The slightest contact or scrape caused severe anguish， andin their weak condition and crowded situation they werecontinually hurting one another in this manner. Not aman could move about without being followed by volleysof abuse， curses， and groans. So great was their miserythat the strong oppressed the weak， shoving them asidefrom the dry planks to shift for themselves in the cold andwet. The boy， O’Brien， was specially maltreated. Thoughthere were three other boys， it was O’Brien who came infor most of the abuse. There was no explaining it， excepton the ground that his was a stronger and more dominantspirit than those of the other boys， and that he stood upmore for his rights， resenting the petty injustices that weremeted out to all the boys by the men. Whenever O’Briencame near the men in search of a dry place to sleep， ormerely moved about， he was kicked and cuffed away.
In return， he cursed them for their selfish brutishness，and blows and kicks and curses were rained upon him.
Miserable as were all of them， he was thus made far moremiserable； and it was only the flame of life， unusuallystrong in him， that enabled him to endure.
As the days went by and they grew weaker， theirpeevishness and ill-temper increased， which， in turn，increased the ill-treatment and sufferings of O’Brien. Bythe sixteenth day all hands were far gone with hunger， andthey stood together in small groups， talking in undertonesand occasionally glancing at O’Brien. It was at high noonthat the conference came to a head. The captain was thespokesman. All were collected on the poop.
“Men，” the captain began， “we have been a long timewithout food—two weeks and two days it is， though itseems more like two years and two months. We can’thang out much longer. It is beyond human nature to goon hanging out with nothing in our stomachs. There is aserious question to consider： whether it is better for all todie， or for one to die. We are standing with our feet in ourgraves. If one of us dies， the rest may live until a ship issighted. What say you？”
Michael Behane， the man who had been at the wheelwhen the Francis Spaight broached to， called out that itwas well. The others joined in the cry.
“Let it be one of the b’ys！” cried Sullivan， a Tarbert man，glancing at the same time significantly at O’Brien.
“It is my opinion，” the captain went on， “that it will be agood deed for one of us to die for the rest.”
“A good deed！ A good deed！” the men interjected.
“And it is my opinion that ’tis best for one of the boysto die. They have no families to support， nor would theybe considered so great a loss to their friends as those whohave wives and children.”
“’Tis right.” “Very right.” “Very fit it should be done，”
the men muttered one to another.
But the four boys cried out against the injustice of it.
“Our lives is just as dear to us as the rest iv yez，” O’Brienprotested. “An’ our famblies， too. As for wives an’ childer，who is there savin’ meself to care for me old motherthat’s a widow， as you know well， Michael Behane， thatcomes from Limerick？ ’Tis not fair. Let the lots be drawnbetween all of us， men and b’ys.”
Mahoney was the only man who spoke in favour of theboys， declaring that it was the fair thing for all to sharealike. Sullivan and the captain insisted on the drawing oflots being confined to the boys. There were high words，in the midst of which Sullivan turned upon O’Brien，snarling——
“’Twould be a good deed to put you out of the way. Youdeserve it. ’Twould be the right way to serve you， an’ serveyou we will.”
He started toward O’Brien， with intent to lay hands onhim and proceed at once with the killing， while severalothers likewise shuffled toward him and reached for him.
He stumbled backwards to escape them， at the same timecrying that he would submit to the drawing of the lotsamong the boys.
The captain prepared four sticks of different lengthsand handed them to Sullivan.
“You’re thinkin’ the drawin’ll not be fair，” the lattersneered to O’Brien. “So it’s yerself’ll do the drawin’.”
To this O’Brien agreed. A handkerchief was tied overhis eyes， blindfolding him， and he knelt down on the deckwith his back to Sullivan.
“Whoever you name for the shortest stick’ll die，” thecaptain said.
Sullivan held up one of the sticks. The rest were concealedin his hand so that no one could see whether it was theshort stick or not.
“An’ whose stick will it be？” Sullivan demanded.
“For little Johnny Sheehan，” O’Brien answered.
Sullivan laid the stick aside. Those who looked could nottell if it were the fatal one. Sullivan held up another stick.
“Whose will it be？”
“For George Burns，” was the reply.
The stick was laid with the first one， and a third held up.
“An’ whose is this wan？”
“For myself，” said O’Brien.
With a quick movement， Sullivan threw the four stickstogether. No one had seen.
“’Tis for yourself ye’ve drawn it，” Sullivan announced.
“A good deed，” several of the men muttered.
O’Brien was very quiet. He arose to his feet， took thebandage off， and looked around.
“Where is ut？” he demanded. “The short stick？ The wanfor me？”
The captain pointed to the four sticks lying on the deck.
“How do you know the stick was mine？” O’Brienquestioned. “Did you see ut， Johnny Sheehan？”
Johnny Sheehan， who was the youngest of the boys， didnot answer.
“Did you see ut？” O’Brien next asked Mahoney.
“No， I didn’t see ut.”
The men were muttering and growling.
“’Twas a fair drawin’，” Sullivan said. “Ye had yer chanctan’ ye lost， that’s all iv ut.”
“A fair drawin’，” the captain added. “Didn’t I behold itmyself？ The stick was yours， O’Brien， an’ ye may as wellget ready. Where’s the cook？ Gorman， come here. Fetchthe tureen cover， some of ye. Gorman， do your duty like aman.”
“But how’ll I do it，” the cook demanded. He was a weakeyed，weak-chinned， indecisive man.
“’Tis a damned murder！” O’Brien cried out.
“I’ll have none of ut，” Mahoney announced. “Not a biteshall pass me lips.”
“Then ’tis yer share for better men than yerself，” Sullivansneered. “Go on with yer duty， cook.”