The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

SHIPS OF “Till you’re ready to sign on, I reckon. They'll ask ye in the mornin’. I heard Steelfist say ye’d be gettin’ no grub till ye signed.” Paddy folded up his dungaree jumper and placed it beneath Blake’s neck. Then he continued: “Ve’d better sign, matey. Ye can’t get even down here, and ye’ll starve afore them swine lets up on ye. Steelfist is the mother an’ father of Ol’ Nick! He’s got the big Dutchman an’ young Boston triced up by the thumbs to the sheer-pole all the dog watch, ’cause they looked sideways at Long Rube when he dragged ye for’ard.”’ “But if I sign,” objected Blake, his stub- born spirit rising anew, ‘“‘can’t they jail me if I skip the ship?” “Tf ye don’t sign they’ll starve ye. Ain’t a man in the crowd as don’t want to see ye lam the everlastin’ halleluyer out o’ them bloody officers, matey! Ses I, you’re too good a man to feed the rats in a stinkin’ windjammer’s chain locker. There’s me an’ Fancy Harry, an’ Cutlip Sullivan, an’ big [Trank Keough, an’ others, as has waited a year and more for the chance to ship together with Steelfist. “We're goin’ to snatch the chanct, while we got it! Wait till we hit the trades, an’ our nose is lookin’ a bit furder from Cali- fornia! We'll get Marshall an’ his bucko mates, an’ the yeller ape of a stooard— we'll get ’em, an’ ye’ll be enjoyin’ the sport. Make up your mind to sign, see?” Paddy returned as he had come, leaving Jack Blake a sadder but wiser man. Through the long night of horror that followed the shanghaied millionaire bent all his energies to keeping back the groans that rose to his lips. Every link of cable was a red-hot devil gnawing into his flesh; every lee lurch of the’ ship tumbled the chain about him, until his flesh was raw where the jamming links had nipped it. Yet, through the night Blake’s mind re- verted to the face of the girl whom he had seen in the light of the post office door- way—was it ages ago, or only the previous evening? Why had Steelfist Marshall been follow- ing her? The question drummed insistently at his brain. Not because she was a woman, certainly; the snatch of talk which he had overheard proved that Marshall had had more serious purposes in view. Appar- ently he had tried to force the girl to char- ter the C. H. Marshall—but why? STRIFE. 395 Blake fell into an agonized sleep, still wondering. In the forenoon watch, Bully Forrester shoved his rugged head down the hatch and hailed the captive gruffly. ‘“‘Now, my blooming swell, d’you want to sign? Answer sharp!” “Ves, for God’s sake take me out of this!” replied Blake weakly. ‘‘I’ll sign.” Casting the lashings from his legs, but not removing the wrist irons, Forrester marched Blake up the ladder and aft to the cabin. Stumbling from cramp and weariness, his head swimming and his eyes aching drearily, Blake found himself once more facing the wolf-eyed skipper. ‘“‘Want me to read the articles?” asked Marshall grimly. “No,” and Blake gripped the table for support. ‘Give me a pen—let me go.” Thus Jack Blake entered upon his duties as Ordinary Seaman of the full-rigged ship C. H. Marshall. He was placed in the mate’s watch, and for the rest of the fore- noon went about like a man in a fog, driven to his work. Eight bells clanged barely in time to save him from utter collapse. He stumbled be- low, found the bunk where his tattered dress-clothes were stowed, and rolled in to get what relief he could from his bed of sailor’s feathers—hard deal plank. He was asleep before the mess kids ar- rived from the galley. This was the last meal that Blake missed for some time, however. He wakened from his heavy sleep greatly refreshed in body and mind; what was better, his head had cooled. He said “sir” to Bully Forrester, and did what was given him to do; behind his grimly clenched lips he kept in mind the one word—wait! For several days he was left in peace. Thanks to Paddy Ryan, he soon learned his way about the ship’s rigging, while he rapidly regained his old clearness of eye and springiness of step. It was Paddy, too, who shared ‘‘whacks” with him; thus, in the days of his novitiate, assuring him a fair share of fat with his beef, and lean with his pork, neither of which he could have wrested alone from the tarry talons of the shellbacks. His first acquaintance, Cutlip Sullivan, developed an undisguised aversion for him. Thus, as the ship edged southward through an unbroken sea of long, lazy swells, Jack Blake found himself fitting into CORMICGLOOOKS (C©)