The Flying Bo'sun Part 6

As the enemy of every sailor who sails the seas came alongside, with him came the strains of the old capstan chantey:

"Sally Brown, I love your daughter, Heave, ho, roll and go, For seven long years I courted Sally, I spent my money on Sally Brown."

Before the second verse of the aged Sally was finished, Black Fin was ours to do and dare.

"Make fast forward," shouted the Captain, "and bring your capstan bars aft. One of you get the crowbar from the donkey-room."

If there is anything in this world that a sailor loves, it is to kill a shark. We secured him safely on the deck-load, for they are not to be trusted out of water, especially if one gets too near to the head or tail. This monster measured seventeen feet, six inches. With capstan bars, crowbar and sharp knives it didn't take long to take the fight out of him.

After being cut up, the choice parts were given to members of the crew, such as the backbone for a walking-stick, the gall for cleaning shoes and so forth. The eyeb.a.l.l.s, when properly cured in the sunlight resemble oyster pearls. I took the most coveted part, the jaw, and when it was opened, it measured twenty-two inches. The Captain ordered what was left of him thrown overboard, and turning to me said, "Have the steward serve dinner."

"How about the other shark, sir?"

"Oh, we will leave him until after we eat."

After dinner there was no shark to be seen. "We have made a sad mistake," lamented the Captain. "We should not have thrown the first shark overboard. By doing that we have fed him to the second."

CHAPTER VI

THE TIN-PLATE FIGHT--ONE-EYED RILEY TRIUMPHS

It was my watch below, and only one hour and a half left to sleep.

Taking off my cap, I hopped into the bunk, and was just dozing off to sleep when the Cook opened the door saying: "Have you anything to read?"

"No, I have not," I replied, impatiently.

"Well," said he, unheeding, "I wish you would read this book. It is 'The Superman,' by Nietzsche. I also want you to read Karl Marx, in three volumes. Then you will understand why I hate sharks and masters." With the last remark he slammed the door behind him.

The watch from eight to twelve was wonderfully fascinating, and full of romance. A full moon hung in the clear tropical sky. The waters rippled, and the Southern Cross glimmered in the distant horizon. Occasionally a block or boom squeaked, as if to say, "I, too, lend enchantment to the night."

At ten-thirty the light went out in the Captain's room. I knew that, tired by the excitement of the day, it would not be long before he would be asleep. With instructions to the wheel-man to keep her on her course, I went forward to see Old Charlie, and hear from him what happened next aboard the bark "Mud Puddler."

"As I was saying last night, there I stood with my hand stretched out to ring the bell, and, sir, I could not move a muscle."

"Charlie," said I, "you were just dozing and dreaming, and thought that you heard the bell aft."

"Not at all, sir, not at all. For the mate came forward cursing and swearing and telling me that if I slept again on watch he would dock me a month's pay. I have sailed under flags of many nations, sir, and never have I been caught dozing at the wheel or on the lookout."

"What about the Flying Bo'sun, did he visit your ship?"

Old Charlie was too solemn for one to think lightly of his story.

"Wait, sir, don't go too fast. At breakfast the next morning I was telling my shipmates about the strange man on the foc's'le. In describing how he looked and the clothes he wore, one old sailor seemed much interested.

"You say he wore Wellington boots and a pea-jacket? What color did you say his beard was?"

"Black and bushy," said I.

"That's very strange, very strange," said the old sailor.

One member of the crew laughed at the old man's last remark, and said: "What is strange about it? One would really believe that you thought that Charlie was awake. Ha, ha, the joke is on you."

Old John, for that was his name, pushed his hook-pot and plate over on the bench and rising very slowly to his feet said, "Shipmates, I am sixty-two years old. I have sailed the seas since I was fourteen. I want to say that the apparition that Charlie saw last night is not a joke, but a stern reality, and, shipmates, some one of us is going on the Long Voyage."

Here Charlie stopped to fill and light his pipe.

"What happened next?" I asked.

"Well, sir, in the afternoon watch I was out on the jibboom reeving off a new jib downhaul, and, sir, as true as I stand here, there, almost within arm's length, sat the Flying Bo'sun. Three days later we ran into a storm off the Cape,--you know the short, choppy, ugly sea we get off there? It was during this storm that we lost three men, and one of them was old Sailor John. So you see I have reason to believe in coming disaster. With the Bo'sun waiting to alight, and sharks following the ship, I tell you that something is going to happen soon."

As Charlie finished his story, the man at the wheel struck one bell, a quarter to twelve. It is always customary to give the crew fifteen minutes for dressing, that when eight bells is rung the watcher may be promptly relieved. I called the second mate, got a sandwich, and went on deck again to take the distance run by the log.

While I was waiting for Olsen to relieve me Old Charlie came running aft. "They are killing each other in the foc's'le, sir."

"Who is it?" I asked.

"One-Eyed Riley and Swanson, sir."

"Who is getting the best of it?"

"Swanson, sir. He has Riley down, and is beating him over the head with a tin plate."

Looking down into the forecastle I could see Swanson stretched out with Riley standing over him, a marline-spike in his hand, cursing and swearing.

"Bad luck to you for a big squarehead. It's trying to tear me good eye out, you are. Mother of G.o.d, look at me tin plate that he bate me with, it is all crumbled in. Sure and I can't use that agin, and divil another this side of San Francisco."

"Riley," said I, "have you killed this man?"

"Begorra, sir, me intintions was well-meanin'. I broke me spike on him."

"Turn him over," I commanded, "and see if there is any life in him."

"Now, throw some water on him."

"The divil a drop will I throw on him, sir, but if you will say the word, I'll pitch him into the sea."

In a few minutes Swanson came to, terribly bruised about the head, and no more fight in him.

"Riley," said I, "you beat this man, now you must bandage him up and take care of him."

"Ah, sure, sir; it's murdher you'd be after wantin' me to do and it's bandage him up you want. Heavenly Father, with me new tin plate all spoiled, what in the divil am I going to ate off of?"

"Eight bells!" sang out the man on the lookout. It was Swanson's lookout watch, and the Finn's wheel.

"Riley, you will have to keep the Swede's lookout this watch. He is dazed and stupid from the beating you gave him. There is danger of him walking overboard."