THE TWO CHAMPIONS.
For a week nothing occurred to relieve the dull monotony of their life.
The crew worked early and late, and under the skilful hands of the
carpenter and his assistants the masts, spars, and booms that were to
take the place of those that had been lost during the gale, began to
assume shape, and were finally ready for setting up. The timber of which
the most of them were made was brought from the shore, and Frank kept
such close watch over the boats, and the crews and workmen who went off
in them, that the natives never molested them. If the Malays had kept
out of sight on the first day of their arrival, the boys might have
believed the island to be uninhabited, for they saw no signs of life
there now.
On board the schooner everything was done decently and in order, as it
always was. The rescued men were all on their feet now, and able to do
duty. All but four of them—those suspected of being escaped
convicts—were able seamen, and these lent willing and effective aid in
the work of refitting the vessel. They were all Englishmen, but for some
reason or other they were not as arrogant and overbearing as the
majority of their countrymen seem to be, and the best of feeling
prevailed between them and the Stranger’s crew.
For a few days Waters conducted himself with the utmost propriety. He
seemed to be awed by his recent narrow escape from death, and so
entirely wrapped up in his meditations that he could hardly be induced
to speak to anybody. But the impressions he had received gradually wore
off as his bruises and scratches began to heal and his strength to come
back to him, and he assumed an impudent swagger as he went about his
work, that made the second mate look at him pretty sharply. He recovered
the use of his tongue too, and began to talk in a way that did not suit
the old boatswain’s mate, who one day sternly commanded him to work more
and jaw less. This reprimand kept Waters in shape for a day or two, and
then he appeared to gain confidence again, and got himself into a
difficulty that was rather more serious. Swaggering aft one morning
after breakfast with a borrowed pipe in his mouth, he suddenly found
himself confronted by the officer of the deck, who stepped before him.
“You have no business back here,” said Mr. Parker. “Go for’ard where you
belong.”
Waters took his pipe out of his mouth, and drawing himself up to his
full height, scowled down at the officer, “Look ’ere,” said he, with his
English twang; “hif you knowed me, you’d know hit’s jist a trifle
dangerous for heny man of your hinches to stand afore me.”
“I am second mate of this vessel,” answered Mr. Parker, hotly, “and any
more such language as that will get you in the brig. Go for’ard where
you belong.”
Like a surly hound that had been beaten by his master, Waters turned
about and went back to the forecastle. He was sullen all that day, and
“soldiered”—that is, shirked his work—so persistently that the old
boatswain’s mate was almost beside himself.
“I don’t like the cut of that fellow’s jib, cap’n,” said Barton, as he
ranged up alongside of Frank that night after the boats had been hoisted
at the davits, and the boarding nettings triced up. “He’s spoiling for a
row. He says if Lucas calls him a lubber again he’s going to knock him
down. He’s no good. Do you know what he was going aft for this morning?
Well, I do. He was going to take a look at the old man’s strong box. You
know it stands in the cabin right where you can see it through the
skylights.”
“Why did he want to take a look at the strong box?” asked Frank. “Has he
any designs upon it?”
“If he hasn’t, what makes him ask so many questions, sir?” asked the
coxswain, in reply. “He’s pumped the crew, easy like, till he’s found
out everything. He wanted to know how much we got a month, and when one
of the men told him that we could each have a handful of bright new
yellow-boys to spend in our next port if we wanted it, but that the old
man had advised us, friendly like, to leave all our earnings in his
hands and he would pay us interest on it at the end of the cruise, same
as the bank—when he found this out he wanted to know where the old man
kept his money and how much he had. Now what did he want to know that
for, sir?”
“What, indeed!” thought Frank, as Barton hurried away in obedience to
some orders. “He will bear watching, I think. I wish he was safe
ashore.”
