carthew, remembering
his last thoughts of the night before, hastened to the
cabin.
Mac was awake; perhaps had not slept. Over his head
Goddedaal's canary twittered shrilly from its cage.
"How are you?" asked Carthew.
"Me arrum's broke," returned Mac; "but I can stand
that. It's this place I can't aboide. I was coming on
deck anyway."
"Stay where you are, though," said Carthew. "It's
deadly hot above, and there's no wind. I'll wash out
this----" and he paused, seeking a word and not finding
one for the grisly foulness of the cabin.
"Faith, I'll be obloiged to ye, then," replied the
Irishman. He spoke mild and meek, like a sick child
with its mother. There was now no violence in the
violent man; and as Carthew fetched a bucket and swab
and the steward's sponge, and began to cleanse the
field of battle, he alternately watched him or shut his
eyes and sighed like a man near fainting.
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