But two buttons now remained,--two men only whose fate was undecided.
One of them was Le Gros himself,--the other, an Irish sailor, who was,
perhaps, the least wicked among that wicked crew. One or other of them
must become food for their cannibal comrades!
It would scarce be true to say that the interest increased as the dread
lottery progressed towards its ending. Its peculiar conditions had
secured an interest from the first as intense as it was possible for it
to be. It only became changed in character,--less selfish, if we may
use the phrase,--as each individual escaped from the dangerous
contingency involved in the operation. As the drawing approached its
termination, the anxiety about the result, though less painful to the
majority of the men, was far more so to the few whose fate still hung
suspended in the scale; and this feeling became more intensified in the
breasts of the still smaller number, who saw their chances of safety
becoming constantly diminished. When, at length, only two buttons
remained in the bag, and only two men to draw them out, the interest,
though changed in character, was nevertheless sufficiently exciting to
fix the attention of every individual on the raft.
There were circumstances, apart from the mere drawing, that influenced
this attention. Fate itself seemed to be taking a part in the dread
drama; or, if not, a very singular contingency had occurred.
Between the two men, thus left to decide its decree, there existed a
rivalry,--or, rather, might it be called a positive antipathy,--deadly
as any _vendetta_ ever enacted on Corsican soil.
It had not sprung up on the raft. It was of older date--old as the
earliest days of the _Pandora's_ voyage, on whose decks it had
originated.
Its first seeds had been sown in that quarrel between Le Gros and Ben
Brace,--in which the Frenchman had been so ignominiously defeated. The
Irish sailor,--partly from some slight feeling of co-nationality, and
partly from a natural instinct of fair-play,--had taken sides with the
British tar; and, as a consequence, had invoked the hostility of the
Frenchman. This feeling he had reciprocated to its full extent; and
from that time forward Larry O'Gorman--such was the Irishman's name--
became the true _bete noir_ of Le Gros, to be insulted by the latter on
every occasion that might offer. Even Ben Brace was no longer regarded
with as much dislike. For him the Frenchman had been taught, if not
friendship, at least, a certain respect, springing from fear; and,
instead of continuing his jealous rivalry towards the English sailor, Le
Gros had resigned himself to occupy a secondary place on the slaver, and
transferred his spite to the representative of the Emerald Isle.
More than once, slight collisions had occurred between them,--in which
the Frenchman, gifted with greater cunning, had managed to come off
victorious. But there had never arisen any serious matter to test the
strength of the two men to that desperate strife, of which death might
be the ending. They had generally fought shy of each other; the
Frenchman from a latent fear of his adversary,--founded, perhaps, on
some suspicion of powers not yet exhibited by him, and which might be
developed in a deadly struggle,--the Irishman from a habitude, not very
common among his countrymen, of being little addicted to quarrelling.
He was, on the contrary, a man of peaceful disposition, and of few
words,--also a rare circumstance, considering that his name was Larry
O'Gorman.
There were some good traits in the Irishman's character. Perhaps we
have given the best. In comparison with the Frenchman, he might be
described as an angel; and, compared with the other wretches on the
raft, he was, perhaps, the _least bad_: for the word _best_ could not,
with propriety, be applied to anyone of that motley crew.
Personally, the two men were unlike as could well be. While the
Frenchman was black and bearded, the Irishman was red and almost
beardless. In size, however, they approximated nearer to each other,--
both being men of large stature. Both had been stout,--almost
corpulent.
Neither could be so described as they assisted at that solemn ceremonial
that was to devote one or other of them to a doom--in which their
_condition_ was a circumstance of significant interest to those who were
to survive them.
Both were shrunken in shape, with their garments hanging loosely around
their bodies, their eyes sunk in deep cavities, their cheek-bones
prominently protruding, their breasts flat and fleshless, the ribs
easily discernible,--in short, they appeared more like a pair of
skeletons, covered with shrivelled skin, than breathing, living men.
Either was but ill-adapted for the purpose to which dire necessity was
about to devote one or other of them.
Of the two, Le Gros appeared the less attenuated. This may have arisen
from the fact of his greater ascendency over the crew of the raft,--by
means of which he had been enabled to appropriate to himself a larger
share of the food sparsely distributed amongst them. His ample covering
of hair may have had something to do with this appearance,--concealing
as it did the unevenness of the surface upon which it grew, and
imparting a plumper aspect to his face and features.
If there was a superiority in the quantity of flesh still clinging to
his bones, its quality might be questioned,--at all events, in regard to
the use that might soon be made of it. In point of tenderness, his
muscular integuments could scarcely compare with those of the Irishman,
whose bright skin promised--
These are horrid thoughts. They should not be her repeated, were it not
to show in its true light the terrible extremes, both of thought and
action, to which men may be reduced by starvation. Horrid as they may
appear, they were entertained at that crisis by the castaway crew of the
_Pandora_!