A DESPERATE STRUGGLE
"Sit down, Sam! Sit down!" cried Fred, who was placed nearest him.
"What's the matter with you? Are you crazy?"
Sam, however, made no answer. He strode forward toward the object of his
hatred, paying no attention to Fred's words and showing an absolute
disregard of the danger of falling overboard. Fortunately in this peril
the boat was heavy and very steady.
"Get back there!" cried Fred in alarm, trying to grab Sam's arm.
"Lemme go," said Sam roughly, knocking Fred's hand aside.
"Grab him, John. Grab him," shouted Fred as the excited negro made his
way past the seat where he was located.
"Lemme go," said Sam darkly, and seeing the look on his face John drew
back instinctively.
"Hold him, Grant! Grab him, Pop!" shrieked Fred, at the same time rising
to his feet and attempting to catch Sam from behind.
He was too late, however. Sam, seeing that he might be balked in his
purpose, took no more chances. He made one flying leap almost over the
heads of Grant and George, who were waiting to seize him. This was done
so unexpectedly that the two boys were taken by surprise, and though
they tried to do as Fred had begged them, they were unsuccessful. Sam
tripped and fell forward, but when he landed he fell squarely on top of
his enemy.
The boat rocked dangerously. Fred was thrown from his feet and fell
headlong to the bottom of the boat. In falling his head struck one of
the thwarts, so stunning him that he was unable to move.
"Separate 'em, Grant!" cried John. "Stop that fight!"
Grant threw himself upon the contestants and tried to pinion Sam's arms
behind his back. The negro and the sailor were both powerful men,
however, and Grant was thrown violently backward as though he had been a
mere fly. George caught him just in time to prevent his going overboard.
"I can't stop them," he gasped.
"Hit him on the head," cried John. "Do anything. Make 'em stop. Here,
let me get down there," he begged.
"Sit down," shouted George. "Sit down, John, or you'll have us all
upset."
"No, I won't, either. Let me get by."
"Sit down, String," begged Grant. "Keep your seat."
"Take this oar, then," cried John. "Hit that coon on the head with it."
"It's too big," exclaimed Grant. "Give me something smaller and I'll hit
him all right."
The two men in the stern of the boat were locked in each other's
embrace. Sam had had the advantage, for he had landed on top of his
adversary. Petersen, however, had muscles of steel, hardened by years of
service and labor on shipboard. He tried to grab the black man by the
throat. The two slipped to the bottom of the boat, where they struggled
for the mastery until the veins stood out on their temples and the sweat
rolled from them in streams. Their breath came in gasps. It was a
strange sight that the early tropical sun looked down upon.
They wrestled and writhed about on the bottom of the boat, first one on
top and then the other. It seemed miraculous that they did not go
overboard. The space in which they struggled was so limited that it was
next to impossible for any one of the boys to get himself in a position
to separate the fighters. Several times Grant tried, but he was always
driven back, and after several narrow escapes from falling into the
water he gave up the attempt. Fred still lay quietly in the bow, too
dazed to be of assistance.
"We must stop this," cried John. "They'll kill each other."
"I know it, String," agreed Grant, "but what can we do?"
"Hit Sam over the head. He's the one that started it."
"I can't get to his head. His feet are pointed this way and every time I
try I get a few swift kicks and nothing more."
"But we must do something to stop them," urged George.
"All right, Pop," said Grant grimly. "You suggest something."
"Isn't there a club in the boat?"
"I don't see any."
"Throw water on them."
"We might do that," exclaimed Grant. "Hand me that canvas bucket,
String."
Grant filled it to the brim with water and then soused it as nearly as
he could into the faces of the fighters. The only effect it seemed to
have was to revive them both and the struggle was continued with renewed
fury.
"That won't do," cried Grant.
"It seems to be a question of who will weaken first," remarked John,
grimly. "I guess we'll have to sit and watch until that time."
"Not at all," exclaimed George. "I say we all pile on and make them
quit."
"And all go overboard if we try that," said Grant. "You forget that
we're in a boat, Pop."
"Let me up there, then," urged George. "I'm sure I can end the fight."
Grant gave way to his comrade, only too willing to let some one else try
his hand at the problem. They changed places carefully and George
prepared to put his plan into execution.
"You better stay here beside me, Grant," he exclaimed suddenly.
"What for?"
"We'll each grab a foot and pull for all we're worth."
"What good will that do?"
"If we can pull one of them away it ought to stop the fight, oughtn't
it? A man can't fight with himself."
"All right," agreed Grant. "We'll see what we can do, anyway."
"Be careful now," advised George as Grant took his place beside him.
"This is pretty ticklish business."
The two boys knelt side by side on one of the seats. They leaned
forward, eagerly waiting for a chance to seize the infuriated negro by
his feet. This was no easy task, however, for his feet flew in all
directions and kicked viciously backward, so that a few bruises were the
sole results of the first attempts of the two boys.
"Hit him on the shins," advised John. "That'll fix him."
"We'll try this first," said Grant doggedly. His knuckles were bleeding
and his forearms were sore from the treatment he had received from Sam's
boots. The pain made him angry and more determined than ever to
accomplish his purpose.
The fight was now desperate, even more so than before. No human beings
could continue at such a killing pace for long, however. Sam still had
the advantage which he had held from the beginning. His great powerful
hands were now feeling for Petersen's throat, and from the expression in
the Finn's eyes it was evident that he could not hold out much longer.
Help must come to him and come quickly.
"I've got him," cried Grant suddenly as he caught hold of one of Sam's
feet. "Grab the other one, Pop. Quick."
George grabbed all right, and held on, too. He received a blow over an
eye which opened up an ugly cut, but still he hung on desperately.
"Now, pull!" shouted John. "Pull with all your might!"
Both boys exerted themselves to the utmost. They braced themselves and
pulled with all the strength that was in them. It was difficult for them
even to hang on, however, for Sam struggled desperately and the two boys
were thrown all about. Still they retained their hold.
"You've got him," encouraged John. "Hold him."
Suddenly Sam doubled up his legs, drawing both Grant and George forward,
almost on their faces. Then quick as a flash he shot out with both feet,
striking the two boys each full in the chest. Their grip was torn loose
and they were sent sprawling backward, over the seat onto John, who too
was bowled over so that all four boys lay in a heap on the bottom of the
boat.
Grant was the first to regain his senses, and a strange sight greeted
his eyes. Sam and Petersen were now on their feet, still locked in each
other's arms. Suddenly the Finn wrenched an arm free and drawing back
struck the negro a stunning blow squarely between the eyes. Sam's arms
half dropped to his sides and he reeled drunkenly. Then quick as a flash
he once more seized his enemy in his embrace and a moment later the two
men went overboard.