John Gow had a ship to man, and as no ship probably in all history ever started out with too many hands, generally too few, the _George_ must be supposed to have been no exception to the common rule; hence while Gow might personally have liked to toss all opposition over the bulwarks, he realized that to do so would have been tantamount to wrecking his vessel, so another method of approach to the problem was indicated. First, however, he had to get his lively eight in hand. As the morning waves slapped foamingly across the slanting deck, the challenge to orderly work was obvious. He therefore, in a regular quarter-deck talk to the men, demanded their obedience and good conduct, concluding with the announcement that alone ever assured harmony to a pirate ship,--an equal division of the spoils to all, with a double share to the ship, that is, the captain. Next he sent a deputation with drawn cutlasses to hunt out the fugitives and bring them before him under the persuasion of peaceful treatment. Out of their refuges came the frightened and tousled seamen, doubtless full dubious of the efficacy of the promise of him whom they now regarded as a monster. Lining them up, he thus addressed them: “Men, the inhumanity of the captain, of which you as well as we have complained, produced the consequences of last night. We are now going on a cruise. You may join with us, and if anything good comes to us you shall have your equal share. All I require is obedience and good order. You who have not been in this conspiracy have nothing to fear from us; do your duty as seamen and you will be well paid.” Four of the twelve grinned and stepped over to the ranks of the mutineers; eight stood dumb, answering never a word. It took a great deal of moral courage to stand amid those eight, deprived of even their dirks and utterly helpless in the hands of a crowd capable of the horrors which the eight had witnessed. In the story of the sea, the bravery of naval battle, the courageous deportment of men on sinking ships, the unselfish giving of one’s life for another, all these have been properly remembered with all the glowing artifice of rhetoric, and the heroes’ names treasured in the marine annals of their country. Unhonored and unsung, for the most part, are those obscure sailors who, without the incitement of martial camaraderie, without the applause of onlookers, without expectation of fame--in the most dejected and hopeless of situations--have manfully stood by their notion of conscientious duty against their mutinous or piratical fellows. Nevertheless, these unknown ones ascended the very height of true heroism. Conduct of this kind brands as a lie the cynical saying that “every man has his price”, for some men will not accept life itself in payment for principle.