CHAPTER 15
"Old Capting Pink of the Peppermint, Though kindly at heart and good, Had a blunt, bluff way of a-gittin' 'is say That we all of us understood.
When he brained a man with a pingle spike Or plastered a seaman flat, We should 'a' been blowed but we all of us knowed That he didn't mean nothin' by that.
I was wonderful fond of old Capting Pink, And Pink he was fond o' me, As he frequently said when he battered me head Or sousled me into the sea." --Wallace Irwin.
BULLY GREEN PRESERVES DISCIPLINE AND THE REBEL LEARNS TO SAY "SIR"
Part 1
On the night of the twenty-second of December Jeff left the _World_building and moved down Powers Avenue to the all night restaurant heusually frequented. The man who was both cook and waiter rememberedafterwards that Farnum called for coffee, sausage, and a waffle.
Before the editor left the waffle house it was the morning of thetwenty-third. He had never felt less sleepy. Nor did a book and a pipebefore his gas log seem quite what he wanted. The vagabond streak in himwas awake, the same potent wanderlust that as a boy had driven him tothe solitude of the forests and the hills. This morning it sent himquesting down Powers Avenue to that lower town where the derelicts ofthe city floated without a rudder.
A cold damp mist had crept up from the water front and enwrapped thecity so that its lights showed like blurred moons. Some instinct tookhim toward the wharves. He could hear the distant cough of a tug asit fussed across the bay, and as he drew near the big Transcontinentalwharves of Joe Powers the black hulk of a Japanese liner rose black outof the gray fog shadow. But the freighters, the coasters, tramps thatwent hither and thither over the earth wherever fat cargoes luredthem--they were either swallowed in the mist or shadowed to a ghost-likewraith of themselves so tenuous that all detail was lost in the haze.
Jeff leaned on a pile and let his imagination people the harbor withthe wandering children of the earth who had been drawn from all itsseafaring corners to this Mecca of trade. He knew that here were swarthylittle Japanese with teas and silks, dusky Kanakas with copra, andAlaskan liners carrying gold and returning miners. There would bebrigs from Buenos Ayres and schooners that had nosed into Robert LouisStevenson's magic South Sea islands. Puffy London steamers, Nome andSkagway liners condemned long since on the Atlantic Coast, queer riggedhybrids from Rio and other South American ports, were gorging themselveswith lumber or wheat or provisions according to their needs. Here trulylay before him the romance of the nations.
The sound of a stealthy footfall warned him of impending danger.He whirled, and faced three men who were advancing on him. A vaguesuspicion that had oppressed him more than once in the past week leapedto definite conviction in his brain. He was the victim of a plot towaylay--perhaps to murder him. One of these men was a huge Swede,another a swarthy Italian with rings in his ears. He had seen thembefore, lurking in the shadows of an alley outside the _World_ building.Last night he had come out from the office with Jenkins, which no doubthad saved him for the time. This morning he had played into the handsof these men, had obligingly wandered down to the waterfront where theycould so easily conceal murder in a tide running out fast.
Strangely enough he felt no fear; rather a fierce exultant drumming ofthe blood that braced him for the struggle. His eyes swept the wharf fora weapon and found none.
"What do you want?" he demanded sharply.
The man in command ignored his question. "Stand by and down him."
The Italian crouched and leaped. Jeff's fist caught him fairly betweenthe eyes. He went down like a log, rolled over once and lay still. Theothers closed instantly with Farnum and the three swayed in a fiercesilent struggle.
Both of his attackers were more powerful than Jeff, but he was far moreactive. The darkness, too, aided him and hampered them. The Swede hecould have managed, for the fellow was awkward as a bear. But the leaderstuck to him like a burr. They went down together over a cleat in theflooring, rolling over and over each other as they fought.
Somehow Jeff emerged out of the tangle. He dragged himself to his kneesand hammered with his fist at an upturned face beside him. Battered,bleeding, and winded, he got to his feet and shook off the hands thatreached for him. Dodging past, he lurched along the wharf like a drunkenman. The Italian had gathered himself to his knees. When Jeff cameopposite him he dived like a football tackle and threw his armsaround the moving legs. The newspaper man crashed heavily down tounconsciousness.
When Farnum opened his eyes upon a world strangely hazy he found himselflying in a row boat, his head bolstered by a man's knees.
"Drink this, mate," ordered a voice that seemed very far away.
The neck of a bottle was thrust between his lips and tilted so that hecould not escape drinking.
"That dope'll hold him for a while, Say, Johnny Dago, put your back intothem oars," he heard indistinctly.
Faintly there came to him the slap of the waves against the side of theboat. These presently died rhythmically away.
