The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

396 his new role. And, except when he allowed himself to brood upon his own case, he found much to admire in this new life. The morning wash down, for example, was a fit opening for any man’s day. In the crisp sunrise, when the ocean slowly emerged from its night-robe of black velvet and diamond stars to reveal itself bare and unblushing in shimmery blue, the sparkling gush from the head-pump was a direct challenge to laziness. Buckets of water flew every way; if a man caught one of them, what matter? He was the better for the wash! But fine weather in the C. H. Marshall gave her men too many chances for growl- ing, and Blake began to see other things. He saw “Big Frank”? Keough laid on his back on the fore-hatch, hands and feet stretched with small line to each corner; he saw Long Rube Bower throw bucket after bucket of water over the prone figure; he saw the rope, new and hard and already drawn taut, tighten with the repeated wet- ting and pull Keough four ways at once, until the man screamed in horrible agony. He saw young Boston, as a penalty for bad steering, hung by the thumbs to the mizzen-stay, his feet eighten inches from the deck. He saw Steelfist Marshall hang a holystone to each boot “to make him swing regular,’ until the lad’s terrible shrieks had died down to still more terrible groans. On the second day after picking up the northeast trades, when the ship was clothed from chesstree to dog-vanes with pearly canvas, Blake was summoned by the mate. “Lay aft here—cap’n wants you. Re- member that little matter of assault that ain’t been cleared up? Lay aft, you swine —shake a leg, there!”’ Blake looked into Forrester’s hard, leer- ing eyes. Then he turned toward the cabin, feeling as though a cold hand had gripped on his heart. He caught a mute glance of helpless en- treaty from Paddy Ryan, at the helm, and the warning look restored his self-control. He went below, smoldering fire in his gray eyes, but his long jaw gripped hard in restraint. Captain Marshall sat at the table in his little saloon, the log-book before him. At his shoulder stood Rube Bower, champing at a great plug. The huge Chinese steward was hovering in the background. “John Blake,” said the skipper, his voice THE ARGOSY. like chilled steel, “some time ago you at- tempted a violent and unwarranted assault on your commander. I have here the entry of the circumstance, attested by Mr. Bower. You seemed not to be strong, and were not punished at the time; but I can- not allow such offenses to go unnoticed. As you have seen, my ship is ruled by kind but firm discipline. You will now submit to such punishment as Mr. Bower feels will suit the case. Take him away, Mr. Bower.” This amazing pronouncement drew noth- ing from Blake save a steady gaze. His gray eyes bit into Marshall’s gaze like gimlets; then, without a word, he turned and fol- lowed the second mate on deck. Long Rube turned to a near-by seaman. ‘Hey, you! Lay out on the lee mainyard- arm an’ take a tail-block with you! Reeve a heavin’ line and give me both ends. Lively, now!” | Without a word of warning, he flung him- self on Blake, assisted by the Chinese steward. Before the American could get in a blow he was trussed up and lying face down on the deck, his hands lashed to his ankles behind him. The line was passed down from the yard- arm and one end made fast to Blake’s lashed wrists and ankles. Then he heard the second mate sing out; the steward tallied on, and Blake felt himself rising, bumping over the bulwarks, finally to swing clear. Under him was the heaving sea. His head struck the lee leach of the main- sail, and he spun like a spider at the end of a line. Then he swung back, felt the line running out—and plunged into the churned- | up waters under the lee rail. The line tautened with the drag of the ship. Blake felt every muscle in his legs, arms and body crack with the strain, as his hollowed back surged against the water. Hands and feet near to bursting with the compress of the line, half suffocated, he was slowly dragged up—up—up until his body touched the block at the end of the yard. The grim laughter of the mates rang in his ears.- With a thrill of horror he saw him- self going down at the green water again, and he wanted to scream out. But his lips tightened—and he did not scream, then or afterward. Five times was this repeated—five times he was hoisted to the block, five times swung down to drag in the. water alongside. “T think that’s enough, Mr. Bower,” ous the cold voice of Marshall. (€(0) v.OoOK (©)