Chapter II: Part 2

'Oh, give it the Major then,' said Forder, and he went off.

He met Bertie on the main deck, and they passed as if they were strangers in the Strand.

'Oh, go to bed,' said Forder to himself. But he knew he had done a good deed.

'Haw, bumptious ass, haw,' said Bertie, who had no notion how grateful he ought to be to the man who knew Texas and Arizona, and the pride of those who grow upon the high plateaus of the South-West. He didn't know for several days, and the reason for his remaining ignorant was the comic spirit that endures in man in all the strange places of the world and sea, and makes laughter flourish on the barrenest soil.

There were twelve hundred horses and mules on board, and though they were packed a bit over-closely there was plenty of ventilation, and at least half the men in charge knew a horse from a harmonium. As the men who knew were naturally the bosses by birth and education, having been mostly born in Texas and educated on the prairie, the unlearned learned because they had to. It was not an unhappy ship for the horses, even though Bertie knew as much about them as he did about men. What was due to Arizona and Ben Wilkins and half a dozen others he put down to himself. And he was much surprised at the peculiar change which came over the whole horse crowd as soon as they ran into good weather and went along on an even keel. For the first ten days every one had been sick and sorry and savage, and now the main deck and the 'tween-decks fairly rang with laughter.

'Aw, they've come to their bearings,' said Bertie, who liked sea terms, which he sometimes used quite accurately. 'I think, Captain Scantlebury, that the men are very amenable after all; my severity--aw--with them when they were complaining of sea-sickness did them good. That fellow they call Arizona Bill has a very good idea of handling horses, and I can see he now thoroughly understands that I am not to be scared or imposed upon.'

The skipper was obsequiously glad to hear it.

'Ah, sir, I always said to your father that you knew what's what, even as a boy. Dear, dear me, to think I remember you when you weighed no more than half a hundred. Going through life is a strange Pilgrim's Progress, sir, and here we are in the _Pilgrim_ goin' straight ahead in a calm sea, all so peaceful and so happy, that I could sing a hymn all the way to Cape Town with horses. Oh, but war's a sad, sad thing.'

'Old ass,' said the brutal Forder, whose watch on deck it was, 'which is the biggest, the old man or Bertie, tires me to calculate. I'd rather work out lunars with a monkey-wrench than try to take the altitude of these asses. He's got 'em down fine, has he? Sing hymns all the way to the Cape, eh? Oh, my stars! We'll be hard and fast ashore on a reef of woe in a twinkle. The horse-crowd's devilish merry this night!'

And so they were. For after their supper the unholiest gang of them all was gathered on the fore-hatch on the orlop deck, and they made the horses, who twisted their necks round to see what was going on, wonder more than ever what strange animals men were. Arizona lay on the hatch, and with him was Ben Wilkins. The Major, who indeed had been an officer in a crack cavalry regiment, chewed tobacco while resting against the coamings. Seth Evans and Missouri Jack were among the crowd. So were the Mexicans, though they sat aloof. Manuel, the one-eyed blackguard from Venezuela, was there too. And in the background were the Dutchmen, who included real Hollanders, Danes, a Swede named Hans, and a Finn known as Tubby when he was called anything. A dozen lanterns cast a glimmering and unequal light on this party in Tophet. Arizona had the floor, so to speak. He was very fluent.

'Boys,' said Arizona, 'air we all in this?'

'To bee sure!' said Ben Wilkins, 'the man that ain't goes out with the muck next mucking-out, if I'm any authority on the doings in this ole packet!'

'Don't discourage any of us,' said Arizona. 'Ben, you're too fiery. I've known men that'd die sooner than be encouraged your way. Your talk inspires a sperrit of rebellion in the brave. Let us confine ourselves to the programme which is entitled as a drayma, "The Takin' Down of Bertie." Bertie, boys, is the boss.'

'Boss o' blazes!' said Ben.

'Oh, shucks!' said Arizona, 'do dry up and let me orate. Am I the orator or ain't I? If I'm the orator let me orate in peace; if I ain't, I'll stand out and be as silent as the grave. I was talkin'--aw--about dear Bertie--aw--who walks round with a new silvery gun, a forty-five frontier pistol, in his nice clean hands, in order to reduce this unholy crowd to a proper sense o' their subordination. Who is it carries a nice new gun, boys?'

'Bertie carries a nice new gun,' said the crowd, shrieking with laughter.

'Bertie's paw owns thishyer horse-packet, and is some sick in New Orl'ans right now,' went on Arizona, 'but if his son, who'll own this _Pilgrim_ when he paysses in his checks, was to be filled up with lead, the ole man would be some disgruntled. Who's sick paw would be some disgruntled if Bertie was to stop lead, boys?'

'Bertie's paw would be some disgruntled,' answered the crowd.

'Does we, the kind and peaceful crowd that looks after horses, need guns to subdue our bloodthirsty instincts?' asked Arizona. 'Far from it, boys. We come from the calm prairies of Texas and sunny Arizona, where peace flourishes for ever and no man dies without askin' for death, except in some fatal instances that may be looked on as accidents. We are all sorts here, Texans, Arizonians, Californians, Henglishmen, Kanucks, Mexicanos, but all serenely devoted to the cause of peace. Who's the disturbing influence here, waltzing round with a gun, boys?'

'Bertie is,' said the crowd unanimously.

'Who is it that says "aw" to freeborn citizens of the United States, to men from Chihuahua, to down-trodden subjects of the King of England and the Emperor of Prussia?'

'Bertie does,' affirmed the crowd.

'And looks at sons of the prairie and the mountain through a piece of glass, which the Major here discarded years ago. Who does that?'

And the crowd said that 'dear Bertie did.'

