"You ain't really going to leave us to perish of hunger and thirst, are you?" Falk cried. "We can't go ashore, even to get water. Those cursed heathen are laying to butcher us. Guns pointed at friends and shipmates is no kind of a 'welcome home.'" "Give us the money, then--" Roger began. The cook interrupted him in an undertone that was plainly audible though probably not intended for all ears. "Yeee-ah! Heah dat yeh man discribblate! He don't like guns pointed at shipmates, hey? How about guns pointed at a cap'n when he ain't lookin'? Hey?" Falk obviously overheard the cook's muttered sally and was disconcerted by it; and the murmur of assent with which our men received it convinced me that it went a long way to reinforce their determination to withstand the other party at any cost whatsoever. After hesitating perceptibly, Falk decided to ignore it. "All we want's bread and water," he whined. "Give us the money, then," Roger repeated, "and we'll see that you don't starve." His voice was calm and incisive. He absolutely controlled the situation. Falk threw up his hands in a gesture of despair. "But we ain't got the money. So help me God, we ain't got a cent of it." "Hand over the money," Roger repeated, "and we'll give you food and water." He pointed at the quarter-boat, which swung at the end of a long painter. "Come no nearer. Put the money in that boat and we'll haul it up." "We _ain't got the money_, I tell you. I swear on my immortal soul, we ain't got it." Falk seemed to be on the point of weeping. He was so weak and white! When Roger did not reply, I turned to look at him. There was a thoughtful expression on his face, and following the direction of his eyes, my own gaze rested on the face of the man from Boston. He was smiling. But when he saw us looking at him, he stopped and changed color. "I believe you," Roger declared suddenly. "You'll have to keep your distance or I'll blow your boat to pieces; but if you obey orders, I'll help you out as far as a few days' supply of food will go. Cook, haul in that boat and put half a hundredweight of ship's bread and four buckets of water in it. That'll keep 'em for a while." "You ain't gwine to feed dat yeh Kipping, sah, is you?" "Yes." The cook turned in silence to do Roger's bidding. Twice the man from Boston started forward as if to speak. The motion was so slight that it almost escaped me, but the second time I was sure that I really had detected such an impulse, and at the same moment I perceived that Falk, whose fingers were twitching nervously, was shooting an angry glance at him. This byplay to a considerable extent distracted my attention; but when the fellow finally did get up courage to speak, I saw that the eyes of every man in Falk's boat were on him and that Kipping had clenched both fists. "Stop!" the man from Boston cried. "Stop!" He stepped toward Roger with one hand raised. Roger soberly turned on him. "Be still," he said. "But, sir--" "Be still!"