A square-set little Norwegian with a large head, puffy face, faded blue eyes, and a beard that, commencing just below them, flowed in wavy masses nearly to his waist; the “Doctor” had already achieved a reputation among us for taciturnity and gruffness quite out of keeping with his appearance.

As a cook he was no better or worse than the average, except in one particular, his cleanliness; and as the majority of sailors in British ships do not expect such a miracle as would be necessary in order to change the bad, scanty provisions supplied into tasty food by cooking, a clean cook is pretty certain of becoming a prime favourite for’ard.

But Olaf Olsen courted no man’s company or favour. To all such sociable advances as were made him by various members of the crew he returned the barest answer possible, letting it plainly be seen that he considered his own society amply sufficient for all his desires. One of the most difficult positions to maintain, however, on board ship is that of a misanthrope. Sooner or later the need of human fellowship always asserts itself, and the most sullen or reserved of men let fall their self-contained garment. Olsen was no exception to this rule.

Before we had been a month at sea, I was sitting on the spare spars opposite the galley door silently smoking during the last half-hour of the second dog-watch, in full enjoyment of the delicious evening freshness, when the cook suddenly leaned out over the half-door of his den and said—

“You looks fery quiet dis efening, ain’t id?”

I was so taken aback by his offering any remark that I let my pipe fall out of my mouth, but stooping to pick it up gave me time to collect myself and reply in a cheery word or two, feeling curiously anxious to draw him out. One word brought on another, as the common phrase has it, and five minutes after his first remark he was sitting by my side yarning away as if trying to make up for lost time. I let him talk, only just dropping a word or two at intervals so as to keep him going by showing him that I was paying attention. Presently he broke off some rambling remarks by saying abruptly—

“You efer bin t’ Callyo?”

“No, but I’ve heard a lot about it,” I replied. “Pretty hard citizens around there, ain’t they?”

“Id’s de las’ place Gott Allamitey efer made, my boy, an’ de deffel’s ben a dumpin’ all de leff-overs in de vorl’ down dere efer since,” grunted he. “I vas dere las’ voy’ge. You know a ship call de Panama—big wooden ship’bout fourteen hundred ton? Yell, I vas cook apoard her, ben out in her over two yere ven ve come ofer frum Melbun in ballas’. Ve schip a pooty hard crout in de Colonies, leas, dey fancy demsellufs a tough lot, but mie Gott! dey tidn’ know’ Capn Tunn. No, dey tidn’, ner yet de tree mates,’n’ leas’ of all dey tidn’ know me. I like de afterguard fus’-class, me an’ dem allvus ked along bully, an’ ve vas all lef’ of de fus’ crew ship’ in London.

“De Bosun, Chips, an’ Sails wa’nt any count; square-heads all tree ov’ em. P’raps you’se tinkin’ I’m a square-head, too? Yus, but I’m f’m Hammerfes’, an’ dey don’ breed no better men in de vorl, dan dere. Veil, I see how tings vas coin’ t’be, ’fore ve ked out of Bass’s Straits,’n I dells you, my poy, dere vas dimes pooty soon. De ole man vas a Kokney, but he looks so much like me as if he been my dvin broder. He speak fery low an’ soft—de mate alvus done de hollerin’; but de fus’ time one of de fellers gif him some slack, he pick him from de veel like he bin a crab, unt schling him forrut along de poop so he fall ofer de break onto de main-deck vere de mate vus standin’ ready ter kig him fur fallin’. De noise bring de vatch below out, an’ dey all rush af’, fur a plug mush. I come too, but I sail in an he’p de ole man, un’ I dell you id vas a crate fight, dere vas blut unt hair flyin’.

“In den minnits ve hat it all ofer, de olt man vas de boss, unt eferybody know it. All de fellers get forrut like sheeps, un’ ven de ole man sing out, ‘Grog oh!’ presently, dey come aft so goot as a Suntay-school. Ve haf no more trouble mit dem, but ven ve ket ter Callyo de ole man say, ‘Py Gott! I ain’t coin ter keep dis crout loafin’ rount here fur two tree mont’ vile ve vaitin’ fur our turn at de Chinchees. Run’em out, Misder Short; ve ket plenty men here ven ve vant ’em quite so goot as dese, un some blut money too!’ So de mate, he vork ’em up, make ’em rouse de cable all ofer de ballas’, schling ’em alof’, tarrin’ un schrapin’ an’ slushin’ all day long frum coffee-time till eight bells at night, unt I feet ’em yoost de same as at sea.

“In tree day efery galoot ov ’em vas gone, unt den ve haf goot times, I dell you, de Bosun unt Chips unt Sails vashin’ decks unt keepin’ tings shipshape. Ve lay dere tree mont’, an’ den de olt man ket his per-mit fur de islan’s. He vent to Bucko Yoe, de Amerigan boarding-master dat kill so many men—you hear of him before, ain’t it?—unt he say, ‘Yoe, I vant fifteen men to-morrow. I ton’d care a tarn who dey vas s’long’s dey’s life sailormen, put py Gott, ef you schanghai me enny ’longshoremen, alla det men, I fills you so full of holes dat you mage a No. 1 flour tretger. Dat’s all I’m coin t’ say t’ you.’ Bucko Yoe he larf, but he know de olt man pefore, unt he pring us fifteen vite men, all blind, paralytic tronk, but anybody see dey vas sailormen mit von eye.”