'I calls all freemen with a clarion voice, to say nothin' of a bugle, to rise and put him down,' said Arizona. 'We can endure much, and can endure it long. But the worm turns at last, and dear Bertie is doomed. Boys, who is doomed?'

'Dear Bertie,' said the crowd; 'dear Bertie is doomed!'

'He is doomed to have his gun taken from him, and his eyeglass, if the Major won't have it, shall be destroyed by the heel of freedom. Boys, I have done.'

'Bully for you,' said the Major, 'I'll take the eyeglass.'

And the ingenious orator went on deck with his fellow-conspirators to take the evening air, and commune with the genial and gentlemanly stokers. The cinder-shifters owned with much amazement that the most promising Whitechapel hero with the fire-rake was not a patch on the chief ruffians from Louisiana and Texas. They admired Arizona wonderfully, were marvellously civil to Ben Wilkins, who was a murderous devil in his heart, and sat at the feet of 'Mizzoura' Jack and Seth Graves, his partner. Neither of them could go back to Missouri, and they said they didn't want to. At least Jack said so. Seth was as silent as a cemetery.

'I've a notion,' said Arizona, when he was through his second pipe, 'I've a notion as it'll be best to decorate Bertie for his doin's hyar.'

'I'd decorate him with a bowie, but for you're sayin' you'll regard it as a favour if I don't,' said Ben Wilkins.

'You're ever too ready with the knife, my son,' said Arizona, 'but if you'll stand aside with me I'll furnish your barren and uninventive genius with a harmless job for your weepon, that you keep in your boot, which will amuse Bertie worse than wounds. Let's climb up on what these gentlemen from the fiery depths calls the _fiddley_ deck, and I'll breathe an elegant scheme into your starboard earhole, which is ship's palaver for right ear.'

They climbed up, and presently Ben climbed down and went hunting for a piece of board.

'Ter-morrer is the fatal day,' said Arizona. 'Jokin' will be the death of me. But oh, dear Bertie would almost make Seth Graves smile, and as for me who was born with a rich endowment of fun, I kin no more keep off him than a bear off honey.'

The whole ship's company was down on Bertie. They were down on his eyeglass, on his nice khaki clothes, on his revolver, on his voice, which subtly implied that they were nothing, and much less than zero. And every one on board, with the exception of the skipper, and the chief officer and the chief engineer, who came from Paisley, and was probably a brother of the man who owned to coming from there, but urged in extenuation, 'sure as deeth I canna help it,' knew that something was brewing among the aristocrats who looked after the horses which boded Bertie no good. Forder, of course, knew it, and said nothing. The third officer knew it, and said a good deal to the steward, who hated Bertie worse than poison for telling him how to run his business. Bob Wadd and Green, and the rest of the deck-hands, smelt it. They smelt it like Bob Wadd's gasworks, and rubbed their hands joyously. The firebrands down below used most horrible language on the subject, and wished that they could have Bertie in a bunker for a watch to show him what running Cardiff coal in an iron barrow was like.

'Blimy, and stri-me-pink, but I fair 'ytes to ketch saight of 'im,' said the boss of the whole gang of stokers. 'Thet vice of 'is syin' "aw, aw," maikes me feel saime's I did first taime I was blasted fool enough to come to sea. I wunner wod them blokes of 'orse-keepers 'as put up for 'im! I 'opes it's somethin' that'll larn 'im.'

He smote the burning fire with his rake as if he was preparing a place for Bertie, and slammed in a few shovels of coal vengefully. But then stokers are stokers, and hard nuts to deal with, and few men know them, and those who do often wish they didn't. It's no soft job in a stokehold when the thermometer marks 120°, and what little wind there is, is a following breeze.

And Bertie walked round quite unconscious of his doom. But he was conscious, somehow, that every one smiled at him. Old Wadd grinned and so did Green. As he went along the alleyway and by the ash-shoot, the stokers taking air in that agreeable locality showed their white teeth and made remarks, audible but unintelligible, as he passed. One-eyed Venezuela grimaced like a damaged idol, and said something blasphemous but humorous in South American Spanish. Some of the deckhands said, 'What cheer! Let her scoot,' as they passed him. Arizona said to Ben something about being knocked as high as Gilroy's kite, and Ben said, 'Aw, hell, aw, what?' The insolent and debauched Major, who was only saved from dying of drink by going at intervals where he couldn't get it, put a penny in his left eye when he saw Bertie. And a boy from New Orleans, an elegant young ruffian of the hoodlum type, yelled out 'Bertie!' from an obscure corner of shadow. In his heart Bertie began to wonder whether he had the crowd down to such a fine point as he had imagined. But he hardened his heart and said, 'Aw,' and flourished his gun, his nice new gun, and talked horse till Ben Wilkins said insolently, 'Ain't Mr. Fortescue a smart Aleck?' and Bertie thought it was a compliment.

'Ter-morrer's the day of judgment,' said Arizona, as he lay on a bale of hay and squealed with laughter. He went round the 'tween-decks and told the horses so, rubbing their muzzles and pleasing the poor things very much. For he understood them as he did men, and loved them, perhaps, a trifle better.

'Ain't it a pity, horses, that you warn't endowed by a gen'rous Providence with a just sense of the ridik'lous? If, by a special dispensation, you was so endowed, you'd smile to know that Bertie, who talks horse like a burro, will be showed his real rank in nature and decorated with the newest thing in orders.'

He shook his head and again addressed his equine friends.

'Boys, you're goin' to the war and will see many jackasses in high places, but not a burro among 'em equal in jackassery to Mr. Bertie Fortescue. Did you say you'd hev a bit of hay, my son? Here you are, then, and good night to you.'