Frank lost no time in making Uncle Dick acquainted with what he had
heard. The old sailor looked grave while he listened, and although he
said nothing in Frank’s hearing, he told Mr. Baldwin privately to keep
Waters so busily employed that he would have no time to think of
mischief, and at the very first sign of insubordination to promptly put
him where he would be powerless to work harm to the vessel or any of her
crew. Waters made the sign the very next morning. At five o’clock he was
ordered to assist in pumping out the schooner, and he obeyed with
altogether too much deliberation to suit Lucas, who was accustomed to
see men hurry when they were spoken to. This was the way Waters always
obeyed an order. He seemed to think he could do as he pleased, and no
one would dare take him to task for it. But when the old boatswain’s
mate was on duty he was on duty all over, and any of his men who
neglected their work were sure to be called to account. He had been very
patient with Waters because he was a landsman, but he could not stand
“soldiering.”
“I wish this was a man-o’-war now, and that flogging had not been
abolished,” said Lucas, as Waters came slowly up to the pump, staring
impudently at the mate as if to ask him what he was going to do about
it. “It would do me good to start you with a cat-o’-nine tails.”
“Do you think the likes o’ you could use a cat on me now?” sneered
Waters.
“I’ve used it on many a better man,” was the quick reply. “Make haste,
you lubber. I’ll stand this no longer. I’ll report”—
What it was that the old mate was going to report he did not have time
to tell, for Waters suddenly drew one of his huge fists back to his
shoulder, and when he straightened it out again Lucas went spinning
across the deck, rolling over and over, and finally bringing up against
the bulwarks. Every one who saw it—and every one who belonged to the
schooner was on deck, except her captain—was amazed at the ease with
which it was done.
Of course the excitement ran high at once. During the two years and more
that had passed since the schooner left Bellville, a blow had never been
struck on her deck, and never had an oath been heard there until these
rescued men were brought aboard. The whole crew arose as one man, not to
punish the offender for striking the petty officer, but to secure him
before he could do any more mischief. But Waters was fairly aroused, and
acted more like a mad brute than a human being. He backed up against the
bulwarks, and in less time than it takes to tell it, prostrated the
entire front rank of his assailants, including Barton, Rodgers, the
Doctor, as the negro cook was called, and the old gray-headed sailor who
had so badly frightened Dick Lewis by telling him that one of the
Sandwich Islands was the equator, and that when they passed it they
would be on the under side of the earth.
Having cleared a space in front of him, Waters sprang to the windlass,
and seizing a handspike, was back against the bulwarks again before any
one could prevent him. “Stand by me, mates,” he roared, “and we’ll take
the ship. Back me hup, and we’ll drive these Yankees hover among the
sharks.”
“I declare!” gasped Eugene, who was the first of the frightened boys who
could find his tongue, “he’s started at last, and he’ll walk across the
deck with that handspike as though there was no one here. The best men
in the crew are like so many straws in his way.”
All these incidents which we have been so long in describing, occupied
but a very few seconds in taking place. Before the astonished officer of
the deck could recover himself sufficiently to command the peace, Waters
had complete possession of the forecastle. And even when the officer did
recover himself the orders he issued might as well have been addressed
to the mast, for Waters paid no attention to them.
“Drop that handspike,” shouted Mr. Baldwin, starting forward.
“Yes, I’ll drop it no doubt,” replied Waters. “You remember what you
said to me yesterday, don’t you, you fellow with the gold band around
your cap? Look hout for yourself, for I’m coming for you now.”
Waters was as good as his word. Swinging his handspike viciously about
his head to clear a path before him, he started aft; but before he had
made many steps he ran against something, just as Archie had predicted.
Dick Lewis and old Bob Kelly had stood silent and amazed spectators of
the scene, and Archie, who had expected so much of his backwoods friend
in case of disturbance, forgot that he was present. But now the trapper
called attention to himself by giving one or two fierce Indian yells,
like those that had so often rung in his ears while he was battling with
or fleeing from his sworn enemies.
“Whoop! Whoop!” yelled Dick.
