I myself saw three of them killed outright, and two others are badly wounded." "Here you are, sir--drink this," said a fireman, offering a pannikin of beer.

It was unpalatable stuff, but it tasted like the nectar of the gods to one who had sustained a blow that would have felled an ox.
Hozier had almost emptied the tin when an exclamation from an Irish stoker drew all eyes to the after part of the ship.
"Holy war! Will ye look at that!" shouted the man.

"Sure the skipper isn't dead, at all, at all." Iris had failed to grasp the meaning of Coke's antics in the chart-room, but they were now fully explained.

The bulldog breed of this self-confessed rascal had taken the upper hand of him.

Though he had not scrupled to plot the destruction of the ship, and thus rob a marine insurance company of a considerable sum of money--though at that very instant there was actual proof of his scheme in the preparations he had made to jam the steering-gear when the anchor was raised after the tanks were replenished--it was not in the man's nature to skulk into comparative safety because a foreigner, a pirate, a not-to-be-mentioned-in-polite-society Portygee, opened fire on him in this murderous fashion.