Everything went on wheels next day, and, save for one little uproar, caused by Bertie's not understanding what a Spaniard said, there was no trouble. Bertie talked severely to the unintelligent ass who didn't understand English, and a row was only saved by Arizona, who could yap Mexican wau-wau like a native of the country. The Spaniard said something not to be written, beginning with 'mucho,' and Bertie said he accepted the apology, and put away his gun.

'We're getting along first-rate, aw,' said Bertie, and so the whole ship's company said when night fell, and the stars came out and looked down on the pilgrimage of the _Pilgrim_ on a calm sea, with just enough breeze from the east of north to make the windsails worth their positions in the general scheme of things. And at 5.30 P.M. the men took their grub, having watered and fed the eager and impatient cargo, and Ben Wilkins said the 'order' was ready.

'What order?' asked the rest eagerly.

''Tis between me and Arizona,' said Ben; 'and all I'll say is that it's for dear Bertie. Wait, and you'll see.'

At three bells in the second dog-watch they watered the horses again, as the weather was rather more than warm, and at eight bells they gave them hay for the last time till the morning. Bertie went his rounds, and at half-past eight was down on the orlop deck, which was so badly lighted with electric light that the men supplemented the electricity with lanterns. Though there were fewer horses there than on the 'tween-decks or the main deck, there were more men down on the orlop deck than on any other. And they were obviously much amused at something. What it was the owner's son did not know till he came right forward on the starboard side, having begun for'ard on the port side and walked aft. He found quite a gathering on the fore-hatch of No. 1 hold. A lot were sitting and the rest standing about in two groups, with Ben and Arizona in the midst.

'Good night, Bertie,' said some one from the background.

'Who the devil said that?' asked Bertie. He turned to Arizona. 'Was it you?'

'No, Bertie,' said Arizona, 'it warn't me, dear; I wouldn't think of takin' such a liberty with so fine a lookin' young man. Was it you, Ben?'

Ben shook his head.

'Not me, Bill. Would I call a nice young boy like him by such a horrid insultin' name? No, it warn't me that called him Bertie.'

Bertie gasped.

'Haw--haw!'

And the crowd said--

'Aw--aw!'

And then the young fellow, who certainly did not lack courage, made a bolt for the biggest gang, and naturally caught the slowest of the lot, who was a very harmless Dutchman. He knocked him down and pulled out his 'gun.' There was a dead silence for a moment, and then Arizona stepped up to him.

'What are you producin' that very fine weepon for?' he asked.

And Bertie roared--

'This is mutiny--mutiny!'

'Don't get excited, sir,' said Arizona; 'don't get flighty or flurried. With a tough and horrid crowd like this always keep cool. We wants to know unanimous what your purpose is in wearin' that weepon and pullin' it out and flourishin' it permiscus? For we're very peaceful and worships peace, and hates to die.'

'Go--go to the devil!' said Bertie. 'Confound you, let me pass.'

For now there were at least thirty men round him, and some of the stokers who were off duty stood in the background roaring with laughter.

'Make him hand over his gun, Bill,' said Ben, edging closer.

'We'd like to look at it to see if it's a real gun, sir,' said Arizona, with a very taking air of simplicity. 'Some of us reckons it's real, and some says your dad heeled you with a wooden one to scare a timid lot of boys from Arizona and Texas and Louisiana. Please let us look at it, sir.'

'Do, dear Bertie,' said the rest. And what happened then no one quite knew. Some said Bertie meant to shoot, some said he made a break for the _brow_ which was the horse-gangway at the main hatch, and some say that Ben grabbed him. For about ten seconds there was a rough-and-tumble on the fore-hatch, in which three lanterns were finally expended, and then from the rumpus there emerged a pale and desperate Bertie, without a gun, in the grip of Ben, Arizona, and the silent Seth Graves. Jack from Missouri had the gun.

'Boys, the verdict of this expert is that this is a real gun,' said Jack, 'a real forty-five Frontier pistol, loaded with real cartridges. And if you pulls the trigger hard it's likely to go off.'

'There, dear Bertie, see what you've been monkeyin' with,' said Arizona. 'Mizzoura knows a gun well. You might have killed one of us poor boys, mostly orphans too, owin' to similar accidents happenin' to our paws.'

But the speechless son of the owner found his tongue.

'Let me go. I'll kill some of you! What the devil do you mean?'

He struggled frantically, and found his struggles entirely vain. For Seth Graves had him from behind in a clutch that it would have taken a small and healthy grizzly bear to get free of.

'I'll tell you what we mean,' said Ben, dusting himself carefully. 'We mean to give you some healthy advice. Mebbe you remember kickin' this child in the ribs when he was sick?'

'And me!' said Seth, who spoke for the first and last time.

'And you let on that you would kick me, boy,' said Arizona, 'and nothin' but the second officer interferin' saved you from it. Now we're goin' to investigate your case and decide what kind of immejit death will be joodishal. Boys, put a bale on the fore-hatch and I'll appint myself judge with a view to strict impartiality, for if I don't Ben Wilkins will, and he cayn't be impartial, as he said las' night he'd decided to hang the prisoner if he was appinted judge.'

He climbed on the bale.

'Boys, the Court is now sittin'. No one that the prisoner hez kicked can be on the jury. Them as he hez pulled his gun on ain't disqualified, or there wouldn't be no panel. Bein' sworn at ain't no disqualification neither.'

The jury was formed after several bitter quarrels. It was composed of a Louisiana man called Buckeye Joe; a Canadian-Frenchman known as French Pete; a young Californian originally from Mendocino County, but later from the San Francisco House of Correction; a Finn; a Dutchman from Amsterdam; an Englishman who had been born at sea, and brought up in Australia; and the Major, who in the struggle had annexed Bertie's eyeglass, and was now wearing it with the curious effect of making him look almost like a gentleman again, and several others who came from countries between Patagonia and Hudson's Bay.