Just at this juncture, Sandy McFee, my especial chum, came strolling out of the fo’c’sle, his freshly-loaded pipe glowing and casting a grateful odour upon the quiet evening air. He was, like the cook, a square-set, chunky man, but he was also, in addition, one of the smartest men I ever knew. He brought up all standing at the unusual sight of the Doctor and myself enjoying a friendly cuffer, so surprised that he allowed his pipe to go out. The cook froze up promptly, and stared at the intruder stonily. It was an uncomfortable silence that ensued, broken at last by the rasping voice of the Aberdonian, saying, “Man Tammas, hoo d’ye manach t’ open th’ lips o’ yon Dutch immuj? Ah’d a noshin’ ut he couldna speyk ony ceevil language. Ye micht tell ma hoo ye manached it.”

A certain quivering about the cook’s broad shoulders was the only visible sign that he had heard and understood the mocking little speech made by Scotty, but the latter had hardly finished when the Doctor rose to his feet, remarking with a yawn, as of a man who took no interest in the subject—

“I allvus t’ought Scossmen vas dam’ pigs, und now I knows it. But I nefer hear von crunt before. Vy tondt you co unt scradge yorselluf? You findt un olt proom forrut.”

Down went Sandy’s pipe, an articulate growl burst from his chest, and, with a spring like a grasshopper, he had clutched his insulter by the beard and belt. There was a confused whirl of legs and arms, a panting snarl deep down in the men’s throats, and suddenly, to my horror, I saw the cook go flying over the rail into space, striking the sea almost immediately afterwards with a tremendous splash. It was all so sudden that for the instant I was helpless. But the splash alongside started me into life, and, grabbing the coil of the fore-sheet behind me, I hurled it overside without looking. At the same moment Sandy, horror-struck at his mad action, sprang on to the pin-rail and dived after his victim.

The ship was just forging ahead through an oily smoothness of sea to a faint upper current of air, so that there was no great danger except from a prowling shark, but the short twilight was fading fast. As if intuitively, all hands had rushed on deck and aft to the quarter, while the helmsman jammed the wheel hard down. The vessel turned slowly to meet the wind, while we watched the man who had just hurled a fellow-creature to what might easily be his death, fighting like a lion to rescue him. The cook could not swim, that was evident, but it was still more evident that he had no thought of his own danger if only he might take his enemy along with him to death. He had, however, to deal with one who was equally at home in the water as on deck, and it was wonderful to see how warily, yet with what determination the little Scotchman manoeuvred until he had the furious Norwegian firmly pinned by the arms at his back, and how coolly he dipped him again and again beneath the surface, until he had reduced him to quiescence.

Getting the boat out is usually in those ships a formidable task, and it was nearly half an hour before we had the two men safely on board again. The skipper was a quiet, amiable man, and this strange outbreak puzzled him greatly. Sandy, however, expressed his contrition, and promised to avoid the Doctor and his bitter tongue in future. So with that the skipper had to be content, especially as the cook recovered so rapidly from his ducking that we heard him in another half-hour’s time grinding coffee for the morning as if nothing had happened. But the strangest part of the affair to me was its outcome. Next morning, in our watch below, the Doctor came into the fo’c’sle, and, walking up to Sandy, put out his hand, saying—

“Santy, you vas a coot man, pedder as me, unt I tond vant any more row longer you. I ben coot man, too, bud I ain’t any longer, only I forkedd it somedimes. I cot my soup unter vay for dinner, unt if you likes I finish dot yarn I vas tellin’ Tom here lasd night.”

Now Sandy was all over man, and jumping up from his chest he gripped the Doctor’s paw, saying—

“Weel, Doctor, A’am as sorry as a maan can be ’at I lost ma temper wi’ ye. W’en Ah see ye i’ th’ watter Ah feelt like a cooard, and Ah’d a loupit owerboord afther ye, even ef Ah couldna ha soomt a stroak. Ah wisht we’d a bottle o’ fhuskey t’ drink t’ yin anither in; but never mind, we’ll hae two holl evenin’s thegither in Melburrun when we got thonder. But you an’ me’s chums fra this oot.”

This happy conclusion pleased us all, and, in order to profit by this loosening of the Doctor’s tongue, I said, passing over my plug of tobacco—

“Now then, Doctor, we’re all anxious to hear the rest of that cuffer you was tellin’ me last night. I’ve told the chaps all you told me, and they are just hungry for the rest, so fill up and go ahead.”

