The slightest contact or scrape caused severe anguish, and in their weak condition and crowded situation they were continually hurting one another in this manner.Not a man could move about without being followed by volleys of abuse, curses, and groans.So great was their misery that the strong oppressed the weak, shoving them aside from the dry planks to shift for themselves in the cold and wet.The boy, O'Brien, was specially maltreated.Though there were three other boys, it was O'Brien who came in for most of the abuse.There was no explaining it, except on the ground that his was a stronger and more dominant spirit than those of the other boys, and that he stood up more for his rights, resenting the petty injustices that were meted out to all the boys by the men.Whenever O'Brien came near the men in search of a dry place to sleep, or merely moved about, he was kicked and cuffed away.In return, he cursed them for their selfish brutishness, and blows and kicks and curses were rained upon him.Miserable as were all of them, he was thus made far more miserable;and it was only the flame of life, unusually strong in him, that enabled him to endure.
As the days went by and they grew weaker, their peevishness and ill-temper increased, which, in turn, increased the ill-treatment and sufferings of O'Brien.By the sixteenth day all hands were far gone with hunger, and they stood together in small groups, talking in undertones and occasionally glancing at O'Brien.It was at high noon that the conference came to a head.The captain was the spokesman.All were collected on the poop.
"Men," the captain began, "we have been a long time without food--two weeks and two days it is, though it seems more like two years and two months.We can't hang out much longer.It is beyond human nature to go on hanging out with nothing in our stomachs.There is a serious question to consider:
whether it is better for all to die, or for one to die.We are standing with our feet in our graves.If one of us dies, the rest may live until a ship is sighted.What say you?"Michael Behane, the man who had been at the wheel when the Francis Spaight broached to, called out that it was well.The others joined in the cry.
"Let it be one of the b'ys!" cried Sullivan, a Tarbert man, glancing at the same time significantly at O'Brien.
"It is my opinion," the captain went on, "that it will be a good deed for one of us to die for the rest.""A good deed! A good deed!" the men interjected.
"And it is my opinion that 'tis best for one of the boys to die.They have no families to support, nor would they be considered so great a loss to their friends as those who have wives and children.""'Tis right." "Very right." "Very fit it should be done," the men muttered one to another.
But the four boys cried out against the injustice of it.
"Our lives is just as dear to us as the rest iv yez," O'Brien protested.
"An' our famblies, too.As for wives an' childer, who is there savin'
meself to care for me old mother that's a widow, as you know well, Michael Behane, that comes from Limerick? 'Tis not fair.Let the lots be drawn between all of us, men and b'ys."Mahoney was the only man who spoke in favour of the boys, declaring that it was the fair thing for all to share alike.Sullivan and the captain insisted on the drawing of lots being confined to the boys.There were high words, in the midst of which Sullivan turned upon O'Brien, snarling--"'Twould be a good deed to put you out of the way.You deserve it.
'Twould be the right way to serve you, an' serve you we will."He started toward O'Brien, with intent to lay hands on him and proceed at once with the killing, while several others likewise shuffled toward him and reached for him.He stumbled backwards to escape them, at the same time crying that he would submit to the drawing of the lots among the boys.
The captain prepared four sticks of different lengths and handed them to Sullivan.
"You're thinkin' the drawin'll not be fair," the latter sneered to O'Brien.
"So it's yerself'll do the drawin'."
To this O'Brien agreed.A handkerchief was tied over his eyes, blindfolding him, and he knelt down on the deck with his back to Sullivan.
"Whoever you name for the shortest stick'll die," the captain said.
Sullivan held up one of the sticks.The rest were concealed in his hand so that no one could see whether it was the short stick or not.
"An' whose stick will it be?" Sullivan demanded.
"For little Johnny Sheehan," O'Brien answered.
Sullivan laid the stick aside.Those who looked could not tell if it were the fatal one.Sullivan held up another stick.
"Whose will it be?"
"For George Burns," was the reply.
The stick was laid with the first one, and a third held up.
"An' whose is this wan?"
"For myself," said O'Brien.
With a quick movement, Sullivan threw the four sticks together.No one had seen.
"'Tis for yourself ye've drawn it," Sullivan announced.
"A good deed," several of the men muttered.
O'Brien was very quiet.He arose to his feet, took the bandage off, and looked around.
"Where is ut?" he demanded."The short stick? The wan for me?"The captain pointed to the four sticks lying on the deck.
"How do you know the stick was mine?" O'Brien questioned."Did you see ut, Johnny Sheehan?"Johnny Sheehan, who was the youngest of the boys, did not answer.
"Did you see ut?" O'Brien next asked Mahoney.
"No, I didn't see ut."
The men were muttering and growling.
"'Twas a fair drawin'," Sullivan said."Ye had yer chanct an' ye lost, that's all iv ut.""A fair drawin'," the captain added."Didn't I behold it myself? The stick was yours, O'Brien, an' ye may as well get ready.Where's the cook?
Gorman, come here.Fetch the tureen cover, some of ye.Gorman, do your duty like a man.""But how'll I do it," the cook demanded.He was a weak-eyed, weak-chinned, indecisive man.
"'Tis a damned murder!" O'Brien cried out.