'Our verdict is "Guilty,"' said the foreman, Buckeye.

'Don't be previous,' said Arizona; 'he is guilty, of course, we all know that, but we've got to act impartial and hear some evidence. And I've to sum up. You look out for my summing up, Bertie. It'll make you squirm, or I'm no true-born impartial citizen of the United States. Ben, take the stand and lay your complaint against this bobtail burro.'

The helpless prisoner shook his head feebly. He was entirely done for and seriously alarmed; there wasn't a kick left in him. Seth Graves' job was now a sinecure, and he let him go.

'This lop-eared leper kicked me,' said Ben Wilkins, who had been adding to his already extensive vocabulary of picturesque abuse by consorting with the stokers. 'He said "Get up, you lazy loafin' scumpot, and do your dooty," and with that he booted me in the ribs. If I was on the jury I'd bawl for death. And it's only because you asked me to let him off, Arizona, that I didn't slay him when I could stand. Boys, your verdict, if just, will be "death."'

This was irregular, and Arizona said so.

'You ain't addressin' the jury, Ben,' said the judge. 'You've no call to, either. I'll do that. You can stand down.'

'I heven't hardly cleared my throat to begin with,' urged Ben. 'I've a deal more to say, oh, a deal more.'

'Oh, dry up,' said Arizona. 'Who's running this Court, you or me? Where's the one-eyed galoot from Caraccas?'

The one-eyed galoot from Caraccas testified to having been smitten on the side of his head by Bertie. Bill translated the evidence without editing it. One-eye said he hadn't killed Bertie because he was too sick to do it. He addressed the Mexicans on the jury with much fervour, and though reproved by Bill, did not cease his oration till Ben, who was jealous, pulled him down.

A Dutchman spoke afterwards, but did not meet with great sympathy from the judge.

'Cut it short,'said Bill, 'a Dutchman don't count anyhow, hardly more'n a nigger.'

This was rather hard on three 'coons' grinning in the background, and lighting up the darkness with their teeth. However, Dutchmen and negroes are never really troublesome unless they are in the majority, and no protest was made.

After that Arizona refused to hear any more evidence.

'That'll do the palaver,' he said, 'it's as clear as the Missouri in flood-time that Bertie is a gone coon. He struck citizens of the United States with a British shoe, and he smote Caraccas over the cabeza with a British hand. The jury can consider their verdict, while the judge considers his sentence.'

'Ain't the prisoner to be allowed no defence?' asked old Wadd, who had been given the tip there was something on.

'To bee sure,' said Bill. 'Bertie, can you say anythin' to prevent your bein' found guilty right off?'

'Go to the devil!' said Bertie. 'I'll have you all in gaol for mutiny at Cape Town.'

'That's contempt of Court,' said Bill, 'but we pass it by secure in the dignity of our high office. Is there any one who can testify on behalf of poor doomed Bertie before the verdict is announced?'

Not a soul volunteered.

'What! no witnesses ez to character?' asked Bill. 'Would the seafaring gentleman in the background, who threw some reflections on me just now by inquiring if the prisoner warn't to hev no defence, like to speak on behalf of Bertie?'

Bob Wadd shuffled uneasily. But Green egged him on.

'His old dad ain't a bad sort,' said Wadd at last, with all that trepidation which paralyses an Englishman in his first speech. 'His old dad----'

'So far the Court is with you,' said Arizona. 'But the evidence is what lawyers justly calls irreverent. His old dad has our sympathy, but the griefs of the prisoner's parent cayn't interfere with the course of justice. Have you anythin' else to allege on his behalf?'

'Well, the grub's good in this packet,' said Wadd desperately. 'And old Mr. Fortescue----'

'Oh, give us a rest,' said the judge. 'You tire me, my son, by your continued irreverence. The fact is you cayn't rake up the least thing in favour of this benighted burro, and you slide off on the matter of the chewing, just as if the old man's notions of hash could help the criminal I see before me. Gentlemen of the Jury, what is your verdict?'

'Guilty,' said Buckeye Joe, 'and we all say it, and you might as well have heard us first as last.'

'Do you all say "Guilty"?' demanded Bill, ignoring the foreman.

'Yep, si, oui, ja, yes,' said the jury, 'by crimes, we do, all of us, todos, tous, the hull crowd unanimous. And we sentences him to death.'

'Rise up the prisoner,' said Bill, 'and the jury can sit down and hold their blamed tongues. This isn't _lynchin'_; this is a Court with a joodishul jedge. If witherin' sarcasm warn't lost on the lot of you, I'd tell you what I think of your trespassin' upon my rights. Rise up the prisoner.'

And Seth Graves 'rose' him up.

'Let me go, you damn fool,' said Bertie. 'How dare you? You've no right to do it, to make a fool of me. Help! help! I'm not going to stay here and be jeered at. Don't you touch me,' and he foamed at the mouth. Even Seth Graves found him hard to freeze to.

'Hold on,' said Arizona, now without a smile. 'Mr. Bertie Fortescue, mebbe you think this is a joke? Well, so it is, in one way, but not in the next. Do you reckon it a joke?'

'No,' said Bertie, through his teeth.

'You're right,' said the judge, 'for at the bottom, my son, it's tol'rable serious. While we've been takin' the evidence, I've been considerin' my sentences. I reckon one sentence ain't enough, so I'll do my best to put a few together. For the sentence of this Court is that you are to be told briefly and with a rasp what I and the rest think of you, my son. Silence, boys, there's somethin' actual afterwards, and I'm goin' to hev peace while I orate, or a few of you will go on deck in a horse-sling.'

