  It is useless to relate the unimportant incidents of our voyage to Gibraltar and up the Mediterranean. The Seagull behaved beautifully in both good and bad weather, amply fulfilling our most ardent expectations. It is true the voyage was unnecessarily long, since with our powerful engines we could have cut down our time to less than one-half; but we were obliged to concede this to Captain Steele’s prejudice in favor of sailing, and the breeze held so steady and persistent that we cut the waves like a clipper and made a most remarkable sailing record for the voyage. It was not until we passed Sicily that the Seagull was required to prove her staunchness. The waves at the lower end of the Mediterranean were wilder than any I had ever before encountered, but our beauty rode them like a swan and never a seam spread nor a beam so much as creaked. The voyage, however, served to make us better acquainted with both our boy passenger and my boy assistant—the rich man’s son and the runaway Joseph—though this acquaintance was not ripened without some interesting experiences. A more willing or grateful follower no one could have than Joe Herring. The kindly treatment accorded him was in such sharp contrast to the dog’s life he had led aboard the Gonzales that he was anxious to show his appreciation on every possible occasion. His dark eyes followed me affectionately wherever I went, and he would leap quickly to anticipate my every order. Also he liked to serve Uncle Naboth and my father, and proved so considerate of their wishes and comforts that he soon won their hearts completely. Nor was Joe so frail as he seemed at first glance. His muscles were hard as iron and on occasion his thin frame developed remarkable strength. This he proved conclusively within the first week of the voyage, as you shall hear. Our young passenger, whose imposing name we had quickly shortened to plain “Archie,” seemed likely to cause us unsuspected trouble. He at once developed two bad habits. The first was to sit on deck, lolling in a folding deck chair he had brought aboard, and play distressing tunes upon a harmonica—which he termed a “mouth-organ.” The lad must have had a most powerful inherent love for music to enable him to listen to his own awful strains; but it was clear his musical talent was not developed, or at least not properly educated to any artistic degree. The first morning out the Captain, forced to listen to this “music,” scowled and muttered under his breath but forbore to interfere with the passenger’s evident enjoyment of his own performance. The second morning he yelled at Archie to “shut up!” but the boy calmly disregarded the order. The third morning my father stumped over to where I sat and ordered me to take away Archie’s “blamed ol’ jew’s-harp” and fling it overboard. I had myself been considerably annoyed by the wretched music, so I obeyed so far as to stroll over to our passenger and ask him to kindly discontinue his performance. He looked up resentfully. “This is the passenger’s deck, ain’t it?” he demanded. “We have no passenger’s deck; but we allow you to sit here,” I replied. “Then leave me alone, and mind your own business,” he retorted. “I’m a free born American citizen, and I’ve paid my passage and can do as I please.” “But you can’t annoy everybody with that beastly music while you’re aboard the Seagull,” I answered, rather nettled at his attitude. “We also have rights, sir, and they must be considered.” “I’ve paid for mine,” he said. “You get out, Sam Steele. I know what I’m doing,” and he commenced to play again. I looked at him reflectively. Just how to handle such a situation puzzled me. But Joe stood just behind and had heard all. With a bound of amazing quickness he was upon the unprepared Archie, seized the mouth-organ from his grasp and flung the instrument of torture far over the side. “Beg your pardon, sir, I’m sure,” he said, with a grin. Archie whistled softly and looked his assailant over. He rose slowly from his chair and, still whistling, began to unbutton his coat and take it off. He folded it neatly, laid it in the chair, removed his linen cuffs and placed them beside his coat, and proceeded deliberately to roll up his sleeves. The youth’s intentions were so obvious that I was about to order Joe to go below, as his slight figure seemed no match for the burly Archie, when a pleading look in the boy’s eyes restrained me. Uncle Naboth and Ned Britton, who had been promenading the deck near, had noted the incident and now paused to see its outcome. Some of the sailors also were interested, from their distant posts, while my father stood on the bridge and looked at our little group with an amused smile lighting his rugged face. Altogether it would not do to retreat in face of the coming fray, or to interfere with the logical outcome of Joe’s rash act. The Yankee boy’s face was white and set, and his soft whistle only rendered his bull-headed determination to exact revenge the more impressive. Having rolled up his sleeves, doubled his great fists and swung his arms once or twice to ease his muscles, Archie advanced steadily upon poor Joe, who stood listlessly with his hands thrust in his coat pockets and his head and shoulders bent slightly forward, in his accustomed pose. “That mouth-organ cost two dollars,” said Archie, grimly, “and you don’t look as if you’re worth two cents. So I’ll just take it out o’ your hide, my son, to teach you a lesson.” With that he paused and swung his right fist upward, and Joe, roused to action at last, gave a sudden bound. My eye could scarcely follow him as he leapt at Archie, embracing him and clinging to his antagonist like a vise. To my astonishment, the