J. J. Bell

“ All were more or less miserably benumbed; several seemed incapable of movement save the most feeble; one lay in the bottom as if dead.
The man at the tiller, evidently the skipper, vainly attempted to rise. His mouth worked, but the words had no carrying power. With a shake of his head he dropped back and held his peace until the boat, with difficulty and danger, was got alongside the rescuer.
“Why,” cried Bill, softly, “if it ain't old Dawson o' the trawler Buzzard! ”

“ Later on Bill and Thomas discussed the whole matter, and finally agreed that, since the trawler had not been mined in “legitimate” fashion, the bet should be considered “off.”
“Poor old Dawson ain't no 'ero after all,” Bill regretfully remarked. “But 'e 'as my sympathy. 'Twas a sickenin' sorter way to get blowed up.”
”Strikes me one way's as good's another,” said Thomas, “so long's ye don't get killed. The old man'll feel better in the mornin'. Shouldn't wonder if he soon starts to talk big about it—after he's read the solemn account in the newspapers. ”

“ Thomas remarked reflectively.
“Ho, well, we gets a chance. 'Tis the sub chaps who gets none, if we 'ave the luck to crack 'er.”
“An' serve 'em —— well right, too!”
“Why, 'tis dirty work indeed, but what if they're only obeyin' orders—like you an me?”
“Some folks 'ud have 'em hung, Bill.”
“Some folks on shore is terrible bloodthirsty. I ain't no use at lovin' me enemies, but I'd draw the line at 'angin' 'em. It might look all right at the time, but 'twould look dash bad in the 'istory books. I'm open for any other sorter killin'.” ”