PAGE 9
"Where Angels Fear To Tread"
by
“That’s where captains have the best of it,” said one of the mates, jocularly–and presumptuously, to judge by his captain’s frown; “we hammer ’em round and wear out their clothes, and it’s the captain that sells ’em new ones.”
“Captain,” said the grizzled one, who had been scanning the crew intently, “I’d pay that crew off if I were you; you ought to ha’ let ’em run, or worked ’em out and saved their pay. Look at ’em–look at the devils in their eyes. I notice your mates seldom turn their backs on ’em. I’d get rid of ’em.”
“What! Just when we have them under control and useful? Oh, no! They know their work now, and I’d only have to ship a crowd of beach-combers and half-breeds at nearly double pay. Besides, gentlemen, we’re just a little proud of this crew. They are lake sailors from Oswego, a little port on Lake Ontario. When I was young I sailed on the Lakes a season or two and became thoroughly acquainted with the aggressive self-respect of that breed. They would rather fight than eat. Their reputation in this regard prevents them getting berths in any but Oswego vessels, and even affects the policy of the nation. There’s a fort at Oswego, and whenever a company of soldiers anywhere in the country become unmanageable–when their officers can’t control them outside the guard-house–the War Department at Washington transfers them to Oswego for the tutelage they will get from the sailors. And they get it; they are well-behaved, well-licked soldiers when they leave. An Oswego sailor loves a row. He is possessed by the fighting spirit of a bulldog; he inherits it with his Irish sense of injury; he sucks it in with his mother’s milk, and drinks it in with his whisky; and when no enemies are near, he will fight his friends. Pay them off? Not much. I’ve taken sixteen of those devils round the Horn, and I’ll take them back. I’m proud of them. Just look at them,” he concluded vivaciously, as he waved his hand at his men; “docile and obedient, down on their knees with bibles and prayer-books.”
“And the name o’ the Lord on their lips,” grunted the adviser; “but not in prayer, I’ll bet you.”
“Hardly,” laughed Captain Benson. “Come below, gentlemen; the steward is ready.”
From lack of facilities the mild-faced and smiling steward could not serve that dinner with the style which it deserved. He would have liked, he explained, as they seated themselves, to bring it on in separate courses; but one and all disclaimed such frivolity. The dinner was there, and that was enough. And it was a splendid dinner. In front of Captain Benson, at the head of the table, stood a large tureen of smoking terrapin-stew; next to that a stuffed and baked freshly caught fish; and waiting their turn in the center of the spread, a couple of brace of wild geese from the inland lakes, brown and glistening, oyster-dressed and savory. Farther along was a steaming plum-pudding, overhead on a swinging tray a dozen bottles of wine, by the captain’s elbow a decanter of yellow fluid, and before each man’s plate a couple of glasses of different size.
“We’ll start off with an appetizer, gentlemen,” said the host, as he passed the decanter to his neighbor. “Here is some of the best Dutch courage ever distilled; try it.”
The decanter went around, each filling his glass and holding it poised; then, when all were supplied, they drank to the grizzled old captain’s toast: “A speedy and pleasant passage home for the Almena, and further confusion to her misguided crew.” The captain responded gracefully, and began serving the stew, which the steward took from him plate by plate, and passed around.
But, either because thirteen men had sat down to that table, or because the Fates were unusually freakish that day, it was destined that, beyond the initial glass of whisky, not a man present should partake of Captain Benson’s dinner. On deck things had been happening, and just as the host had filled the last plate for himself, a wet, bedraggled, dirty little man, his tarry clothing splashed with the slime of the deck, his eyes flaming green, his face expanded to a smile of ferocity, appeared in the forward doorway, holding a cocked revolver which covered them all. Behind him in the passage were other men, equally unkempt, their eyes wide open with excitement and anticipation.