Although he is faced with no mean antagonist, Baynes, without
question, is slightly the better man of the two with his fists, as he
is also the more powerful and has the longer reach. And there is
very little doubt that if the conditions of the fight were those of
an ordinary contest the seaman would come off the victor, even though
he might have to last several rounds before finally deciding the
matter.
As it is, however, the fickle chances of a fight in semi-darkness
tend rather to equalise matters between the two. In fact, fortune
comes to the aid of the weaker man, and, aided by a cloud suddenly
blotting out the light of the moon, Stapleton gets in a blow which
the other fails to ward off. The blow falls true on the mark, and
Baynes goes reeling and stumbling to his knees.
Now is Stapleton's chance to break away and get clear of this
drunken, fighting fool; but no--he is far too much exhausted himself
to do more than stand, with his arms hanging limp at his sides and
his head bowed forward, heaving deep breaths in the effort to get his
wind.
Baynes is the first to recover. He sees that he must make an end of
the affair. It is not proving so easy as he thought it would be to
manhandle his antagonist to such an extent as to place him completely
out of action for a few days. He has no mind to prolong a mere
blindfold boxing contest such as this is becoming and, what is more,
his blood is now thoroughly roused, and the cautious scheming of his
original plan has given place to the fierce fighting lust of the
primitive man battling with his fellow savage.
Yes, he must make an end of it--and the conventions of fair play and
the rules of the game can go hang; the great thing is to finish the
other man off--by any and all means possible.
With this intent, Baynes springs to his feet again and makes for his
man. Stapleton stops his rush with a simultaneous right and left--or
thinks to stop it. But the primitive savage now raised in the big
seaman takes little heed of these punishing body blows. On he comes
still and closes with his opponent, with one thought alone in his
mind--to get him beaten.
Stapleton feels himself locked in a pair of arms like steel cables;
his legs are pinned--this is wrestling now, and foul wrestling at
that!--and his body is being gradually forced back; he is taken
unprepared. He strains against the pressing weight of the heavier
man; but strain as he may, he finds himself still being forced
backwards, and feels that unless he can do something, and that
quickly, in another minute his back will be broken.
But it is not for nothing that Stapleton himself has done some pretty
good wrestling in his time. There are not many tricks of the game
which he has not learnt and practised.
He knows that the other man will be obliged to take breath in a
second or two, and that then will be his opportunity.
The moment comes, and with it a slight relaxing of the pressure.
Then, as well he knows how, Stapleton cleverly slips downwards from
the circling arms and gets half free.
In a second the two are closed again, but this time neither can be
said to have all the advantage on his side, it is more equal.
They sway to and fro, and shift their feet rapidly, manœuvring to
get a good hold.
And neither of them takes notice of the fact that in their struggles
they are getting dangerously near the edge of the cliff.
Near it? Good God, they are over! Still heaving and struggling,
locked in each other's arms, they come unseeing to the top of the
precipitous bank overhanging the rocks on the foreshore. The soft
earth breaks away beneath their feet, and in the dark they cannot see
to save themselves--indeed, it would be too late in any case, so
little is either inclined to relax his deadly grip of the other.
So the fight comes suddenly to an end--a tragic end.
Tragic enough at least for one of them. The heavier man falls
underneath, and is dead as soon as he strikes the rocks below. Dick
Baynes, who an instant before was a fine, powerful creature of mighty
muscles and quick stirring blood, a man full of life, able to love
like a man and fight like a man--is now a lifeless lump of
dehumanised clay, broken and bruised beyond recognition.
This is what Netta, that delicate, fair, feminine thing, has won by
her scheming. True, she meant well: her only object was to save her
cousin from a threatened danger and she had no thought the result of
her own actions would ever be anything like this--but what sadder
epitaph can be written over the grave of one's dead actions than
these very words: "He meant well; he never thought!"
Yet Netta must not be blamed too harshly; in truth, the mischief can
be traced to a source much farther back than her own unthinking
attempt at intrigue; it goes back to the evil brains of those who
first planned the vile plot against the _Marathon_. The death of
honest Dick Baynes is but a later fruit of that noxious growth; and
the strong poison of that evil weed is not even yet exhausted.
* * * * *
The young sub-lieutenant is beginning to be rather worried about the
skiff, and very much annoyed with Lieutenant-Commander Stapleton for
not coming back with it.
