II

It lacked two minutes to sailing time, and the passenger was in the

cabin mess-room, when he heard the exclamation. "Here he comes now."

He looked through the air-port. Out on the deck was a huge fellow gazing

up the dock. The passenger, who knew the big man for the boson, gazed up

the dock also and saw that it was the pump-man coming; and he was

singing cheerily as he came:

"Our ship she was alaborin' in the Gulf o' Mexico,

The skipper on the quarter--"

Usually it is only the drunks who come over the side of an oil-tanker

singing, but this was no drunk. Drunks generally make use of all the

aids to navigation when they board a ship. Above all, they do not ignore

the gang-plank. But this lad wasn't going a hundred feet out of his way

for any gang-plank. He hove his suit-case aboard, made a one-handed

vault from dock to deck (and from stringpiece to rail was high as his

shoulder), and when he landed on deck it was like a cat on his toes; and

like a cat he was off and away, suit-case in hand, while those of the

crew who had only seen him land were still wondering where he dropped

from.

The big man plainly did not like the style of him at all. "Here you!"

he bellowed, "who the hell are _you_?"

And the new-comer ripped out, "And who the hell are _you_ that wants to

know?"

"Who'm I? Who'm I? I'll show yer bloody well soon who I am."

"Well, show me."

"Show yer?"

"Yes, you big sausage, show me."

"Show yer? Show yer?" The big man peered around the ship. Surely it was

a mirage.

At the very first whoop from the big man the pump-man had stopped dead,

softly set down his suit-case, and waited. Now he stepped swiftly toward

the big man. And to the passenger, looking and listening from the cabin

mess-room, it looked like the finest kind of a battle; but just then the

captain came up the gang-plank calling out, "Cast off those lines. And

don't fall asleep over it, either." The deck force scattered to carry

out his orders. The pump-man picked up his suit-case and went on to his

quarters.

Next morning (the ship by now well down the Jersey coast and the

passenger on the bridge by the captain's invitation) again was heard the

carolling voice:

"Our ship she was alaborin' in the Gulf o' Mexico,

The skipper on the quarter, with eyes aloft and low.

Says he, 'My bucko boys--'"

that far when the big man's hoarse bass interrupted, "Say you, what

about that Number Seven tank?"

"--Says he, 'My bucko boys, it's asurely goin' to blow'"

The pump-man paused, inclined his head, set one hand back of his ear,

and asked, "And what about Number Seven tank? And speak up, son, so I

can hear you."

"Speak up!" The big man roared to the heavens. "Speak up! Don't tell me

to speak up. Did yer clean that tank out?"

"No, I didn't clean it out."

"Yer didn't? And why in hell didn't yer?"

"Because I don't have to. But I put a couple of men to work and saw that

they cleaned it out. And it was done before you were out of your warm

bunk this morning."

"Who's that big fellow?" The passenger put the question to the captain.

"That's my bosun--and a good one."

"And the other? Know anything of him?"

"The singing one? Nothin', except he's the new pump-man. And I can see

right now it won't be many hours afore the bosun'll beat his head off."

"You think he will?"

"I _know_ he will. Why, look at him--the size of him, and solid's a

rock."

The passenger took another look over the top of the bridge canvas. He

was surely a big man; and under his thin sleeveless jersey, surely a

solid man. And the pump-man, in his skimpy, badly-fitting dungarees,

though of good height, did not look to be much more than half the

other's bulk.

"That same bosun's beat up more men than any shipping agency ever kept a

record of. That's Big Bill. And if you'd ever travelled on oil-tankers,

you'd 'a' heard of him. He's a whale. Take another look at him, Mr.

Noyes."

Noyes took another look. The boson surely was a tremendously muscled

man. He was knobbed with muscle. But Noyes had his own opinion about the

two men, and he hazarded it now.

"But he's a wonderfully quick-moving fellow, that pump-man, captain. And

he's surely got his nerve with him. Look at him leap across that open

hatch! If he fell short he'd get a thirty-foot drop and break his neck."

"And I wish he would break his neck. And so can a kangaroo hop around,

but you wouldn't pick a kangaroo to fight a bull buffalo. You'll find

out the difference, if ever he tackles my bosun. And no fear my bosun

won't get him. He'll get him, you see. And when they come together I'll

take good care there's no interruption."

"But why does the bosun hound him so? This man was no sooner aboard than

the bosun began to crowd him."

"Did he? And perhaps you think the bosun of an oil-tanker's goin' to

hand a man a type-written letter every time he wants to have a word with

him. He's a good bosun. He knows his business, and he saves me a lot of

trouble."

