“Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said he, “I suppose you think that because you got the better of that d—d sea dandy, you can get the better of me. You needn’t think that you’re the cock-of-the-walk because you took the barkers away from him. I could have done it easy enough, if he hadn’t taken me unawares. I’ll not deny that you _did_ get the better of him, but I want you to understand that you’re not to lord it over me on that account. I’m the chief officer here, and I’ll give my orders to you, and not take them from you. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.” Then he turned on his heel again and walked away. But Tom had caught some insight into Jack’s mind, and he could not but feel a certain contempt for him, for this was no time for little jealousies and heart-burnings. He did not say anything to Jack, for there could be no use in answering such a speech, so he walked to the mizzen-mast without a word, and stood leaning against it, looking ahead. All of a sudden Jack went stumbling down the ladder from the poop, and forward amongst the men. Tom saw him a little while afterward, talking to the boatswain, and then he knew that he was thinking of lowering the cutter. He was glad that Jack had so far swallowed his ugly pride, for it was a pity that all of the men aboard of the ship should drown, when some of them might get safely away. I say that he was glad, but there was a bitter feeling, too, when he thought of others being saved, while he was to be left to drown like a rat in a box. His pride would not let him run away from the ship to take his chance in the cutter, but, all the same, his thoughts were very bitter. About this time he saw that those of the crew not at work about the cutter were throwing many loose things overboard. He saw the side of a hen-coop near to the ship; “I shall keep close to something of that kind when she goes down,” said he to himself. They were a good hundred miles from land, but the thought did not seem as foolish to him then as it does now, for a man clings to his life as long as he is able. Presently, Jack Baldwin came aft. He went to the lashings of the wheel and put the helm over, so as to give the cutter a lee, but he never looked at Tom for a moment. Just as he was about to leave the poop, however, he turned suddenly, and came straight across the deck to him. “Tom,” said he, gruffly; “will you take a try in the cutter?” “Not I,” said Tom. “Why not?” “One officer’s enough for the boat; it would be cowardly for me to go!” He spoke bravely enough, but I am compelled to own that his courage was only of words, and not of heart. “Look’ee, Tom Granger,” said Jack, fiercely; “do you mean to say that I’m a coward?” “I mean to say nothing about you,” said Tom, calmly; “you know your own reasons for leaving the ship better than any other man. If you’re going for the sake of the crew, you’re no coward; if you’re going for the sake of your own skin, you are.”