"Confound the fellow," he says to himself, "first he takes away our
one and only steam bus and keeps it all the afternoon as if he was a
blighted admiral with a barge of his own, and then, if you please, he
must go and borrow the skiff-dinghy and proceed to make a night of
it!"
It must be admitted that the officer of the watch has a certain
amount of justification for his moan. However, as soon as eight
bells strike and he turns over to his relief who is to keep the first
watch, he shifts his burden of trouble on to the shoulders of the
next man and promptly dismisses the whole affair from his mind.
After all, it is none of his business: and seeing that in the
ordinary round of his daily care-worn existence it frequently falls
to his lot to be obliged to take on the troubles and anxieties of
other watch keepers, he is quite entitled to pass on his own worries
now; as he unhesitatingly does, and forthwith goes below to find a
fresh grievance in that the watch dinner has not been kept properly
hot.
The officer of the first watch has the same thing to turn over to his
relief; and the middle watch keeper in turn passes on the knowledge
to the rather sleepy and very disgruntled officer who turns up on the
quarter-deck at twenty minutes past four to keep the morning watch.
As his immediate predecessor has been kept waiting these twenty
minutes he is not in the best of humour himself and a slight friction
arises between the two, which happily vents itself in a shower of
lurid objurgations directed against the skiff-dinghy and the
misbegotten officer who has borrowed the boat and not brought it back.
The officer of the morning watch thinks it better, under the
circumstances, to go himself to the commander's cabin instead of
sending the quartermaster, to carry out the directions contained in
the commander's Night Order Book--"Call me at 5.30."
He knocks as he pulls aside the curtain and steps into the cabin.
"Commander, sir? It is half-past five. And--er, the skiff has not
come back yet, sir."
"Eh? What's that?"--The commander, according to his usual habit, is
quite wide awake the moment he is called, and begins at once to take
an interest in the affairs of the ship in which he combines the
duties of upper housemaid with those of acting-God-Almighty.
"Didn't he say where he was going when he went away in the skiff?" he
asks, on hearing the report now made to him.
"No, sir; that is to say, not so far as I know. Nothing was turned
over to me about it. I took it for granted that he had gone across
to some other ship."
"Never take anything for granted when you are officer of the watch,"
comes the answer, a rebuke without a sting since it is made in a
kindly fashion and comes from an officer who is known, to be just
about as efficient as they make 'em and keen as mustard on every
detail of the navy he serves and loves.
The sub-lieutenant who had the last dog the evening before, when
Stapleton took the skiff away, is roused to give what information he
can; unfortunate youth, having looked forward to the pleasure of an
all-night-in, not to go on watch again till he should start at
eight-thirty to keep the forenoon, he is dragged from his bunk at
quarter-to-six; and consequently has several caustic remarks to make
about the habits and customs of the energetic commander; but he keeps
these remarks to himself.
As a result of this interview a general signal is made asking if any
ship has seen anything of the missing skiff. And in a few minutes
the reply comes from a ship in an inshore billet that there is a
skiff tied up at the landing-place without a boatkeeper, and that
this skiff was noticed putting in there last night.
The steamboat is called away and sent in to see if this may happen to
be the one in question. It proves to be so, as the boat's crew find
out as soon as they get to the pier.
They find something else also.
They find, jammed amongst the rocks, washed by the incoming tide and
half afloat at every wave, the battered and disfigured body of a
seaman, whose wide staring eyes had in them the look as though they
were still seeking something that could never be attained. A little
brown silky-eared dog crouches at his head, licking the dead man's
face and from time to time whining piteously, not understanding why
his master lies there and will not speak.
And near him, just above the line of high water, another body in the
uniform of an officer. But this one is not dead, as is presently
found, only bruised and faint, and utterly worn out by pain, shock,
and weariness. Indeed, he must have crawled half unconsciously out
of reach of the tide before he quite succumbed.
Even as his rescuers come up to him he is opening his eyes and
beginning feebly to try and struggle to his feet.
Very tenderly and carefully they help him, and carry him to the
steamboat; nor is it until they have got him comfortably in the
little cabin where he can see nothing that they bring the other man
also, the dead man on board and lay the body on the deck for'ard,
covering it with boat's flags.
And so they make their way back to the ship.