Coke, if he were not killed, would surely be driven out.

She sprang to her feet, and literally ran down the steep ladder to the saloon deck.
Through the open door of the officers' mess she witnessed another bizarre act--an act quite as extraordinary in its way as Coke's jump over the steersman's body.

In the midst of this drama of death and destruction, Watts was standing there, with head thrown back and uplifted arm, gulping down a tumblerful of some dark-colored liquid, draining it to the dregs, while he held a black bottle in the other hand.

That a man should fly to rum for solace when existence itself might be measured by minutes or seconds, was, to Iris, not the least amazing experience of an episode crammed with all that was new, and strange, and horrible in her life.

She raced on, wholly unaware that the drifting ship was now presenting her port bow to the death-dealing fusillade.
Then, from somewhere, she heard a gruff voice: "Hev' ye shut off steam, Macfarlane ?" "Ou ay.