Arizona stood up, and there was a look in his eye which produced order. He turned again to Bertie.

'You miserable young jackass,' said the impartial and just judge. 'You miserable young jackass, listen and l'arn. We've been good to you, I've been good to you, and by my orders your life hez been spared. You kicked Seth Graves, you hoofed Ben Wilkins in the ribs, you threatened to kick me, and if it hadn't bin for a friend of yourn on board this packet you'd ha' bin shot and thrown overboard. I wonder if you understand, my son, that you're no one, that you're ignorant, that you're as green and juicy as grass in rain. Mebbe you never saw _men_ before. We're a rough and tough crowd, we've lived our lives, seen men die and taken chances ourselves, though I own some of us are little better than hoboes or tomayto-can vags, and you come along flourishin' a gun (thishyer gun) that you cayn't shoot with, and shoot off your mouth at us! By the great horn spoon, it's a marvel, boys, ain't it?'

'That's so,' said the crowd seriously.

'Do you believe me, Bertie, when I tell you straight that if I hadn't interfered you'd hev been dead by now?' asked Bill as he sat down again.

'No,' said Bertie.

Ben Wilkins got up and walked close to the prisoner.

'Don't you?' asked Ben. His eyes were like furnaces. 'Don't you?'

'Stand back, Ben,' said Bill. 'My son, don't you think you kin persuade yourself I speak the trewth?'

There was a strange short silence.

'Speak,'said Bill.

'Ye--es,' said Bertie.

Bill nodded.

'Ah, I thought you'd see it, my son. It's true, it's truer than most gospel, as preached. Why, you miserable galoot, what we thinks of you is below words. What do you know? You know nothin'. You reckon you know "horse." Let me tell that does, that you don't know "horse," nor mewel, nor even jackass. Your knowledge of horses is equal to your knowledge of men. Mebbe this'll teach you some. Your clothes don't make you a man, nor your eyeglass. You talked a while back about mutiny! Waal, I ain't an expert in mutiny, but my notion is that the only authority such as you possess is the authority nat'ral to a man. You've got none. You said you'd hev us all in gaol at Cape Town. Some of us hev assaulted you, eh? Well, you assaulted some of us. Is your opinion of yourself ez high ez it was at supper-time, or hev you come to the conclusion that you've suthin' to l'arn? I don't press for an answer, for I reckon one ain't required. You've been taken down some, and we've done it serious, and without violence, because you're a boy and may be made a man of yet. I ain't down on Englishmen, like some is out West. I know good men Englishmen, real good. But your kind, when green, would rise the dander of a peaceful cow. The order of this Court is, that your gun shall be throwed overboard, and that you'll wear no real gun while we're here to take care of you. Ben, break up Bertie's nice new gun, and do it now.'

Ben Wilkins smashed the stock of the six-shooter on the iron coamings of the hatch, and then broke the trigger. He threw the disorganised weapon into a muck-skip.

'Whose nice new gun has been taken away and bust up?' asked Ben.

'Baby Bertie's nice new gun has,' said the crowd.

'And now,' said Bill, 'to take the sting out of these proceedings, we propose to present you with a gun that cayn't do no harm. Produce the gun, Ben.'

And Ben produced a piece of wood shaped roughly in the form of a six-shooter.

'We invests you with the order of the wooden gun,' said Bill. 'And our advice to you is, that you will treasure it and put it up in your cabin and look at it daily till you come to understand why we presented it. From the way you've took these proceedings since your last fight to down Seth, which no man on board can do, this Court and the rest of the crowd hez hopes of you. Boys, do I voice the sentiments of this educational meetin' on the orlop deck o' the _Pilgrim_, belonging to Messrs. Fortescue and Son, when I say we all believe that this collegiate course will eventuate in makin' a man of Mr. Fortescue's son and heir?'

'You do,' said the unanimous crowd. 'We hev high hopes of him.'

'Release the prisoner,' said Bill. 'And this Court is dissolved into its constituent individuals.'

And Bertie rose from the hatch, not knowing where he was, or what he was, or who he was. But of one thing he was quite certain. He was not the young man who came below an hour before. He walked away perfectly quietly, not knowing that the wooden gun was suspended from his shoulder by a string.

'Ah!' said Bertie. He went through the crowd as if he didn't see them, walked up the brow to the 'tween-decks, and presently found himself outside his cabin on the spar deck. He nodded and said 'ha,' and found the order of the wooden gun. He dropped it inside the cabin and went for'ard to the bridge. Old Scantlebury waddled to him.

'Ain't it a lovely heavenly night, sir?' said the 'old man.' 'And going along so peaceful, while the stars shine on us. Are the horses all right, and the men?'

'They're--all right,' said Bertie. He seemed so silent that the skipper said no more.

'I wonder who Arizona meant when he said a friend of mine,' thought Bertie. 'I'll--I'll ask him.'

He went down below on the main deck and found Arizona leaning on a breast-rail and rubbing a big grey's muzzle.

'Arizona,' said Bertie.

'Yes, sir,' said Arizona.

'What friend of mine did you mean just now?'

Arizona looked at him. The electric light was strong there and fell on Bertie's face. It seemed quite different from what it had been. Arizona looked him full in the eyes as if nothing whatever had happened.

'It was the second mate, Mr. Forder, sir.'

'Why did he interfere?' asked Bertie.

'Well, sir,' said Arizona, 'he hez bin in Texas and in Arizona, and he understands things.'

Bertie turned away.

'He understands--what?'

'Us, I reckon,' said Arizona simply.

'Thanks,' said Bertie, and he went to the second officer's room, and tapped at the door. Forder opened to him, for he was reading.

'Yes,' he said, 'what is it?'

