The smile had not altered on the lips of the Scotchman. "With this money," said Hovey, forcing himself to remain calm, "you can retire from active work. You can get yourself a little place on the coast somewhere"--he had heard Campbell name some of his dreams--"and have a little cellar full of the right stuff, and have your friends run out to see you now an' then, an' talk over things that're goin' on at sea--where you ain't." Here he placed a third bag of money on the table. "You could do all that and more, chief--a lot more--with this money." Hovey cut the lace which tied the mouth of one of the bags; he poured the gleaming contents across the table. "Well?" he asked softly. "Damn you!" whispered Campbell, and then, "You fool, am I not Scotch?" "At least," went on the bos'n easily, "think it over, chief, and while you're thinkin', what d'you say to a drop of the real stuff?" Campbell had not tasted either food or liquid since early the day before, and his eyes were moist as they stared at the two bottles. "Set his hands free," said Hovey, "so that the chief can drink. We ain't half-bad fellers, Campbell; but we've got good cause for raisin' the hell you've seen on the _Heron._" While he spoke, the arms of Campbell were set free, and glasses were shoved toward him, one full of Scotch and the other of seltzer. The mutineers were already raising their drinks for a toast when Campbell took his with a violently trembling hand. But as he lifted the liquor, he was fully conscious for the first time of a singing which had been faint in the air for some time, the songs of Black McTee in the wireless house, and now the big-throated Scotchman swung into a new air, plaintive and rapid in cadence, a death song and a war song at once, the speech of Bruce before Bannockburn, as Burns conceived it. Loud and true rang the voice of Black McTee, breaker of men: "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots wham Bruce hae aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory!" And the hand of Campbell checked on its way to his lips. "We're lookin' in your eyes, chief," said Hovey. And the song broke in: "Wha would be a traitor slave, Let him turn and flee!" Campbell was staring at the wall like one who sees a vision but cannot make out its meaning. The voice of Black McTee swelled high and strong: "Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freemen stand and freemen fa', Let him on wi' me!" And the glass dropped from the lips of the Scotchman. It crashed against the hard floor. Broad Scotch was on his tongue. "I canna drink wi' murderers!" he cried. "Damn you!" said Hovey, and drove his fist into Campbell's face, hurling him to the deck. The manacles were clapped on his wrists again; he was dragged once more to his feet.