It was daylight when he awakened again. His throbbing head slowlydefinitized the vile hole in which he lay as the forecastle of a ship.Gradually the facts sifted back to him. He recalled the fight on thewharf and the drink in the boat. In this last he suspected knockoutdrops. That he had been shanghaied was beyond suspicion.
Laboriously he sat up on the side of his bunk and in doing so becameaware of a sailor asleep in the crib opposite. His stertorous breathingstirred a doubt in Jeff's mind. Perhaps the crimps had taken him too.
The ship was rolling a good deal, but by a succession of tacks Jeffstaggered to the scuttle and climbed the hatchway to the deck. A wintrysun was shining, and for a few moments he stood blinking in the light.
She was a three-masted schooner and was plunging forward into the choppyseas outside the jaws of the harbor. He whiffed the salt tang of the airand tasted the flying spray. An ebb tide was lifting the vessel forwardon a freshening wind, and trim as a greyhound she slipped through thecat's-paws.
A thickset, powerful figure paced to and fro on the quarter-deck,occasionally bellowing an order in a tremendous voice like the roar ofa bull. He was getting canvas set for the fresh breeze of the open seasthat was catching him astern, and the sailors were jumping to obey hisorders. The pounding sails and the singing cordage, the rattling blocksand the whipping ropes, would have told Jeff they were scudding alongfast, even if the heeling of the schooner and its swift forward leapshad not made it plain.
"By God, Jones, she's walking," he heard the captain boom across to themate.
Just then a figure cut past him and made straight for the captain.Farnum recognized in it the sailor whom he had left asleep in theforecastle and even in that fleeting glance was aware of the man's lividfury. Up the steps he went like a wild beast.
"What kind of a boat is this?" he panted hoarsely.
The captain turned toward him. His eyes were shining wickedly, but hisvoice was ominously suave and honeyed. "This boat, son, is a threemastedschooner, name of _Nancy Hanks_, Master Joshua Green, bound for theSolomon Islands with a cargo of Oregon fir."
"I've been shanghaied. This is a nest of crimps," the man screamed.
Joshua Green's salient jaw came forward. "Been shanghaied, have you?And we're a nest of crimps, are we? Son, the less I hear of that line oftalk the better. Put that in your pipe and smoke it."
The man turned loose a flood of profanity and swore he would rot in hellbefore he would touch a rope on that ship.
Out went Green's great gnarled fist. The seaman shot back from thequarterdeck and struck a pile of rope below. He was up again and downagain almost quicker than it takes to tell. Three times he hit theplanks before he lay still.
The captain stood over him, his eyes blazing. He looked the savage,barbaric slavedriver he was.
"Me, I'm Bully Green, and don't you forget it. Been shanghaied, haveyou? Not going to touch a rope? Then, by thunder, you white-liveredbeachcomber
, a rope will touch you till you're flayed. Get this in yourcoconut. You'll walk chalk, you lazy son of a sea cook, or I'll hazeyou till you wish you'd never been born." He punctuated his remarks withvigorous kicks. "Bully Green runs this tub, strike me dead if hedon't. Now you hump for'ard and clap a hand to them sheets. Walk, youshanghaied Dutchman!"
The sailor crawled away, completely cowed. For one day he had had morethan enough. The captain watched him for a moment, his great jaw thrustgrimly out. Then, as on a pivot, he whirled toward Jeff.
"Come here, you! Step lively, Sport!"
Farnum wondered whether he was about to undergo an experience similar tothat of the sailor. "Do you want to know what kind of a ship this is?"
"No, sir. I'm perfectly satisfied about that," smiled his victim.
"Got no opinions you want to hand out free, son?"
"Think I'll keep them bottled."
"Say 'sir,' Sport!"
"Yes, sir," answered Farnum, his quiet eyes steady and unafraid.
"When I give an order you expect to jump?"
"Jump isn't the word."
"Sir!" thundered Green, and "Sir" the newspaper man corrected himself.
"Got no story to spiel about being shanghaied, son?"
"Would it do any good, sir?"
"Not unless you're aching to get what that son of a Dutchman got. Seehere, sport! You walk the chalk line, and Bully Green and you'll getalong fine. I'm a lamb, I am, when I'm not riled. But get gay--andyou'll have a hectic time. I'll rough you till you're shark-food. Getthat through your teeth?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now you trot down to the fo'c'sle and dive into them slops you findthere. You got just three minutes to do the dress-suit act."
Jeff, as he passed below, could hear the great bull voice roaring ordersto the men. "Set y'r topsails! Jam 'er down hard, Johnnie Dago! Standby, you lubbers!... Now then, easy does it... easy!"
