The Flying Bo'sun Part 9

CHAPTER IX

THE SHOWDOWN--SWANSON TAKES THE COUNT

I dimmed the swivel light in the Captain's room, locked the door and went on deck. Above, there was a fair breeze, and the sky was clear and glittering with millions of stars.

"What course are you steering?" said I to the man at the wheel.

"South-southwest, sir."

"Let her go off to southwest." I was anxious to take advantage of the wind by getting all sail on her.

"Where is the second mate?"

"He is forward, sir, setting the jibs."

Going forward, I shouted to Olsen: "Get the topsails and staysails on her as fast as you can."

"Aye, aye, sir. I am short-handed; Swanson refuses to come on deck. I sent Russian-Finn John down to tell him that we had a fine breeze, and wanted him to come up and trim ship. Do you know, sir, he kicked him out of the fo'c'sle?"

I took stock of myself. I was twenty-four years old, and weighed one hundred and eighty pounds. The big brute in the forecastle, refusing to work, whipping the second mate, and kicking his shipmates about, was getting too much for me. I made up my mind that there would be two dead captains or one d.a.m.ned live one.

Going aft to my room, I got a pair of canvas slippers that I had made, for with this brute I should be handicapped in bare feet. With the slippers on, and overalls well cinched up around me, I went to the forecastle, past Olsen, who was sheeting home the fore-topsail.

Calling down the forecastle, I said: "Swanson, come on deck." When he appeared: "I suppose you know that you are guilty of a crime on the high seas?"

He answered me back, saying: "I tank about it," and took his stand obstinately at the foot of the ladder.

The anger and pa.s.sion of thousands of years was upon me. I forgot the ship, forgot the dead captain. I skidded down the scuttle-hatch into the forecastle, where he stood, awaiting me with a large sheath-knife in his hand.

"Are you going on deck?" I shouted.

"You ----, ----, ----," flourishing the knife; "kap avay from me, I kill you!"

I noticed an oilskin coat hanging on the bulkhead. I must say that my mind was working overtime. My height was five feet eleven, and he towered above me like a giant. I was aware of the powerful legs and arms of this brute, conveying the suggestion of second money to me. If I were to trim this gorilla, it would require tact and skill. Otherwise I felt that the dead Captain would not have much start on me. He took a step toward me, saying:

"You get on deck d.a.m.n quick, or by Jiminy I cut your heart out!"

Quick as a flash I seized the oilskin coat. As he raised his arm to stab me I threw it over his head and arm, then jumped for him. After some minutes' hard work I succeeded in wresting the knife from him, but not without marks on my legs, arms and hands. The forecastle was so small it was hard to do much real fighting. It was more rough and tumble, and this kind of a battle favored the Swede.

While slashing with the knife, he cut the belt that held up my overalls.

I was handicapped by these hanging around my feet, but fortunately landed a right on his jaw, which sent him falling into his bunk. This gave me a chance to kick free from the pants, and in so doing I kicked one of the canvas shoes off. I can't remember when I lost the shirt, but what was left of it was lying by the bench. He pulled himself from the bunk saying, "I tank I go on deck."

"Well," thought I, "there is not much fight in him after all."

It was about twelve feet from the forecastle to the deck. When he reached the deck I started up after him. When my head was even with the deck, he stepped from behind the scuttle and kicked me in the forehead, knocking me back to the forecastle. Had he followed up the blow I should have indeed joined the dead Captain.

But no, he thought that he had finished me for good.

When I came to, I could hear strange noises around me. Some one was washing my face, and saying: "And begorra, it is far from being finished you are, me good man." It was Riley.

Old Charlie voiced in, saying: "That is a bad cut on his forehead."

Riley had no use for pessimists. "Ah, go wan with you, sure an it is only a scratch he has. Now when I had me eye knocked out--"

Here I got upon my feet, dazed, but with no broken bones. "Where is Swanson?"

"He is aft by the mainmast, sur, and be Hivins, it is a sight he is, sur."

"Riley," said I, "come on deck and throw a few buckets of salt water on me." There is nothing so invigorating as salt water when one is exhausted.

After the bath, with its salty sting in my cuts and scratches, I was ready for the cur again. He saw me coming up on the deck-load, and straightened up as if he thought that there was still some fight left in me. I noticed that he had a wooden belaying-pin in his hand. I took my cue from that.

Stalling that I was all in, and crawling aft to my room, I gave him this impression until I was abreast of him, and then I was on him with a vengeance. I s.n.a.t.c.hed the pin from him, and finished him in a hurry.

When he cried for mercy, and promised that he would work, and work with a will, I decided that he had had as good a tr.i.m.m.i.n.g as I could give him, and let him up.

"Now, I want you to stay on deck, and work until I tell you that you can have a watch below."

Calling all hands, I said, "Men, our Captain died during the middle watch. We will bury him at nine o'clock this morning."

With the surprised and solemn look of the crew as they heard my announcement, was mingled no mirth at my scant attire of one canvas shoe. That was lost in their sympathy for him who was taking the long sleep, and I doubt if they noticed it at all.

Death on board a ship creates a hushed stillness. Amongst the crew Old Charlie looked up at the mast as if expecting another Bo'sun to appear.

He seemed satisfied with his predictions. But Riley took a different view.

"Mother of G.o.d! It's fighting there has been going on with the poor dead Captain laying aft there. Be Heavens, sir," pointing, "it's bad luck we will be having for carrying on like this in the presence iv th' dead."

Sending him after my overalls and shoe, I went to my room to look myself over. My eyes were black, face cut, arms, hands and body cut and scratched, and worst of all, was my forehead where the brute had kicked me. I still carry this scar. I was somewhat alarmed with these open wounds, and knew that I must be careful of handling the Captain.

Hot breakfast, with its steaming coffee, did much to revive me, and for the second time I was aware that the Socialist cook was a friend in need.

CHAPTER X

BURIAL AT SEA--AT WHICH RILEY OFFICIATES

At eight o'clock I called Riley and Old Charlie aft to the cabin.

"Riley," said I, opening the door to the Captain's room, "I want you and Charlie to sew the Captain's body in this tarpaulin, while I go and find something to sink it with. Roll him over towards the part.i.tion, then roll him back onto the hatch-cover, then gather it in at both ends."

"Aye, aye, sir, and shure it is meself that has sewed many av thim up."

In the boatswain's locker I found plenty of old chain bolts and shackles. I had one of the crew carry them to the weather main rigging.