bulky Yankee swung around, tottered and fell heavily upon his back, with Joe kneeling triumphant upon his breast. We all gave an admiring cheer, for we could not help it, and at the sound Joe arose and stood in his place again, meekly as before. Archie got up more slowly, feeling the back of his head, which had whacked against the deck. He made a sudden rush and a lunge with his fist that might have settled Joe had he not dodged and closed again on his adversary with the same lightning tactics he had at first employed. They fell in a heap, and although Archie tried to keep Joe hugged to his breast the latter slid away like an eel and a moment after was on his feet and had assumed his careless, waiting pose. When the Yankee got up this time he was again softly whistling. Without a glance at his late antagonist he deliberately rolled down his sleeves, attached his cuffs and resumed his coat. Then he walked over to Joe and with a smile that showed more good nature than chagrin he held out his bulky hand. “Shake, sonny,” said he. “You’re good stuff, and I forgive you everything. Let’s be chums, Joe. If I could have landed on your jaw I’d have mashed you like a turnip; but you wouldn’t let me, and so I’m bound to give in gracefully.” That speech was the best thing the boy had done, and my original dislike for him began to evaporate. Joe shook the proffered hand cordially, and my father, who had come down to join our group, gave Archie an admiring buffet on the shoulder and said: “You’ll do, my lad.” But after all Joe was the hero of the occasion, and we all loved him for the clever and skillful fight he had put up. Archie was an expert boxer, as we afterward discovered, but Joe’s talent for wrestling gave him a decided advantage in a rough-and-tumble encounter. At luncheon we were all in a hearty good humor, but imagine my dismay to hear shortly afterward the strains of a mouth-organ coming from the deck! I ran up at once, and there sat Master Archie in his chair, blowing furiously into an instrument fully three inches longer than the one Joe had tossed overboard. I laughed; I could not help it; and even my father’s face wore an amused smile. Joe looked at me inquiringly, but I shook my head and retreated to my cabin. Such a queer condition of mutiny deserved careful thought. But, as I said, Archie had another bad habit. He smoked cigarettes in his stateroom, which was against our most positive rules. The first time we observed from the deck thin smoke curling through the open window of Archie’s cabin, a hasty investigation was made and the cause speedily discovered. The boy was lying in his berth, reading a novel and coolly puffing his cigarette. Uncle Naboth sent for the passenger and gravely informed him he’d have to quit smoking cigarettes in his cabin. “On deck it don’t matter so much,” added my uncle, “though a decent pipe is a more manly smoke, to my notion. But we’ve put a furtun’ into our new ship, an’ can’t afford to take chances of burnin’ her up on the first voyage. Cigarettes are dangerous. If you throw a lighted stub into a corner we may go up in smoke and perhaps lose many vallyble human lives. So we can’t allow it, young man. Smoke yer paper cigars on deck, ef ye want to; but don’t light another in yer cabin.” Archie made no promise. He listened to my uncle’s lecture, and walked away without a word. An hour later I saw smoke coming through the window again, and peering through the aperture discovered Archie lying in his bunk, calmly smoking. The boy was exasperatingly stubborn. I called black Nux and gave him an order. With a pleased grin the South Sea Islander brought a length of fire hose, attached it to a plug in the sruppers and carried the nozzle to Archie’s window. Presently we heard a yell as the powerful stream struck the smoker and completely deluged him. He leapt from his berth, only to be struck full in the face by the water from the hose, which sent him reeling against the door. I shut off the water, and Nux, kneeling at the low window, looked down on the discomfitted Archie and exclaimed: “Goodness sake, Mars Ackley! were dat on’y you-uns? Thought it were a fire, sure thing. Beg pard’n, Mars Ackley!” After the boy changed his drenched clothing for dry he came on deck and stalked around in silent anger while Nux went to the cabin and cleared it of the water and wet bedding. I wondered if the lesson would be effective, but could not judge a nature that was so unlike any I had ever before encountered. Bye-and-bye Archie calmed down sufficiently to drop into his deck chair and begin playing his mouth-organ. He wailed out the most distressing attempts at tunes for an entire hour, eyeing defiantly any who chanced to look toward him; but we took care not to pay the slightest attention to his impertinence. Joe came to me once with a pleading look in his eye, but I shook my head sternly. The sailors were evidently amused by our little comedy forward, for I could see them exchanging smiles now and then when a screech more blood-curdling than usual came from the mouth-organ. Archie tired himself out in time and went below. He closed and locked his window and began again to smoke in his cabin. In half an hour the smoke was so thick in the little room that we could see nothing but its gray clouds through the thick pane. The set frown upon my father’s face told me trouble was brewing for our passenger, but as yet the Captain forbore to interfere. Uncle Naboth came to me indignant and angry and demanded to know what should be done to the “young pig” whose actions were so insolent and annoying. “Let me think,” I replied, gravely. “We must certainly conquer young Ackley in some way, even if we have to