If he spoke without any audible tone of respect, it was only what Bertie looked for.

'I'm sorry we had that trouble the other day,' said the owner's son. 'I've had a talk with Arizona.'

'Don't mention it,' said Forder. 'It's a beautiful night, Mr. Fortescue.'

'It is,' said Bertie. 'Good night, Mr. Forder.'

'Good night, sir,' said the second officer.

And Bertie stood for half an hour by the rail looking into the sea.

'Damn!' said Bertie, 'I don't know----'

But Arizona said there were hopes of him.

CAPTAIN BALAAM OF THE _CORMORANT_

Captain Balaam of the _Cormorant_ was an ignorant old fool. Captain Benjamin Wood of the _Scanderbeg_ said so. He was also obstinate, ferocious, blatant, bigoted, and given to liquor. Captain Benjamin Wood said this too. The crew of the _Cormorant_ agreed with the crowd in the _Scanderbeg_ that their skipper was a disagreeable personality: they phrased it differently, they said he was an adjectival 'blighter.' And yet for all that there was jealousy between the crews of the two ships, just as there was jealousy between the two skippers. The only difference between them was that the _Scanderbegs_ believed in their ship and their skipper and the _Cormorants_ believed in the _Cormorant_ only. Both vessels hailed from the same port of registry; they both traded to Australia, and mostly to Melbourne; they were owned by related rivals, and manned for the most part by men who knew each others' home affairs. It was no wonder that when the _Cormorant_ was re-masted, as she had been previously under-sparred, the _Scanderbeg's_ crew was very greatly excited. Up to the present time their ship had made the best passages, and now Balaam had announced that he meant to lick the _Scanderbeg_ by a ruddy ensanguined crimson month.

'You're an ignorant old ass, and can't do it,' said Captain Wood.

'I'm an ignorant old ass, am I?' retorted Balaam, who was slow at _repartee_. 'I'll show you!'

'I expect you will,' said Wood. 'I know you, Balaam.'

'You know me, do you?' said Balaam. 'Do you know anything against me? I despise you, Wood; I despise you. You shortened sail mighty quick that time we was in company off the Leuuwin. Oh yes, you 'anded that foretaups'l mighty quick, and I 'eld on to mine.'

'You'll not do it now the _Cormorant_ has some real spars in her,' retorted Wood. 'You know, according to your own account, you could never put enough on her to do her any harm in a cyclone.'

'I never,' said Balaam; 'but any'ow this time I'll lick your ugly 'ead off. It don't foller because a man's full of scientific talk that 'e's a seaman. Great circles and double haltitudes and star hobservations make me sick!'

'They'd make you sick to work 'em out,' said Wood. 'When you got your ship resparred you might have got a new set of brains, Balaam.'

And he left Balaam foaming at the mouth as an old timber drogher foams under bluff bows with a whole gale behind her.

They left London River the same day, and lost sight of each other in the chops of the Channel. But since destiny was playing with them they lay close together under the Line for the best part of a fortnight in a dead calm. The _Cormorant_ was the first to draw away in a series of light flaws, which were really the northern edge of the South-East Trade, and Balaam signalled to Wood: 'I'll report you!'

'Confound it, she's a wonder in light airs,' said Wood. 'But what she'll be in bad weather will settle it. I don't give in; not much.'

They ran across each other once more to the south of the Cape, and both ships had a first-class opportunity of showing what they could do in heavy weather.

'I'll run her under before I'll shorten sail,' said Wood.

'Blimy,' said Balaam, 'before I shorten down I'll 'ave the new sticks out of her.'

Mr. Briggs, the chief mate, implored him to go a bit easy. 'She's new to it, sir, and we're not settled down and set up the way she should be yet.'

'I'll show you,' said Balaam. 'If she ain't what she should be it's your fault. You're the mate, ain't you?'

But if the mate is responsible for the rigging the skipper is responsible for trying it, and Balaam drank hard and tried it high.

'I'd rather fetch into Hobson's Bay under jury rig than let that swine lick us,' said Balaam thickly. 'Mr. Briggs, h'ist that main-t'gall'ns'l over the reefed taups'l and let her scoot!'

If they hadn't once more lost each other in a screaming south-easter the catastrophe might have come right then. It was only when the _Scanderbeg_ was swallowed up in thick weather and the night that Balaam got so drunk that Briggs ventured to shorten sail.

'I wish he'd keep drunk,' said Briggs bitterly to the second greaser.

'Ah, his bein' only squiffy is very tryin', sir,' replied Mr. Creak. 'It strikes me, sir, that the men are gettin' disgruntled at the way he keeps things goin'. They're beginnin' to want a lot of driving.'

'Then drive 'em,' said Briggs shortly. He was being driven himself.

The crowd for'ard were really very sore about everything. They had no particular grievance; that is, they only had seamen's grievances. The vessel was undermanned. Well, all British ships are. What's the good of an Englishman if he can't do more than any one else? They were, of course, badly fed. That was nothing: nothing even that it steadily grew worse. What hurt them was Balaam's way of looking at them. An Italian might have said he had the evil eye. They didn't mind his evil tongue. The truth is that Balaam was sand in their bearings; they got hot to think of him. They compared him with Captain Wood.

'That's a man,' said Charlie Baker; 'a real one.'

'You're over young to go so large about men, my son,' remarked Smith, a grey-haired veteran who had served his time in the Western Ocean; 'but I allow that Cap'n Wood is all there. When he was launched he was classed 100 A1 and no mistake.'

'With a broad A for iron and a Maltee Cross for built under special survey,' added Tom Paddle, who hailed from Newcastle, and had worked in a shipbuilding yard.

'I never heard of no Maltee Cross connected with ships,' said old Smith.

