He handled _The Waif_ with
skill and patience, while the crew, with rolling eyes and quivering
lips, were so terrorized by his wrath that they fled to do his bidding.
I had been wondering since the moment when he had ordered me to let go
my grip of the Kanaka in the f'c'stle, if he was afraid that any
disagreement between me and the knife-thrower would start trouble with
the crew, but from the way he hazed the niggers during the storm I was
convinced that it was not through any fear of them that he ordered me to
leave my assailant alone. The conviction did not increase my love for
him. As I viewed the happening he was inclined to shield the big brute
who threw the knife simply because the offence did not appear to be one
that merited punishment, and this view was not pleasing to my nerves.
It was on the second day of the storm that a little incident happened
which is worth mentioning. Toni, the small Fijian who had chanted the
song of Black Fernando's hell, was caught by a huge wave and pounded
hard against the cabin. The mad turmoil of water swept his nearly
lifeless form into the scuppers, but before another comber could snatch
him overboard, I managed to reach his side and drag him into safety.
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