Then he planted a vicious kick in the face of the unconscious man and went his way to the forecastle.
“Now maybe she’ll tink Billy Byrne’s a coward,” he thought, as he disappeared below.
Barbara Harding stood speechless with shock at the brutality and ferocity of the unexpected attack upon Theriere. Never in all her life had she dreamed that there could exist upon the face of the earth a thing in human form so devoid of honor, and chivalry, and fair play as the creature that she had just witnessed threatening a defenseless woman, and kicking an unconscious man in the face; but then Barbara Harding had never lived between Grand Avenue and Lake Street, and Halsted and Robey, where standards of masculine bravery are strange and fearful.
When she had recovered her equanimity she hastened to the head of the cabin companionway and called aloud for help. Instantly Skipper Simms and First Officer Ward rushed on deck, each carrying a revolver in readiness for the conflict with their crew that these two worthies were always expecting.
Barbara pointed out the still form of Theriere, quickly explaining what had occurred.
“It was the fellow Byrne who did it,” she said. “He has gone into the forecastle now, and he has a revolver that he took from Mr. Theriere after he had fallen.”
Several of the crew had now congregated about the prostrate officer.
“Here you,” cried Skipper Simms to a couple of them; “you take Mr. Theriere below to his cabin, an’ throw cold water in his face. Mr. Ward, get some brandy from my locker, an’ try an’ bring him to. The rest of you arm yourselves with crowbars and axes, an’ see that that son of a sea cook don’t get out on deck again alive. Hold him there ’til I get a couple of guns. Then we’ll get him, damn him!”
Skipper Simms hastened below while two of the men were carrying Theriere to his cabin and Mr. Ward was fetching the brandy. A moment later Barbara Harding saw the skipper return to the upper deck with a rifle and two revolvers. The sailors whom he had detailed to keep Byrne below were gathered about the hatchway leading to the forecastle. Some of them were exchanging profane and pleasant badinage with the prisoner.
“Yeh better come up an’ get killed easy-like,” one called down to the mucker. “We’re apt to muss yeh all up down there in the dark with these here axes and crowbars, an’ then wen we send yeh home yer pore maw won’t know her little boy at all.”
“Yeh come on down here, an’ try mussin’ me up,” yelled back Billy Byrne. “I can lick de whole gang wit one han’ tied behin’ me—see?”
“De skipper’s gorn to get his barkers, Billy,” cried Bony Sawyer. “Yeh better come up an’ stan’ trial if he gives yeh the chanct.”
“Stan’ nothin’,” sneered Billy. “Swell chanct I’d have wit him an’ Squint Eye holdin’ court over me. Not on yer life, Bony. I’m here, an’ here I stays till I croaks, but yeh better believe me, I’m goin’ to croak a few before I goes, so if any of you ginks are me frien’s yeh better keep outen here so’s yeh won’t get hurted. An’ anudder ting I’m goin’ to do afore I cashes in—I’m goin’ to put a few of dem ginks in de cabin wise to where dey stands wit one anudder. If I don’t start something before I goes out me name’s not Billy Byrne.”
At this juncture Skipper Simms appeared with the three weapons he had gone to his cabin to fetch. He handed one to Bony Sawyer, another to Red Sanders and a third to a man by the name of Wison.
“Now, my men,” said Skipper Simms, “we will go below and bring Byrne up. Bring him alive if you can—but bring him.”
No one made a move to enter the forecastle.
“Go on now, move quickly,” commanded Skipper Simms sharply.
“Thought he said ‘we,’ ” remarked one of the sailors.
Skipper Simms, livid with rage, turned to search out the offender from the several men behind him.
“Who was that?” he roared. “Show me the blitherin’ swab. Jes’ show him to me, I tell you, an I’ll learn him. Now you,” he yelled at the top of his voice, turning again to the men he had ordered into the forecastle after Billy Byrne, “you cowardly landlubbers you, get below there quick afore I kick you below.”
Still no one moved to obey him. From white he went to red, and then back to white again. He fairly frothed at the mouth as he jumped up and down, cursing the men, and threatening. But all to no avail. They would not go.
“Why, Skipper,” spoke up Bony Sawyer, “it’s sure death for any man as goes below there. It’s easier, an’ safer, to starve him out.”
“Starve nothin’,” shrieked Skipper Simms. “Do you reckon I’m a-goin’ to sit quiet here for a week an’ let any blanked wharf rat own that there fo’c’s’le just because I got a lot o’ white-livered cowards aboard? No sir! You’re a-goin’ down after that would-be bad man an’ fetch him up dead or alive,” and with that he started menacingly toward the three who stood near the hatch, holding their firearms safely out of range of Billy Byrne below.
What would have happened had Skipper Simms completed the threatening maneuver he had undertaken can never be known, for at this moment Theriere pushed his way through the circle of men who were interested spectators of the impending tragedy.
“What’s up, sir?” he asked of Simms. “Anything that I can help you with?”
“Oh!” exclaimed the skipper; “so you ain’t dead after all, eh? Well that don’t change the looks of things a mite. We gotta get that man outa there an’ these flea-bitten imitations of men ain’t got the guts to go in after him.”
“He’s got your gun, sir,” spoke up Wison, “an’ Gawd knows he be