“Vell, poys, you nefer see a hantier crout dan dat lot Amerigan Yoe cot schanghaied abord of us in Callyo. How he ked ’em all so qviet I ton’t know. But dey vas all ofer blut, unt dere close vas tore to shakin’s, so I kess dey vas some pooty hart fightin’ pefore he put ’em to sleep so he could pring dem alonkside. De olt man unt his bucko crout of off’cers ton’t let ’em haf time to ked spry pefore dey pegin roustin’ ’em erroun’—dey know de ropes too vell fer dot. So as soon as de boardin’ marsder vas gone, oudt dey comes, unt aldough it vas keddin’ tark, I be tamt ef dey vasn’t sdarted holystonin’ de deck fore ’n aft. Dey vas haluf tedt mit knoggin’ about, dey hadn’t been fed, unt dey vas more as haluf poison mit bad yin, unt den to vork ’em oop like dat, I dells you vat, poys, id vas tough.

“Dey let oop on ’em ’bout twelluf o’clock unt told ’em to co below, but de poor dyfuls yoost ked into de fo’c’sle unt fall down—anyveres—unt dere dey schleep till coffee-dime. Perhaps you ton’d pelief me, but I dells you de trut, dem fellers come out ven de mate sinks oudt, ‘Turn-to’ like anoder crout altogeder. Efen de mate look mit all his eyes cos he don’t aspect to see ’em like dat. Dey ton’t do mooch till prekfuss-dime, unt den dey keds a coot feet; mags dem quite sassy.

“Unt so off ve goes to de Chinchees, unt from dat day out ve nefer done fightin’. You talk apout Yankee blood-poats unt plue-nose hell-afloats, dey wan’t in it ’longside de Panama. Dem fellers vas all kinds; but dey vas all on de fight, unt, if de could only haf hang togedder, dey’d haf murder de whole lot of us aft. But dey couldn’t; leas’, dey didn’t until long after ve lef de island, an slidin’ up troo de soud-east trades tords de line. Den one afternoon I ketch one of ’em diggin’ a lot er slushA outer one er my full casks. ’Course I vas mat, unt I dells him to get t’ hell out er dat, unt leave my slush alone. He don’t say nuthin’, but he schlings de pot at me. Den it vas me un him for it, un ve fight like two rhinosros.

“Ve fight so hardt ve don’t know dat all hants haf choin in, efen de man run from de veel un chip in. I bin dat mat ’bout my slush I fight like six men, unt ven de fight vas ofer I fall down on teck right vere I am, unt go to sleep. Ven I vake up aken de olt man haf got de hole crout in ierns. He say he be tam ef he coin’t t’ haf any mo’ fightin’ dis voy’ge; liddle’s all fery vell, but ’nough’s a plenty. So ve vork de ship home oursellufs—qvite ’nough t’ do, I tell you, t’ keep her coin ’n look after dat crout so vell.

“De olt man dell me he bin fery font of me,’n he coin’ t’ gif me dupple pay; but ven ve ket to Grafesent ’n sent all de crout ashore in ierns, I vant t’ sell my slush to a poatman—I haf fifteen parrels—unt de poatman offer me £25 for it. But de olt man he say he want haluf—haluf my slush vat I ben safin fery near tree years! I say to him, ‘Look here, Cap’n Tunn, I luf you petter as mineselluf; but pefore I led you take away haluf my slush, I coin to see vich is de pest man, you alla me.’ He don’t say no more, but he valk up to me unt make a crab at my peard, unt den it vas us two for it. But he vasn’t a man, he vas ten deffels stuff into von liddle man’s body. I tondt know how long ve fight, I tondt know how ve fight; but ven I vake oop I ain’t any fightin’ man no more. My het is crack unt haluf my teet gone, unt I haf some arms unt legs break pesides. But he gomes to see me in de ’ospital, unt he ses, ‘Olsen, my poy, you bin a tam goot man, ’n I haf sell your slush for tirty poun’ unt pring you de money. You haf £120 to take, unt ven you come out, tondt you go to sea no more; you puy a cook-shop in de Highvay; you make your fortune.’ Den he go avay, unt I never see him any more.

“Ven I come out I traw my 150 soffrins unt puy a pelt to carry dem rount me. Unt I pig up mit a nice liddle gal from de country, unt ve haf a yolly time. Ve make it oop to ked marrit righd off, unt dake dat cook-shop so soon as I haf yoost a liddle run rount. Den I sdart on de spree unt I keep it oop for tree veeks, until I ked bad in my het, allvus dirsty unt nefer can’t get any trinks dat seems vet. Afterwards I co vat you call oudt—off my het, unt I tond’t know vedder I isn’t back in de Panama agen, fightin’, fightin’ all day unt all night. Ven I ked vell agen, I got nuthin’, no money, no close, no vife. So I tink I petter go unt look for a ship, unt ven I ked dis von I ain’t eat anyting for tree days.”

Then, as abruptly as he had opened the conversation, he closed it by getting up and leaving us, having, I supposed, obeyed the uncontrollable impulse to tell his story that comes now and then upon every man.