She was a three-masted schooner and was plunging forward into the choppy seas outside the jaws of the harbor. He whiffed the salt tang of the air and tasted the flying spray. An ebb tide was lifting the vessel forwardon a freshening wind, and trim as a greyhound she slipped through the cat's-paws.
A thickset, powerful figure paced to and fro on the quarter-deck, occasionally bellowing an order in a tremendous voice like the roar of a bull. He was getting canvas set for the fresh breeze of the open seas that was catching him astern, and the sailors were jumping to obey his orders. The pounding sails and the singing cordage, the rattling blocks and the whipping ropes, would have told Jeff they were scudding along fast, even if the heeling of the schooner and its swift forward leaps had not made it plain.
"By God, Jones, she's walking," he heard the captain boom across to the mate.
Just then a figure cut past him and made straight for the captain. Farnum recognized in it the sailor whom he had left asleep in the forecastle and even in that fleeting glance was aware of the man's livid fury. Up the steps he went like a wild beast.
"What kind of a boat is this?" he panted hoarsely.
The captain turned toward him. His eyes were shining wickedly, but his voice was ominously suave and honeyed. "This boat, son, is a threemasted schooner, name of _Nancy Hanks_ , Master Joshua Green, bound for the Solomon Islands with a cargo of Oregon fir.""I've been shanghaied. This is a nest of crimps," the man screamed. Joshua Green's salient jaw came forward. "Been shanghaied, have you?
And we're a nest of crimps, are we? Son, the less I hear of that line of talk the better. Put that in your pipe and smoke it."The man turned loose a flood of profanity and swore he would rot in hell before he would touch a rope on that ship.
Out went Green's great gnarled fist. The seaman shot back from the quarterdeck and struck a pile of rope below. He was up again and down again almost quicker than it takes to tell. Three times he hit the planks before he lay still.
The captain stood over him, his eyes blazing. He looked the savage, barbaric slavedriver he was.
"Me, I'm Bully Green, and don't you forget it. Been shanghaied, haveyou? Not going to touch a rope? Then, by thunder, you white-livered beachcomber, a rope will touch you till you're flayed. Get this in your coconut. You'll walk chalk, you lazy son of a sea cook, or I'll haze you till you wish you'd never been born." He punctuated his remarks with vigorous kicks. "Bully Green runs this tub, strike me dead if he don't. Now you hump for'ard and clap a hand to them sheets. Walk, you shanghaied Dutchman!"The sailor crawled away, completely cowed. For one day he had had more than enough. The captain watched him for a moment, his great jaw thrust grimly out. Then, as on a pivot, he whirled toward Jeff.
"Come here, you! Step lively, Sport!"
Farnum wondered whether he was about to undergo an experience similar to that of the sailor. "Do you want to know what kind of a ship this is?""No, sir. I'm perfectly satisfied about that," smiled his victim. "Got no opinions you want to hand out free, son?""Think I'll keep them bottled." "Say 'sir,' Sport!""Yes, sir," answered Farnum, his quiet eyes steady and unafraid. "When I give an order you expect to jump?""Jump isn't the word."
"Sir!" thundered Green, and "Sir" the newspaper man corrected himself.
"Got no story to spiel about being shanghaied, son?" "Would it do any good, sir?""Not unless you're aching to get what that son of a Dutchman got. See here, sport! You walk the chalk line, and Bully Green and you'll get along fine. I'm a lamb, I am, when I'm not riled. But get gay--and you'll have a hectic time. I'll rough you till you're shark-food. Get that through your teeth?""Yes, sir."
"Now you trot down to the fo'c'sle and dive into them slops you find there. You got just three minutes to do the dress-suit act."Jeff, as he passed below, could hear the great bull voice roaring ordersto the men. "Set y'r topsails! Jam 'er down hard, Johnnie Dago! Stand by, you lubbers! . . . Now then, easy does it . . . easy!"Within the allotted three minutes Farnum had climbed into the foul oilskin coat and tarry breeches he found below and was ready for orders.
