ght be a lot
o' prize-fighters."

Mr. Becker was not afraid; his position and duties forbade it. He was
simply human, and confronted with a new problem.

"Don't care a rap what they are," answered the mate, who was sufficiently
warmed up to welcome any problem. "They'll get fight enough. We'll
overhaul their dunnage first for whisky and knives, then turn them to.
Come on--I'm heeled."

They stepped out and advanced to the capstan amidships, each with a
hand in his trousers pocket.

"Pile those bags against the capstan here, and go forrard," ordered the
mate, in his most officer-like tone.

"Go to the devil," they answered. "What for?--they're our bags, not
yours. Who in Sam Hill are you, anyhow? What are you? You talk like a
p'liceman."

Before this irreverence could be replied to Bigpig Monahan advanced.

"Look here, old horse," he said; "I don't know whether you're captain
or mate, or owner or cook; and I don't care, either. You had somethin'
to say 'bout my eyes just now. Nature made my eyes, and I can't help
how they look; but I don't allow any big bull-heads to make remarks
'bout 'em. You're spoilin' for somethin'. Put up your hands." He threw
himself into an aggressive attitude, one mighty fist within six inches
of Mr. Jackson's face.

"Go forrard," roared the officer, his gray eyes sparkling; "forrard,
all o' you!"

"We'll settle this; then we'll go forrard. There'll be fair play; these
men'll see to that. You'll only have me to handle. Put up."

Mr. Jackson did not "put up." He repeated again his order to go
forward, and was struck on the nose--not a hard blow; just a
preliminary tap, which started blood. He immediately drew his pistol
and shot the man, who fell with a groan.

An expression of shock and horror over-spread every face among the
crew, and they surged back, away from that murderous pistol. A
momentary hesitance followed, then horror gave way to furious rage, and
carnage began. Coats and vests were flung off, belaying-pins and
capstan-bars seized; inarticulate, half-uttered imprecations punctuated
by pistol reports drowned the storm of abuse with which the mates
justified the shot, and two distinct bands of men swayed and zig-zagged
about the deck, the center of each an officer fighting according to his
lights--shooting as he could between blows of fists and clubs. Then the
smoke of battle thinned, and two men with sore heads and bleeding faces
retreated painfully and hurriedly to the