Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

THE ROARING FORTIES. 639 Fast weakening from the effect of the blow which he had received in the back, Dunbar made one last, ineffective swing, and missed. In the next instant Kelly land- ed on his neck and clinched. In that in- stant the fierce breath and the villainous eyes of the packet rat seemed to burn them- selves into Dunbar’s very soul. Filled with an almost superhuman terror he let out a piercing shriek that sounded above the ill- intentioned night like the cry of a lost soul. At that piercing note of alarm, Captain Forbes and the second mate came bursting up the companion to find the first officer be- set on every hand. With his back to the port rail, just abaft the mizzen rigging, he was defending him- self against a horde, armed with knives and blackjacks. The arrival of aid was not a second too soon. This was open mutiny. One glance sufficed to reveal that desperate measures were required, ; Without an instant’s hesitation Forbes pulled out a heavy brass belaying pin, and using this with both hands, he dealt a ter- rific blow on the back of the head of each would-be assassin, laying them out right and left. Two were dropped dead in their tracks. : 3 Together the first mate and captain drove the rabble off the break of the poop. Bucko Pugsley, in his element, hurled them bodily into the waist, pitching them head foremost, like so many sacks of potatoes. With the poop clear, Captain Forbes stood at the break, exclaiming: ‘‘ This is mutiny on the high seas. With such a crew of cutthroats and murderers, by rights I should take you back to face the gallows. But it’s not the style of Bully Forbes to come about, once he’s put to sea. “ Tve started on this voyage, and by the living God, I’m going to finish it, in spite of all the packet rats this side of hell! “You have refused to obey your officer, and turned upon him, Well, we'll just see who’s master. Now, you can get aloft, all hands, with sandstone and canvas, and pol- ish the yards!” Every man in the crew stood aghast at the brazen effrontery of this order. To pol- ish the yards was a teasing job at best. A 4A job fit only for fine weather and summer seas. But to go aloft in a bitter, freezing night on the western ocean, half clad, with the snow squalls whistling about their ears, and the big clipper jumping into the seas up to her knight heads, this was indeed the deepest indignity that any captain could offer to his crew. The packet rats gave no reply either by word or motion, but huddled together in the waist, outraged and surly. “Come on now, lay out on the yards there!” A pause followed, in which Rip Kelly, getting back his insolence, shouted with de- rision. ‘Are you going to obey?” “ Aw, ye carn’t fool us that way.” ‘ Are you going to obey?”’ the captain in- quired again in a voice vibrant with de- cision. ‘No, we ain’t. Not for you, nor any- thing like ye, ye bloody stiff!” “All right, Pll give you just five min- utes,’”’ said Forbes with the tone of one who pronounced a death sentence. Taking out his watch the captain paced up and down at the break of the poop, counting off the minutes. ‘“ Five minutes!” “Four: ‘Three!’ “ Time’s up! Are you going to obey?” “No!” shouted Rip Kelly. Without another word, Forbes whipped out his derringer, and dropped the foul- mouthed Kelly in his tracks. ‘“ Now, then, who’s going to die next?” Covering the rest of the crew with his gun, the captain started to advance upon them, but they were already flying for the ratlines in mortal terror. Vaulting off the break of the poop, Forbes pursued the panic-stricken mob, cracking pates right and left with the heavy butt of his gun. With a speed and alacrity undreamed of in all their former movements, the packet rats lay out on the yards, while Pugsley and the bosun followed them with sandstone and canvas. CORMICLOOKS pCO)