I BECOME “COCK OF THE WALK”
There was nothing brutal or rough in this encounter, and, if it savours
of the commonplace sailor’s brawl, I can only say that such are the
customs on deep-water ships, and they must continue through all time.
Life at sea is not always gentle. There is no use trying to make it so.
It is nearly always a fight against the elements, and the roughness
prevents the customs from becoming effete as those of the drawing-room,
where an easy tongue and sarcastic wit does the hurting. This is said to
be refined and not brutal, but for my part I have seen men more brutally
and cruelly hurt by words than by fists. A person with a weak stomach
will stand an uncommon lot of verbal brutality, but when it takes a
physical form, they shrink from it and cry out that it is degrading. It
is less degrading than a vile tongue.
When Bill landed upon me, there was something of a mix-up, and some
short-arm work that might have proved interesting to lovers of sport. We
were in pretty good training, and the thuds of our blows sounded
healthily through the little forecastle. The men lounging in their pews
and gazing complacently at us, their bodies and legs well out of the
way, made a very appreciative audience and left the deck perfectly
clear. Their remarks were not always well advised, for they clamoured
loudly for Bill to put the finishing touches to me, while I jolted him
repeatedly upon the side of his bullet-head.
Finally Martin and Anderson separated us for a breathing spell, and I
had a chance to look about the room with the one eye left me for duty.
Then I noticed the companionway blocked by the forms of two men who were
somewhat remarkable in appearance. They were dressed in the height of
fashion, and sat upon the topmost steps smoking and looking interested.
The younger was about my own age, and good-looking, and his companion
was nearer middle age, with a face describing free living.
“I have your money on that first round,” said the younger. “The Yank
drew first blood,” and he pulled forth a handsome gold watch and noted
the time.
“Two to one he loses yet,” said the older man, carelessly, as though it
was of no consequence whatever.
That stirred something within me.
“Perhaps you would care for a turn,” I suggested, turning sharply at
him. But he laughed immoderately, and the younger man joined, slapping
his leg, crying:
“I’ll take you! I’ll take you!”
At that instant time was called by Martin, and we went at it again.
There is no use going into the details of the finish, but it will
suffice to say that the American eagle which was tattooed upon my breast
had no reason to blush. I was somewhat aroused by the unfriendly tone of
the Englishman above, and I jolted Bill rather roughly upon the point of
his jaw. It was not viciously done, but at the same time I put a bit of
weight into my hand, and my heavily limbed antagonist dropped to the
floor. Anderson tried to get him to start again, but he reeled as he
reached his knees and swayed hopelessly for a space. The motion of the
ship seemed to bother him also.
“My money! My money!” cried the younger man above. “The Yank has him
going.”
It was more than that, and I felt sorry for Bill. He was out of it, and
a heavy jolt might mean something serious. I went to my bunk and began
to put my clothes on, while Martin cried for me to wait. “I’ll give you
a turn another time,” I said, shortly.
“No, no, he isn’t done for yet,” they all cried, but I knew better.
Poor Bill! He turned his face up, and I saw his vacant eyes trying to
grasp the situation. He was game enough, and struggled to rise, swaying
to and fro like an unstayed topmast. The deck would slant away from him
and his hand would reach out for support. Then the barque heaved a bit
to leeward, and he staggered, swayed, and then pitched forward prone and
lay still.
“Pour water over him, mon, pour water over him,” cried Martin, and
Anderson sluiced the allowance in the forecastle over the fallen man’s
head. Then they raised him and put him in his pew, and, by the time I
had finished dressing, he was sitting up regarding me curiously.
“Now, William,” said I, “just as soon as you feel better, you take hold
of these mess things and get them cleaned up and shipshape. Jorg there
can lend you a hand this morning, and, if he doesn’t bear a hand, I’ll
see what kind of skin they raise in Finland.” And I nodded to the
bearded fellow who had chosen to question me regarding Watkins. Then I
settled myself for a nap, and tied a rag over my bruised side-light,
while I smoked and listened to the discussions around me.
The younger man who sat in the companion, and who had backed me, now
arose and stood twisting the ends of his little blond moustache while he
looked down. His face was tanned a ruddy brown, and I was not inclined
to find fault with his looks. His companion cursed his luck and Bill,
his face almost purple with anger and his black beard fairly bristling.
“I’ll own I’ve lost, Sir John, but may the curse of the vikings strike
that lubber I backed,” he growled. “One wouldn’t think there was so
little in such a big fellow. I thought Hawkson had a picked crew, but,
if that fellow Bill’s the best, they’re a poor lot.”
“I think the Yank proved satisfactorily the Sou’wegian isn’t the best
man in the forecastle. Bill is all right enough. Come along. They’ll be
all right for our business.”
“And what is their business?” I asked Martin, as they went aft. “Is it
to come forrard and try and get on a fracas for their amusement? For if
that’s their lay, I’ll see they get one before long if they are
passengers.”
“I hear they’re part-owners. The owners will join at the islands. It’s
themselves who are runnin’ the vessel an’ expedition,” said the Scot.
“Well, they strike me as a queer lot, and the whole thing don’t seem
regular. Here we are in Howard’s old pirate barque, being tricked into
signing on. The old rascal is in command, although he must be more than
three-quarters of a hundred years old. And here we sail away on an
expedition no one seems to know anything about except the owners
themselves.”
“There ain’t any such thing as piracy in these times, hey?” said Martin,
and he looked at me hard with his bright gray eyes, his whole broad face
showing plainly enough that he was more than willing that there should
be.
“No, of course not,” I said. “How the deuce could a barque like this
turn pirate? She isn’t fast enough, in the first place.”
“Ye is wrong there. There ain’t anything afloat that’ll go to windward
o’ this craft. Good mon, just look how she travels! Na, na, friend
Heywood, this be a trim ship for a robber, and we’re uncommon well
manned. Twenty men forrards, and there’ll be nigh a dozen more aft,
making up to forty when we ship the owners. ’Tis a biggish crowd fer a
barque o’ five hundred ton. Now I’ve been a peaceable man an’ mate o’ a
dozen ships,--as you yoursel’,--but I wouldna gie thruppence fer me
conscience should th’ owld raskil aft say th’ word. Be you afeard,
friend Heywood?”
“Not of you, Watkins, or Howard himself,” I answered, “but it’s all
foolishness to think of dodging men-of-war in these days. I’ve sailed in
a man-o’-war that would clean the South Sea of all floating things in
six months. It’s not that they’re after. They’re up to some expedition
among the islands. Maybe the scoundrel has treasure hid, and these
bloods are going out to hunt it. That’s more like the lay of it.”
“Maybe, maybe, friend Heywood, but even so I’m that keen for the
adventure, I’ll not stand for the money they robbed us of, if there’s a
chance to get it back.”
“Well, I’ll clear at the Bahamas if I get a chance, unless they show me
that advance I missed,” I said, warmly, “and I’ll make that old
scoundrel sorry for some of his sins.”
Then we smoked in silence until Hawkson’s voice bawled out for eight
bells, and a rough-looking Dutchman poked his head below and bellowed
the news, receiving an old sea-boot full in the face from Martin for his
pains.
The morning had passed rapidly enough, and although tired and sore from
the incidents of the past few hours, I was not sorry to go on deck and
get a breath of fresh sea air.