Within the allotted three minutes Farnum had climbed into the fouloilskin coat and tarry breeches he found below and was ready for orders.
"Clap on to that windlass, sport! No loafing here.... Hump y'rself. D'yehear me? Hump?"
Jeff threw his one hundred and fifty pounds of bone and muscle againstthe crank of the windlass. Some men would have fought first as longas they could stand and see. Others would have begged, argued, orthreatened. But Jeff had schooled himself to master impulses of rage.He knew when to fight and when to yield. Nor did he give way sullenly orpassionately. It was an outrage--highhanded tyranny--but at the worstit was a magnificent adventure. As he flung his weight into the crank hesmiled.
Part 2
Before the trade winds the _Nancy Hanks_ foamed along day after day, allsails set, making excellent time. But for his anxiety as to the effecthis disappearance would have upon the political situation, Jeff wouldhave enjoyed immensely the wild rough life aboard the schooner. But hecould not conceal from himself the interpretation of his absence themachine agents would scatter broadcast. He foresaw a reaction againsthis bill and its probable defeat.
The issue was on the knees of chance. The fact that could not beobliterated was that he had been wiped from the slate until after thelegislature would adjourn. For every hour was carrying him farther fromthe scene of action.
His only hope was that the _Nancy Hanks_ might put in at the HawaiianIslands, from which place he might get a chance to write, or, betterstill, to cable the reason of his absence. Captain Green himself wipedout this expectation. He jocosely intimated to Farnum one afternoon thathe had no intention of calling the Islands.
"When we get through this six months' cruise you'll be a first-ratesailorman, son, and you'll get a sailorman's wages," he added genially.
The shanghaied man met his eye squarely. "I think I could arrangeto draw on Verden for a thousand dollars if you would drop me at theIslands."
"Not for twenty thousand. You're going to stay with us till we get tothe Solomon Islands, and don't you forget it."
Bully Green had taken rather a fancy to this amiable young man who hadtaken so sensible a view of the little misadventure that had befallenhim, but of course business was business. He had been paid to keep himout of the way and he intended to fulfil the contract.
"Here I'm educatin' you, makin' an able-bodied seaman out of you, son.You had ought to be grateful," he grinned.
"Oh, I am," Jeff agreed with a twinkle.
But Captain Green had reckoned without the weather. The _Nancy Hanks_drifted into three days of calm and sultry heat. At the end of the thirdday she began to rock gently beneath a murky sky.
"Dirty weather," predicted the mate, the same who had assisted at theshanghaing. "When you see a satin sea turn indigo and that peculiarshade in the sky you want to look out for squalls," he explained toJeff.
It came on them in a rush. The sun went out of a black sky like a blowncandle and the sea began to whip itself to a froth. The wind quickened,boomed to a roar, and sent the schooner heeling to a squall across theleaden waters. The open sea closed in on them. Before they could get insail and make secure the sheets ripped with a scream, braces parted andthe topmasts snapped off. The _Nancy_ went pitching forward into theyawning deeps with drunken plunges from which it seemed she would neveremerge. Great combing seas toppled down and pounded the decks, while thesailors clung to stays or whatever would give them a hold.
The squall lasted scarce an hour, but it left the schooner dismantled.Her sheets were in ribbons, her topmasts and bowsprit gone. There wasnothing for it but a crippled beat toward the Islands.
Four days later she made an offing in the harbor at Honolulu just as aliner was nosing her way out.
Bully Green ranged up beside Farnum and cast a speculative eye on him.
"Sport, I had ought to iron you and keep you in the fo'c'sle until weleave here. It's the only square thing to do."
Jeff's gaze was on the advancing steamer. She was scarce two hundredyards away now and he could plainly read the name painted on her side.She was the _Bellingham_ of Verden.
"I don't see the necessity, sir," he answered.
"I reckon you do, son. Samuel Green stands by his word to a finish. NowI've promised to keep you safe, and you can bet your last dollar I'ma-going to do it."
His prisoner turned from the rail against which he was leaning to thecaptain. Pinpoints of light were gleaming in the big eyes.
"How much safer do you want me than this?"
Green expectorated at a chip in the water and shifted his quid. "You'vegot brains, son. No telling what you might try to do. But see here.You're no drunken beachcomber. I know a gentleman when I see one. Gimmeyour word you'll not try to skip out or send a message back to theStates and I'll go easy on you. I'm so dashed kindhearted, I am, that--"
Jeff leaped to the rail, stood poised an instant, and dived into theblue Pacific.
"Well, I'll be," Bully Green interrupted himself to roar an order tolower a boat.