And what the captain did not say, but what Noyes imagined he saw in his

eye, was: "And I'll be telling you pretty soon to keep to yourself your

opinion of ship's matters."

When Noyes went to his room that night, it was for a stay of two days.

More than a year now since he had been to sea, and the weather passing

Hatteras had been bad. But now it was the fourth day out, and Hatteras

was far astern, and the ship was plunging easily southward, with the

white sandy shore of Florida abeam. A fine, fair day it was, with the

Caribbean breeze pouring in through the air-port. The passenger shaved

and washed and got into his clothes. Above him he could hear the captain

dressing down somebody. He stepped out on deck.

It was two sailors who had complained of the grub, and he had made short

work of their complaint. "I'll give you what grub I please. And that's

good grub." That and more, and drove the two sailors, with their

dinners on their tin mess-plates, down to the deck.

Noyes, who remembered that the company allowed fifty cents a day per man

for grub, took a look and a whiff of the protested rations as the men

went by. "Phew!" He ascended to the bridge. The captain turned to him.

"Did you see those two? Complaining of the grub, mind you. What do they

know of grub? In the hovels they came from they never saw good grub."

Noyes made no answer. He was interested just then in the pump-man, who

now came strolling along and presently overtook the protesting sailors.

The better to observe proceedings, Noyes took his station on the chart

bridge aft. "And did you fellows think that any polite game of

conversation up on the bridge was going to get you a shift of rations?"

the pump-man was saying. "Don't you know that what he saves out of the

ship's allowance goes into his own pocket? What you fellows want to do

is to go and scare the cook to death--or half way to it. If it's only

for a couple of days, it'll help. Here, let's go back and shake him up.

Besides, we might as well start something to make a fellow smile. Most

morbid packet ever I was in. You'd think it was a crime to laugh on her.

Come on."

The galley was a little house by itself on the after deck of the ship.

Noyes saw the pump-man call out the cook, and after a time, their voices

rising, he heard, "Now, cookie, no more of that slush. Mind you, I'm

wasting no time talking to the captain. I'm talking to you. We know that

he slips you a little ten-spot every month for keeping down the grub

bills; but even if he does, you'll have to dig out something better."

"I'll be giving you what I please."

"You will, will you?" The cook was a good-sized man, and he held a

skillet in his hand, but he was taken by surprise. The pump-man whipped

the skillet from him, whirled him about, ran him into his galley, and

closed and bolted the door behind him. A stove-pipe projected from the

roof of the galley. The pump-man climbed up, stuffed a bunch of wet

cotton waste into the stovepipe, and with a valve which he seemed to be

taking apart, took his stand by the taffrail.

Every few minutes he got up from his valve, put his ear to the door of

the shack, and listened. After twenty minutes or so he opened the door,

lifted out the cook, and held him over the rail. He was gulping like a

catfish.

Noyes looked to see if the captain had witnessed the little comedy.

Evidently he had, for Noyes could hear him swearing.

Noyes, now on the bridge, was still chuckling over the picture of the

scared cook when the pump-man came walking forward. He was swinging a

pair of Stillson wrenches, one in each hand, as if they were Indian

clubs, and singing as he came:

"Our ship she was alaborin' in the Gulf o' Mexico,

The skipper on the quarter, with eyes aloft and low.

Says he, 'My bucko boys, it's asurely goin' to blow--

Take every blessed rag from her, strip her from truck to toe,

And we'll see what she can make of it.'

And O, my eyes, it blew! And blew and blew,

And blew and blew! My soul, how it did blow!

Aboard the _Flying Walrus_ in the Gulf o' Mexico.

"The sea--"

Noyes saw him leap to one side, even as he saw a heavy, triple-sheaved

block bound on the steel deck beside him. Noyes looked up. Aloft was the

boson, apparently rigging up some sort of a hoisting arrangement.

The pump-man stopped to pull out a handkerchief and wipe his forehead.

Then he, too, looked up. "Fine business. But did you think for a minute

you--that I didn't have my eye on you?"

It took the boson a minute or two to find his tongue. When he did, it

was to say, "Young fella, did you ship for a opera singer or wot?"

"I shipped for what you'll find my name signed against in the articles,

and I'm on the job every minute. And I'll go on singing if it pleases

me. And if it pleases me, I'll finish that song, too."

"Not on this ship, you won't, 'less you sing it in your sleep and me not

in hearin'."

"I'll finish it on this ship, son. And it won't be in my sleep and

you'll be within hearing."

A group of deck-hands snickered, and the boson pretended to climb down

from the rigging. "You swine! What the--"