knuckles of both big hands were raw. He breathed heavily for a full
minute, and glared around him in silence.

"Pick 'em up," he said, at last. "The lesson I larned 'em seems to lay
cold on their bellies. Give 'em rum, Burky Nolan--ye'll find a case of
bottles behind the stove. Drink up, all o' ye. T'row some water in their
faces, too."

His orders were promptly obeyed. He took the pistols from Bill Brennen
and Nick Leary, and laid them on the table, and then picked up his coat
and put it on.

"Now, men, maybe ye know who bes master of this harbor," he said. "If
any one o' ye, or any four o' ye, bain't sure, say the word an' I'll
pull off me coat again an' show ye. Well now, we'll git back to
business. The jewels bes still hid in the swamp. They bain't no manner
o' use to us till we sells 'em. I'll do that, men, bit by bit, in St.
John's. The grub an' liquor we took bes all in the pit under this
floor. Ye kin come every day an' tote away what ye wants of it. The
wines and brandy bes for them who has sick folks an' old folks to feed.
Lift the trap, Bill, an' let them help theirselves."

Bill Brennen stooped and hoisted a trap-door in the middle of the floor.
The skipper left the table, lamp in hand.

"Help yourselves, men," he invited. "Take whatever ye fancies."

They came up meekly. Even the three who had so lately been disabled
obeyed the invitation, leaning upon their companions. The water and rum
had revived them physically, but their spirits were thoroughly cowed.