This raised an argument which lasted for the best part of an hour and ended in Paddle being put down by a unanimous vote, though he shouted as loudly as possible.

'You must be wrong,' urged his particular mate. 'Don't you 'ear we're all agin you?'

'I'll fight on it,' said Paddle fiercely.

''Ow could a scrap settle it?' asked Smith contemptuously. 'Suppose you and Baker fo't over it and you knocked Charlie out, would that make black white?'

'Then 'ow the devil is a man to know the truth of anything,' said Paddle pathetically.

It was the first argument of his that the rest owned had some sense in it. But the row blew over, as rows do in the fo'c'sle, and they abused the skipper till eight bells.

But if the row blew over it was more than the gale did. It lasted for forty-eight hours and was followed by another. The way Balaam carried sail made every sober man shake. That year, and at that season, running down the easting was no joke. And as Balaam knew the _Scanderbeg_ would go as far south as possible on the Composite Great Circle Track he did likewise.

'Gawd's treuth,' said Charlie Baker, who was a joker, 'I've 'eard tell of the brave west winds, but these 'ere are puffectly reckless 'eroes!'

Old Balaam stumped the weather side of the poop, or hung on to the weather mizzen rigging and bawled--

'Let her scoot; what she can't carry--hic--she may drag. Mister Briggs--hic--shake out a reef in the main taups'l; I smells the cookin' on board the _Scanderbeg_, what ho!'

'Good Lord,' said Briggs. And Mr. Creak said so too.

'We'll be crawlin' into Hobson's Bay yet under a jury rig,' both mates agreed. They prophesied sadly, gloomily; and they prophesied right.

'The _Scanderbeg_ will lick us by months,' they said. Here they prophesied wrong, for the _Scanderbeg_ was a hundred miles only to the south'ard, and the same gale that was destined to whip the sticks out of the _Cormorant_ was worse the further south it blew. They were then in latitude 45° S. and longitude 56° W., and the Crozets were on their starboard quarter. The real gale started at N.W. like a perfect fiend, grew into a hurricane from the west with the centre of the disturbance to the south-'ard, and when it passed away with frightful squalls into a steady sou'wester, the _Cormorant_ was lying head to wind, anchored to part of her own wreckage, and she hadn't a feather to fly with. Captain Balaam went below and called to the steward.

'Bunting, rum!' said Balaam, and Bunting, who was as white as spindrift with terror, brought it. Balaam went to sleep calmly, and left matters to Briggs and Creak. The worst having come to the worst, being left to themselves, they proved to be men. They had something to do and did it. They cut all the wreck adrift and rigged a proper sea-anchor and repaired damages as best they could. But they couldn't repair the damage done to the provisions. The whole of the front of the poop had been burst in by the sea, and a big hole driven by the mizzen-topmast into the deck right through the poop and main deck into the lazarette. Into that there went so much water that anything not in tins was unfit to eat. And now all the pork and beef, save that in the harness casks, was found to be rotten.

'Great Scott!' said Briggs. The crew of the _Cormorant_ anticipated starvation and had huge appetites. But they bore up well. A day ahead is enough for men of the sea. Charlie Baker took hold of the boys and felt them all over to see if they were fat. The others thought it an admirable joke. The boys were not so sure that it was.

'Never mind, mates,' said Baker, 'a boy will go a long way, and we 'ave three! But I wonder 'ow the _Scanderbeg_ is makin' it?'

There is something peculiarly diabolical at times in the way of the sea. It was a coincidence, though perhaps an ordinary one, that the poor _Scanderbeg_ was just then wallowing at a sea-anchor a hundred miles to the south of them, with nothing but the stumps of her masts to show a rag on. But it was a far more extraordinary coincidence that her crew were in danger of starvation. As Captain Wood did not drink, his steward did. It seems necessary that some one shall at sea, and though it is usually the skipper, who has no one to control him, it excites no surprise to find that the steward does. This particular specimen of a hard-worked individual went into the lazarette with an uncovered candle, sampled some rum, which was forty over proof, and fell asleep to wake in a world where we are led to believe drink is scarce, though smoking is permitted. And the _Scanderbeg_ was on fire just when the wind from the N.W. and a falling barometer announced the approach of a hurricane.

The fire was put out and the steward dragged out, but what with fire and smoke and water combined, the provisions he had charge of were no more likely to do their duty than he was. They put him overboard gloomily, and that night the hurricane fell on them and did its worst.

'Well,' said poor Captain Wood, 'I'm afraid the _Cormorant_ will beat us this time!'

But he did not take to drink and camp in a wet bunk as Balaam did. He worked day and night with his two mates, and made some sort of a show with a jury rig inside of twenty-four hours. But he was very much troubled about the 'grub.' Ships are never over-provisioned, and even the stock of canned goods had been fired and fuzed.

'I'd give fifty pounds for a ton of biscuits,' said Wood.

It wasn't till they were under way again and doing nearly four knots an hour with the sou'wester behind them, that an idea struck him.

'By Jove,' said the skipper. He slapped his thigh and suddenly became cheerful. Mr. Boden, the chief mate, was very curious but did not express his curiosity.

'The old man has something in his mind,' he told the second greaser, Tom Hankin.

'I wish I had something in my stomach,' said Hankin.

And the skipper went below. When he came up he altered the course to E.N.E., and Boden having taken a squint at the chart, became much more cheerful. So did Hankin, though he tightened his belt. So did the crowd for'ard, though they tightened theirs.

And the next day they ran across the _Cormorant_ in that almighty waste of grey storm.

'Blimy,' said the crew, 'maybe we'll get some toke from this 'ere 'ooker wot's 'ad the syme misforchune as ourselves. I wonder what she is?'

