I smiled down at him cheerfully.
"Williams," I said, "you are a coward--a mean, white-livered
coward. You have skulked in the after house, behind women, when
there was man's work to do. If I wash that deck, it will be with
you as a mop."
He blustered something about speaking to Mr. Turner and seeing that
I did the work I was brought on board to do, and, seeing Turner's
eye on us, finished his speech with an ugly epithet. My nerves were
strained to the utmost: lack of sleep and food had done their work.
I was no longer in command of the Ella; I was a common sailor, ready
to vent my spleen through my fists.
I knocked him down with my open hand.
It was a barbarous and a reckless thing to do. He picked himself
up and limped away, muttering. Turner had watched the scene with
his cold blue eyes, and the little doctor with his near-sighted ones.
"A dangerous man, that!" said the doctor.
"Dangerous and intelligent," replied Turner. "A bad combination!"
It was late that night when the Ella anchored in the river at
Philadelphia. We were not allowed to land. The police took charge
of ship, crew, and passengers. The men slept heavily on deck, except
Burns, who developed a slight fever from his injury, and moved about
restlessly.
It seemed to me that the vigilance of the officers was exerted
largely to prevent an escape from the vessel, and not sufficiently
for the safety of those on board. I spoke of this, and a guard was
placed at the companionway again. Thus I saw Elsa Lee for the last
time until the trial.
She was dressed, as she had been in the afternoon, in a dark cloth
suit of some sort, and I did not see her until I had spoken to the
officer in charge. She turned, at my voice, and called me to join
her where she stood.
"We are back again, Leslie."
"Yes, Miss Lee."
"Back to--what? To live the whole thing over again in a courtroom!
If only we could go away, anywhere, and try to forget!"
She had not expected any answer, and I had none ready. I was
thinking--Heaven help me--that there were things I would not forget
if I could: the lift of her lashes as she looked, up at me; the few
words we had had together, the day she had told me the deck was not
clean; the night I had touched her hand with my lips.
"We are to be released, I believe," she said, "on our own--some
legal term; I forget it."
"Recognizance, probably."
"Yes. You do not know law as well as medicine?"
"I am sorry--no; and I know very little medicine."
"But you sewed up a wound!"