The boys looked towards him and saw that he had prepared himself for
action by discarding his hat and pushing back his sleeves. Then he
crouched like a panther about to make a spring, and in a second more was
flying across the deck like an arrow from a bow. Waters saw him coming,
and halting, drew back his handspike in readiness to receive him. As the
trapper approached within striking distance, the weapon descended with
such speed and power that the boys all uttered an exclamation of horror,
and Frank involuntarily started forward as if to shield his friend from
the blow that seemed about to annihilate him. But Dick was in no need of
help. Long experience had taught him how to take care of himself in any
emergency. A flash of lightning is scarcely quicker than was the
movement he made to avoid the descending weapon. It passed harmlessly
through the air over his head, and the force with which it was driven
sent Waters sideways into the arms of the trapper, while the handspike
flew from his grasp and went over the side.
“Stand by me, mates!” roared the giant, as he felt the trapper’s strong
arms closing about him with crushing power.
This was all he had time to say—he was not allowed an instant in which
to do anything—for before the words had fairly left his lips he was
thrown to the deck with stunning force, and held as firmly as if he had
been in a vice. Just then Uncle Dick appeared on the scene.
“Master-at-arms!” he exclaimed.
“Here, sir,” replied the petty officer, stepping forward. He knew that
his services would be required and he was all ready to act. He had a
pair of irons in his hand—something the boys did not suppose could be
found in the schooner’s outfit.
“Put them on,” said Uncle Dick. “Now, Lewis,” he added, after the
ruffian’s hands and ankles had been securely confined, “let him up.”
“Can’t I give him just one leetle whack for every man he’s knocked down,
cap’n?” asked the trapper, flourishing one of his clenched hands in the
air.
“Let him up,” repeated Uncle Dick.
The backwoodsman obeyed the order very reluctantly. He arose to his
feet, pulling his antagonist up with him.
“Waters, is this the way you repay us for saving your worthless life?”
demanded Uncle Dick, sternly. “Some of the men you struck were the very
ones who kept you from falling into the hands of the savages on shore.”
“I’ll pay you for it hall afore I am done with you,” gasped the
prisoner, panting from the violence of his exertions. “Hand you, my
friend in buckskin, I’ll see you some other day when this thing—”
[Illustration: WATERS FINDS HIS MASTER.]
“Silence!” commanded Uncle Dick.
“There’s honly one way to stop my talking and that is to stop my
breath,” declared Waters, boldly.
“You will go without food for twenty-four hours for every word you
utter,” replied Uncle Dick. “Master-at-arms, take him down and put him
in the brig. Mr. Baldwin,” he continued, in a lower tone, “have a sentry
put over him with orders to allow him to hold communication with no
one.”
The fear of being starved into submission effectually closed the
prisoner’s mouth, and without another word he allowed the master-at-arms
to lead him below. The boys breathed easier when they saw his head
disappear below the combings of the hatchway.
“How did this trouble begin, Mr. Baldwin?” demanded Uncle Dick.
The officer told him in a few words and the captain said, with a smile,
“That is a good deal of work to be done in so short a space of time. I
came on deck as soon as I could get up from the table. When we reach
Hobart Town I’ll teach this fellow that he can’t strike my men with
impunity. You say he called for help from his friends. Did they seem
inclined to give it?”
“Yes, sir, one of them did. He picked up a handspike, but lacked the
courage to use it. The other two stood still and looked on.”
“Send them to the mast, Mr. Baldwin. They all belong to the same class,
and it may be well to have a fair understanding with them.”
Mr. Baldwin passed the order to the old boatswain’s mate, who was going
about his work with an eye bunged up, and presently Waters’s three
friends came to the mast and respectfully removed their caps. There was
no swagger or bluster about them. The defeat of their champion had cowed
them completely. Uncle Dick first explained why he had brought them
there, and then for five minutes talked to them in a way the boys had
never heard him talk before. Even Walter and Eugene were surprised to
know that their jolly uncle could be so stern and severe. He used words
that the men before him could readily understand. He bluntly told them
that they were escaped convicts (the start they gave when they heard
this showed that he had hit the nail fairly on the head), and that he
was just the man to deal with such characters as they were. He would rid
his vessel of their unwelcome presence as soon as he could, and give her
a good scrubbing from stem to stern after they went. He did not want
them there, but while they stayed they must walk a chalk-mark; and if he
heard so much as a mutinous eye-wink from any of them, he would show
them that the discipline that was maintained on board the Stranger could
be made as severe as that to which they had been subjected by their
prison taskmasters. That was all, and they might go forward and bear
everything he had said to them constantly in mind.
