When it came to the last drawing,--for there needed to be only one
more,--there was a pause in the proceedings, such as usually precedes an
expected climax.
It was accompanied by silence; so profound that, but for the noise made
by the waves as they dashed against the hollow hogsheads, a pin might
have been heard if dropped upon the planking of the raft. In the sound
of the sea there was something lugubrious: a fit accompaniment of the
unhallowed scene that was being enacted by those within hearing of it.
One might have fancied that spirits in fearful pain were confined within
the empty casks, and that the sounds that seemed to issue out of them
were groans elicited by their agony.
The two men, one of whom was doomed to die, stood face to face; the
others forming a sort of circle around them. All eyes were bent upon
them, while theirs were fixed only upon each other. The reciprocated
glance was one of dire hostility and hate,--combined with a hope on the
part of each to see the other dead, and then to survive him.
Both were inspired by a belief--in the presence of such an unexpected
contingency it was not unreasonable--that Fate had singled them out from
their fellows to stand in that strange antagonism. They were, in fact,
convinced of it.
Under the influence of this conviction, it might be supposed that
neither would offer any further opposition to Fate's decree, but would
yield to what might appear their "manifest destiny."
As it was, however, fatalism was not the faith of either. Though
neither of them could lay claim to the character of a Christian, they
were equally unbelievers in this particular article of the creed of
Mahomet; and both were imbued with a stronger belief in strength or
stratagem than in chance.
On the first-mentioned the Irishman appeared most to rely, as was
evidenced by the proposal he made upon the occasion.
"I dar yez," said he, "to thry which is the best man. To dhraw them
buttons is an even chance between us; an' maybe the best man is him
that'll have to die. By Saint Pathrick! that isn't fair, nohow. The
best man should be allowed to live. Phwat do _yez_ say, comrades?"
The proposal, though unexpected by all, found partisans who entertained
it. It put a new face upon the affair. It was one that was not more
than reasonable.
The crew, no longer interested in the matter,--at least, so far as their
own personal safety was concerned,--could now contemplate the result
with calmness; and the instinct of justice was not dead within the
hearts of all of them. In the challenge of the Irishman there appeared
nothing unfair. A number of them were inclined to entertain it, and
declared themselves of that view.
The partisans of Le Gros were the more numerous; and these remained
silent,--waiting until the latter should make reply to the proposal of
his antagonist.
After the slight luck he had already experienced in the lottery,--
combined with several partial defeats erst inflicted upon the man who
thus challenged him,--it might have been expected that Le Gros would
have gladly accepted the challenge.
He did not. On the contrary, he showed such an inclination to trust to
_chance_ that a close observer of his looks and actions might have seen
cause to suspect that he had also some reliance upon _stratagem_.
No one, however, had been thus closely observing him. No one--except
the individual immediately concerned--had noticed that quick grasp of
hands between him and one of his partisans; or, if they had, it was only
to interpret it as a salute of sympathy, extended towards a comrade in a
situation of danger.
In that salute, however, there passed between the two men something of
significance; which, if exhibited to the eyes of the spectators, would
have explained the indifference to death that from that moment
characterised the demeanour of Le Gros.
After that furtive movement, he no longer showed any hesitancy as to his
course of action; but at once declared his willingness, as well as his
determination, to abide by the decision of the drawing.
"_Sacre_!" cried he, in answer to the challenge of the Irishman; "you
don't suppose, _Monsieur Irlandais_, that I should fear the result as
you propose it? _Parbleu_! nobody will believe that. But I'm a
believer in Fortune,--notwithstanding the scurvy tricks she has often
served me--even now that she is frowning upon me black as ever. Neither
of us appears to be in favour with her, and that will make our chances
equal. So then, I say, let us try her again. _Sacre_! it will be the
last time she can frown on one of us,--that's certain."
As O'Gorman had no right to alter the original programme of the lottery,
of course the dissenting voices to its continuance were in the minority;
and the general clamour tailed upon fate to decide which of the two men
was to become food for their famishing companions.
Le Gros still held the bag containing the two buttons. One of them
should be black, the other red. It became a subject of dispute, which
was to make the draw. It was not a question of who should draw first,
since one button taken out would be sufficient. If the red one came
out, the drawer must die; if the black, then the other must become the
victim.
Some proposed that a third party should hold the bag, and that there
should be a toss up for the first chance. Le Gros showed a disposition
to oppose this plan. He said that, as he had been intrusted with the
superintendence so far, he should continue it to the end. They all
saw,--so urged he,--that he had not benefited by the office imposed upon
him; but the contrary. It had brought nothing but ill-luck to him; and,
as everybody knew, when a run of ill-luck once sets in, there was no
knowing where it might terminate. He did not care much, one way or the
other: since there could be no advantage in his holding the bag; but as
he had done so all through,--as he believed to his disadvantage,--he was
willing to hold on, even if it was death that was to be his award.
The speech of Le Gros had the desired effect. The majority declared
themselves in favour of his continuing to hold the bag; and it was
decided that the Irishman should make choice of the _penultimate_
button.
The latter offered no opposition to this arrangement. There appeared no
valid grounds for objecting to it. It was a simple toss of heads and
tails,--"Heads I win, and tails you lose"; or, to make use of a formula
more appropriate to the occasion, "Heads I live, and tails you die."
With some such process of reasoning current through the brain of Larry
O'Gorman, he stepped boldly up to the bag; plunged his fist into its
obscure interior; and drew forth--_the black button_!