Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 57: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE ROARING fact. Oil and water would not mix, neither would such a first and second officer. As Dunbar passed by, he gave a polite salutation. Pugsley’s answer was contempt- uous silence. Two hours after dropping her pilot, the Valkyrie was thirty miles east of Boston Light. Captain Forbes, ‘ sweetening her up,” was divided in his: mind. The new clipper from the moment her anchor was catted surpassed the fondest hopes, while the crew, provided by Nat Gertridge, Jr., turned out to be a collection of the most desperate characters ever shipped out of the Port of Boston. Most of them were Liverpool Irish packet rats, who came to sea in order to escape more strenuous labor, breaking rock ashore. They knew no law, save their own lust, no master save their own passion. With their thick-set, hairy bodies, and their coarse snarling voices they represented the veri- table cream of hell. Before Cape Ann was cown astern, these Liverpool packet rats, by that fraternity which exists among rogues, had banded themselves together in a secret gang, under that most evil ruffian, Rip Kelly, with whom Pugsley purposely made his peace from the start. The only American sailor was a Down- Easter, Tug Westcott, who true to the Down East tradition, arrived aboard with a decent kit. Rip Kelly’s entire outfit, at the start, was a red silk stocking worn about his hairy neck as a parting gift from his lady love. In a few hours after putting to sea, as fore- castle bully, Kelly had begun to help him- self. What he liked he took. In the second dog watch, Tug Westcott, according to sailor custom was enjoying a pipe on the fore hatch, when Rip Kelly annexed his pannikin. Others might accept this kind of thing meekly, not so the able Down-Easter. As soon as he discovered his loss he demanded its return. “ Aw, garn!” snarled Kelly, with a men- acing note. Unterrified, Tug Westcott bore “down up- on him, and before the packet rat could catch his balance, he sent him sprawling FORTIES. 687 across the deck. Without pausing, he jumped high to smash in his ribs. While he was in mid-air, with breathless sudden- ness Kelly whipped out his knife, and as Tug Westcott descended, ripped him up with a negro twist trick, bringing him sprawling in a limp and helpless mass. For several moments the Down-Easter’s foot beat a tattoo of death upon the deck, while Kelly stood over him, knife in hand. With the signs of horror among certain of the watch-mates, Kelly announced, “ Vil croak the first guy what blabs a word.” At midnight, when the first officer’s watch came on, it was black, and foreboding, with a Jight snow squall blotting out the stars. The Valkyrie was ramping along like some huge black-winged spectre. As Richard Dunbar came up the weather ladder, he encountered Pugsley going down. “Good night,” he said. Pugsley’s answer was a, surly growl. Dunbar was generally of a light-hearted disposition, but to-night he came out to take over his watch with a mingling of despondency, and dread. The second offi- cer’s jealous salutation cut him to the quick. In the muster aft, one man was missing. Dunbar read his name again. “Westcott!” A long pause. “Where is he?” ** Sick,” answered Rip Kelly. * All right, V’ll go down and look after him later. Now, then, get on to the end of that lee fore brace.” Several of the packet rats hesitated be- tween obedience and rebellion, whispering in stealthy manner. With a voice to be obeyed, Dunbar again whipped out his order. “Lee fore brace, there!” “And when I say move, by God, you move!” This last was for the benefit of Rip Kelly, who remained unimpressed, and started to slouch with exaggerating indiffer- ence. ‘Do you understand orders?” “Aw, garn! Don’t give me none 0’ yer bossin’, yer mother’s darlin’, or I’ll carve the chicken gizzard out o’ ye!” In a flash Dunbar had him by the nape of the neck, and with a whirling cartwheel sent him crashing across the deck, to bring Comicaoooks (S@)