toss him overboard; but I hope it will not come to that.” “Then think quick an’ to the point, Sam,” rejoined my uncle; “for I’m jest achin’ to wollop the fool wi’ a cat-o’-nine-tails.” At dinner Archie joined our table, silent but with a sneering and triumphant look upon his face. He was not handsome at any time, but just now his damaged face was positively disagreeable to behold. It occurred to me that the trouble with the young fellow was that he had not been taught to obey, and doubtless he imagined we were his enemies because we were endeavoring to prevent him from doing exactly what he wanted to. His idea of being a “free-born American citizen” was to be able to override the rights and privileges of others, and the sooner he got that notion out of his head the better it would be for him. Archie was a deliberate eater and remained at the table with a sort of bravado because we took not the slightest notice of him. So I left him finishing his meal when I went on deck. A few minutes afterward, however, he came bounding up the companionway with a white face and rushed up to where Uncle Naboth and I were standing. “I’ve been robbed!” he cried, shaking his big fist at me. “My cabin’s been entered by a thief, and I’ll have the law on you all if you don’t restore my property!” “What have you lost?” I inquired. “You know well enough, Sam Steele. I’ve lost all my cigarettes—ev’ry box of ’em!—and my four mouth-organs, too. They picked the lock on my door, and opened my telescopes, and stole my property.” “How’s this, Sam?” inquired Uncle Naboth, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t know, sir,” I answered, greatly surprised. “There are no duplicate keys to the cabin doors, and Ackley had his in his pocket, I suppose.” “They picked the lock, I tell you, and the locks on both my traveling cases,” declared the boy, in a rage; “and you must be a fine bunch of practiced thieves, because they were all locked again after the goods were stolen.” “How about your window?” I asked. “I left it bolted on the inside. No one could enter that way.” “Did you lose anything except the cigarettes and the mouth-organs?” I continued, beginning to be greatly amused. “No; but those things are my property, and you or your people have stolen them. Look here, Sam Steele,” he added, coming close and shaking his fist threateningly; “either you return my property in double quick time or I’ll take it out of your hide. Just make your choice, for I mean business.” I think he saw that I was not afraid of him, but I chose to ignore his challenge. I was neither as clever a wrestler as Joe Herring nor as expert with my fists as Archie Ackley; so it would be folly for me to undertake a personal encounter. But I said, quietly enough: “You are getting insolent, my lad, and insolence I will not stand for. Unless you control your temper I will order you to the ship’s lockup, and there you shall stay until we drop anchor again.” He gazed into my face long and steadily, and then began to whistle softly as he turned and walked away. But a few moments later he returned and said: “Who’s going to make good my loss?” “Send me your bill,” replied Uncle Naboth. “I’ll pay it.” “I think Joe stole the things,” continued Archie. I called Joe to us. “Did you enter Ackley’s cabin and take his cigarettes and mouth-organs?” Uncle Naboth inquired. “No,” said Joe, looking at Archie and laughing at his angry expression. “Do you know who did it?” persisted my Uncle. “No,” said Joe, again. “He’s lying!” cried Archie, indignantly. “Are you lying, Joe?” I asked, gently. “Yes, sir,” returned Joe, touching his cap. “Then tell the truth,” said I. “I won’t, sir,” replied the boy, firmly. “If you question me, I’m bound to lie; so it will be better to let me alone.” This answer surprised and annoyed me, but Uncle Naboth laughed aloud, and to my astonishment Archie frankly joined him, without a trace of his recent ill-nature. “Just as I thought,” he observed. “You’re a slick one, Joe.” “I try to do my duty,” answered Joe, modestly. “Bring me your bill, young feller,” said Uncle Naboth, “and I’ll cash it in a jiffy—an’ with joy, too. I don’t see jest how Joe managed the affair, but he’s saved us all a lot of trouble, an’ I’m much obleeged to him, fer my part.” And the old gentleman walked away with a cheerful nod. “Uncle’s right,” I said to Archie. “You wouldn’t be reasonable, you know, and we were simply obliged to maintain our ship’s discipline. So, if your offending goods hadn’t been abstracted so cleverly, there would have been open war by another day and our side was the strongest.” Archie nodded forgivingly toward Joe. “Perhaps it was best,” he admitted, with more generosity than I had expected from him. “You see, Steele, I won’t be bulldozed or browbeaten by a lot of cheap skates who happen to own a ship, for I’m an independent American citizen. So I had to hold out as long as I could.” “You were wrong in that,” I remarked. “Right or wrong, I’ll hold my own.” “That’s a bad philosophy, Archie. When you took passage aboard this ship you made yourself subject to our rules and regulations, and in all honesty you’re bound to abide by them. A true American shows his independence best by upholding the laws of his country.” “That’s rot,” growled Archie, but Joe and I both laughed at him because he could find nothing better to say. When he returned to his deck chair the passenger’s face bore its normal expression of placid good nature. It was evident he prided himself on the fact that he had not “given in” of his own accord, and perhaps he was glad that the force of circumstances alone had conquered his stubborn temper. |
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