He sat down to think it out. Sampson had hinted at big things talked
about. Billings had spoken of a vote--to stay at sea or not. However,
there could have been no vote since Billings' last visit because of
their condition. But Forsythe had indubitably taken chronometer sights
in the morning, and, being most certainly sober, had doubtless worked
them out and ascertained the longitude, which, with a meridian
observation at noon, would give him the position of the yacht.
The "big things" requiring a vote were all in Forsythe's head, and he
had merely anticipated the vote. Not knowing their position himself,
except as indicated by the trade-wind clouds, Denman could only surmise
that a west northwest course would hit the American coast somewhere
between Boston and Charleston. But what they wanted there was beyond his
comprehension.
He gave up the puzzle at last, and visited Florrie, finding her dressed,
swathed in the bandage, and sitting in the outer apartment, reading.
Briefly he explained the occurrences on deck, and, as all was quiet now,
asked her to step up and investigate. She did so, and returned.
"Forsythe is steering," she said, "and two or three are awake, but
staggering around, and several others are asleep on the deck."
"Well," he said, hopefully, "Forsythe evidently can control himself, but
not the others. If they remain drunk, or get drunker, I mean to do
something to-night. No use trying now."
"What will you do, Billie?" she asked, with concern in her voice.
"I don't know. I'll only know when I get at it. I hope that Forsythe
will load up, too. Hello! What's up? Run up, Florrie, and look."
The engine had stopped, and Forsythe's furious invective could be heard.
Florrie ran up the steps, peeped out, and returned.
"He is swearing at some one," she said.
"So it seems," said Denman. "Let me have a look."
He ascended, and carefully peeped over the companion hood. Forsythe was
looking down the engine-room hatch, and his voice came clear and
distinct as he anathematized the engineers below.
"Shut off your oil, you drunken mutts," he vociferated. "If the whole
four of you can't keep steam on the steering-gear, shut it off--all of
it, I say. Shut off every burner and get into your bunks till you're
sober."
Then Sampson's deep voice arose from the hatch. "You'll stop talking
like that to me, my lad, before long," he said, "or I'll break some o'
your bones."
"Shut off the oil--every burner," reiterated Forsythe. "We'll drift for
a while."
"Right you are," sang out another voice, which Denman recognized as
Dwyer's. "And here, you blooming crank, take a drink and get into a good
humor."
"Pass it up, then. I need a drink by this time. _But shut off that
oil._"
Denman saw Forsythe reach down and bring up a bottle, from which he took
a deep draught. The electric lights slowly dimmed in the cabin,
indicating the slowing down of the dynamo engine; then they went out.
Denman descended, uneasy in mind, into the half darkness of the cabin.
He knew, from what he had learned of Forsythe, that the first drink
would lead to the second, and the third, and that his example would
influence the rest to further drinking; but he gave none of his fears to
Florrie. He simply bade her to go into her room and lock the door. Then
he went to his own room against the possible advent of Billings at
supper-time.
But there was no supper for any that evening. Long before the time for
it pandemonium raged above; and the loudest, angriest voice was that of
Forsythe, until, toward the last, Sampson's voice rose above it, and, as
a dull thud on the deck came to Denman's ears, he knew that his fist had
silenced it. Evidently the sleeping men had wakened to further
potations; and at last the stumbling feet of some of them approached the
stern. Then again came Sampson's voice.
"Come back here," he roared. "Keep away from that companion, the lot of
you, or I'll give you what I gave Forsythe."
A burst of invective and malediction answered him, and then there were
the sounds of conflict, even the crashing of fists as well as the thuds
on the deck, coming to Denman through the deadlight.
"Forrard wi' you all," continued Sampson between the sounds of impact;
and soon the shuffling of feet indicated a retreat. Denman, who had
opened his door, ready for a rush to Florrie's defense, now went aft to
reassure her. She opened the door at his tap and his voice through the
keyhole.
"It's all right for the present, Florrie," he said. "While Sampson is
sober they won't come aft again."
"Oh, Billie," she gasped. "I hope so. Don't desert me, Billie."
"Don't worry," he said, reassuringly. "They'll all be stupid before
long, and then--to-night--there will be something doing on our side.
Now, I must be in my room when Billings comes, or until I'm sure he
will not come. And you stay here. I'll be on hand if anything happens."
He went back to his room, but Billings did not come with his supper. And
one by one the voices above grew silent, and the shuffling footsteps
ended in thuds, as their owners dropped to the deck; and when darkness
had closed down and all above was still, Denman crept out to
reconnoiter. He reached the door leading to the captain's room, and was
just about to open it when a scream came to his ears.
"Billie! Billie--come--come quick! Help!"
Then a tense voice:
"Shut up your noise in there and open the door. I only want to have a
talk with you."
Denman was into the room before the voice had ceased, and in the
darkness barely made out the figure of a man fumbling at the knob of the
stateroom door. He knew, as much by intuition as by recognition of the
voice, that it was Forsythe, and, without a word of warning, sprang at
his throat.
With an oath Forsythe gripped him, and they swayed back and forth in the
small cabin, locked together in an embrace that strained muscles and
sinews to the utmost. Forsythe expended breath and energy in curses.
Denman said nothing until Florrie screamed again, then he found voice to
call out:
"All right, Florrie, I've got him."
She remained silent while the battle continued. At first it was a
wrestling match, each with a right arm around the body of the other, and
with Denman's left hand gripping Forsythe's left wrist. Their left hands
swayed about, above their heads, to the right, to the left, and down
between the close pressure of their chests.
Denman soon found that he was the stronger of arm, for he twisted his
enemy's arm around as he pleased; but he also found that he was not
stronger of fingers, for suddenly Forsythe broke away from his grip and
seized tightly the wrist of Denman.
Thus reversed, the battle continued, and as they reeled about, chairs,
table, and desk were overturned, making a racket as the combatants
stumbled around over and among them that would have aroused all hands
had they been but normally asleep.
As it was, there was no interruption, and the two battled on in the
darkness to an end. It came soon. Forsythe suddenly released his clasp
on Denman's wrist and gripped his throat, then as suddenly he brought
his right hand up, and Denman felt the pressure of his thumb on his
right eyeball. He was being choked and gouged; and, strangely enough, in
this exigency there came to him no thought of the trick by which he had
mastered Jenkins. But instead, he mustered his strength, pushed Forsythe
from him, and struck out blindly.
It was a lucky blow, for his eyes were filled with lights of various
hue, and he could not see; yet his fist caught Forsythe on the chin, and
Denman heard him crash back over the upturned table.
Forsythe uttered no sound, and when the light had gone out of his eyes,
Denman groped for him, and found him, just beginning to move. He groaned
and sat up.