It rolled heavily back and the dull eyes stared up at him.
"God!" said the bos'n, and started back.
The head remained where he had placed it, the eyes staring straight up at the ceiling.
"God!" whispered the bos'n again, and ran from the forecastle.
In time--it seemed hours--Harrigan heard many voices approaching.
McTee's bass was not among them, but he knew that McTee was coming, and Harrigan wondered whether he would have the strength to refuse to obey and accept the fate of the mutineer; or whether terror would overwhelm him and he would drop to his knees and beg for mercy.

He had once seen a sight as horrible.

The voices swept closer.

McTee was bringing all the available crew to watch the surrender, and Harrigan prayed with all his soul to a nameless deity for strength.
Something stopped in the Irishman.

It was not his heart, but something as vital.