So did Wood, and when he found out he would have been much more than human if he had not been pleased, though he had not read La Rochefoucauld.

'She won't lick us into Melbourne after all,' said the skipper.

He hove the poor old _Scanderbeg_ to under the lee of the _Cormorant_, and she lay wallowing comfortably under a rag of a faked-up trysail and the head of a staysail showing on her forestay. Wood bellowed to windward with a speaking-trumpet, 'Where's Captain Balaam?'

Poor Briggs was tired and cross and insubordinate in his mind.

'In his bunk,' came down the wind.

'Is he hurt?'

'Drunk, sir,' said the distant voice.

'What did he say?' asked Wood of his mate.

'He said Captain Balaam was drunk, sir.'

'Ah,' said the skipper. He asked no more about Balaam, but inquired if they could let him have some provisions. The answer he got was rather a blow. But it was not so much of a blow to him as the question had been to Briggs.

'We're starving already,' bellowed Briggs forlornly to the wind, and the sea and the wreck to loo'ard of him.

'When will you get sail on her, d' ye think?' asked Wood.

'To-morrow,' replied Briggs.

'Make for St. Paul,' said Wood; 'provisions are stored there, so I see in the Directory. We'll share 'em!'

'Thanks,' said the other speaking-trumpet. And then silence fell between these two partners of the sea in high misfortune.

'She's really not so badly crippled as we are,' said Wood.

And that was true; so true, that on the morrow the _Cormorant_ crept out of the waste of tumbling seas and the gloom of the grey dawn and wallowed past them. Balaam was on deck dancing.

'Licking thunder out of you, you dog,' was his polite message of thanks to the _Scanderbeg_. 'Crippled or all ataunto, we can knock spots off of your old barge.'

'Oh, he's a gentleman,' said Wood. 'We won't reply.'

'I'm sorry he's likely to get to the island first, sir,' put in his mate. 'I'd not be surprised if he grabbed all there is to get, sir.'

'Oh no, surely,' said Wood. But though he said so, the notion bit into him and made him all the more anxious to get more sail on her. He worked with the men like one of them, and only slept two hours out of the twenty-four.

'He's a bully old man,' said his hungry crew: 'the best skipper we ever sailed with. Oh, but ain't we 'ungry!'

They were hungrier yet when they sighted the crater of St. Paul and rounded to on the north-east coast opposite the broken entrances to the inner crater harbour. They anchored in deep water, and so long as the wind stayed west of south were in perfect safety. But there was no _Cormorant_ in sight.

'By Jove,' said Wood, 'she's missed it after all. I'm not surprised. Balaam's no navigator. Called me a dog, did he? Well, I've smelt my way here and he's out of it.'

The crew were joyful and excited. This was something new, something a little out of the way in the dull, dead monotony of sea-life, which as a rule is about as interesting as running a water-cart up and down a suburban road. The august and awful sea is only august and awful for those who have august minds. Seamen as a rule haven't; they have only awful language.

'Blow me tight,' said Bill Waite from Shadwell. 'I sye, this is a gyme! Sye, Tom, let's desert and live 'ere for hever and make a farm!'

'Oh, let's,' said his mate, Fred Day. 'If it's anythin' like the Canary Bird Islands, it'll be a fine farm for sulphur and cinders. What I want is the grub, and get out of it. Give me Sandridge and a pot of she-oak.'

They went ashore, pulling in through the crater entrance, and were surrounded by gloomy walls nearly a thousand feet high.

''Tain't exactly as bloomin' as the Isle of Man,' said Bill, 'at least not on a Benk 'oliday. Where's the grub, d'ye think?'

They found out where it was very soon. At least, they considered they were able to deduce from the facts in front of them where it was. The rude stone and lava hut in which it had been stored stared them almost in the face. But it was odd, they said, that the door was open.

When Mr. Briggs reached it he turned round and looked very much disturbed. So did the hut. It had been disturbed recently, and there wasn't as much as the smell of a biscuit left in it.

'The _Cormorant_ has been here and taken it all,' said Briggs. You could have knocked the boat's crew down with much less than a belaying pin. They collapsed upon adjacent blocks of lava and said things not fit for publication except in realistic novels.

'The swine,' sighed Charlie Baker. 'Oh, ain't there nothin', sir?'

'Not a thing,' said the mate. He led the way back to the boat, and under the wondering eye of the skipper, which was just then glued to a telescope, they embarked and rowed back like a funeral procession.

'Captain Balaam has taken all the provisions, sir,' said the mate.

'All?'

'Every biscuit, sir.'

'Get the anchor up and make sail,' said the skipper. He went below, and when he came on deck again the _Scanderbeg_ was standing out to sea.

'Muster the men aft, Mr. Briggs,' said Captain Wood. And when they came aft the old man addressed them. The pith of his address lay in the tail of it.

'We must catch the _Cormorant_,' he said. And the men said they would if human hands could get enough sail on their old wreck to catch the robber and scoundrel, then somewhere to the east of them. Men and mates and the skipper took their coats off. They clapped make-shift sails on every stay till the _Scanderbeg_ looked like a laundry drying-yard. They got up another jurymast made of the fished halves of the main topmast. They made her four knots into five, into five and a quarter, into five and a half, and then they lay down at midnight and dreamed of eating.

They sighted the _Cormorant_ ahead of them two days later.

'There she is, the thief,' said the men. As the weather was now finer and dry, they wetted their rags of canvas so that the sails held a little more wind; they rigged up more canvas yet by lacing it to the foot of their foresail, which did most of the work. They hung out their clothes to dry, and tied them so that the very shirts held wind.

'All right, my sons,' said the crowd of the _Scanderbeg_, 'wait till we catch you.'