The suspected men, glad to be let off so easily, returned to their work,
and we may anticipate events a little by saying that they took the old
sailor at his word, and never made the schooner’s company the least
trouble—that is, they made them no trouble before they reached Hobart
Town, whither the Stranger went to refit. What they did afterward is
another matter; we have not come to that yet. We may also say that the
trapper won a high place in the estimation of all the foremast hands by
the exploit he performed that morning. He had peace after that. None of
the sailors ever told him any more stories about the Flying Dutchman,
the squids, and the whale that swallowed Jonah. It was not because they
were afraid of him—no one who behaved himself could look into the
trapper’s wild gray eye and feel the least fear of him—but because they
wanted to reward him for what he had done. When the crew assembled
around the mess-chest at meals Dick was always the first one waited upon
by the mess-cook, and if any of the blue jackets found a tit-bit in the
pan, it was always transferred to Dick’s plate. Old Bob also came in for
a large share of their attention, and it was not long before these
little acts of kindness so worked upon the feelings of the two trappers,
that they declared that if the schooner wouldn’t pitch about so with the
waves, and they could have a chance to use their rifles now and then,
they would as soon be there among the sailors as in the mountains.
Of course the exciting scene of which they had been the unwilling
witnesses produced a commotion among the boys, who for a long time could
talk about nothing else. If they ever forgot it, one glance at the
battered face which the old boatswain’s mate carried about with him
would instantly recall it, and set their tongues in motion again. The
ease with which the supple trapper had vanquished his huge antagonist,
was the occasion of unbounded astonishment to all of them except Frank
and Archie. The latter always wound up the conversation by saying:
“Didn’t I tell you that Waters would run against a stump if he attempted
any foolishness? You have heard the expression ’as quick as lightning,’
and now you know what it means. Hold on till we get ashore,” he added,
one day, “and I’ll show you some more of it.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Fred.
“I’ll borrow or hire a horse somewhere, and run a race with Dick.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Eugene, “I know from what you have said that the trapper
must be very fleet, but he can’t beat a good horse if _I_ ride him.”
“He can run a hundred yards, and turn and run back to the
starting-point, and beat the swiftest horse that ever moved,” replied
Archie, emphatically, “and you may ride the horse.”
The boys looked toward Frank, who confirmed Archie’s statement by saying
that he had seen him win a race of that description, but still they were
not satisfied. It was a novel idea to them, this matching a man’s
lightness of foot against the speed of a horse, and they longed for an
opportunity to see the swift trapper put to the test.
Meanwhile the work of refitting the vessel went steadily on. Having a
large force at his command, the work was accomplished in much less time
than the captain expected it could be done. The question whether their
proposed visit to Japan and India should be given up was discussed, and
decided in the affirmative. Uncle Dick gave the boys their choice of two
courses of action: they could carry out their original plan, spend a few
weeks in Asia, and after they had seen all they wanted to see they would
start directly for home by the way of the Cape of Good Hope, stopping
during the voyage only when it was necessary to take in fresh supplies
of food and water; or they would go to Natal, purchase there a trader’s
outfit, and spend a few months travelling about in the interior of
Africa, skirmishing with the strange animals they would find there. In
either case they must first go to the nearest port, and have the
schooner completely overhauled and refitted. She had been badly strained
by the gale, and her captain did not consider her safe. The boys decided
on the latter course simply because they knew Uncle Dick wished it.
This was the first time during the voyage that anything had been said
about going “home,” and the simple sound of the word was enough to set
them to thinking. Up to this time they had been going away from their
native land; but now every mile which the schooner passed over brought
them nearer to the loved ones they had left behind.