SHANGHAIED
WHEN Billy opened his eyes again he could not recall, for the instant, very much of his recent past.At last he remembered with painful regret the drunken sailor it had been his intention to roll.He felt deeply chagrined that his rightful prey should have escaped him.He couldn't understand how it had happened.
"This Frisco booze must be something fierce," thought Billy.
His head ached frightfully and he was very sick.So sick that the room in which he lay seemed to be rising and falling in a horribly realistic manner.Every time it dropped it brought Billy's stomach nearly to his mouth.
Billy shut his eyes.Still the awful sensation.Billy groaned.
He never had been so sick in all his life before, and, my, how his poor head did hurt.Finding that it only seemed to make matters worse when he closed his eyes Billy opened them again.
He looked about the room in which he lay.He found it a stuffy hole filled with bunks in tiers three deep around the sides.In the center of the room was a table.Above the table a lamp hung suspended from one of the wooden beams of the ceiling.
The lamp arrested Billy's attention.It was swinging back and forth rather violently.This could not be a hallucination.
The room might seem to be rising and falling, but that lamp could not seem to be swinging around in any such manner if it were not really and truly swinging.He couldn't account for it.Again he shut his eyes for a moment.When he opened them to look again at the lamp he found it still swung as before.
Cautiously he slid from his bunk to the floor.It was with difficulty that he kept his feet.Still that might be but the effects of the liquor.At last he reached the table to which he clung for support while he extended one hand toward the lamp.
There was no longer any doubt! The lamp was beating back and forth like the clapper of a great bell.Where was he?
Billy sought a window.He found some little round, glass-covered holes near the low ceiling at one side of the room.It was only at the greatest risk to life and limb that he managed to crawl on all fours to one of them.
As he straightened up and glanced through he was appalled at the sight that met his eyes.As far as he could see there was naught but a tumbling waste of water.And then the truth of what had happened to him broke upon his understanding.
"An' I was goin' to roll that guy!" he muttered in helpless bewilderment."I was a-goin' to roll him, and now look here wot he has done to me!"At that moment a light appeared above as the hatch was raised, and Billy saw the feet and legs of a large man descending the ladder from above.When the newcomer reached the floor and turned to look about his eyes met Billy's, and Billy saw that it was his host of the previous evening.
"Well, my hearty, how goes it?" asked the stranger.
"You pulled it off pretty slick," said Billy.
"What do you mean?" asked the other with a frown.
"Come off," said Billy; "you know what I mean.""Look here," replied the other coldly."Don't you forget that I'm mate of this ship, an' that you want to speak respectful to me if you ain't lookin' for trouble.My name's MR.Ward, an' when you speak to me say SIR.Understand?"Billy scratched his head, and blinked his eyes.He never before had been spoken to in any such fashion--at least not since he had put on the avoirdupois of manhood.His head ached horribly and he was sick to his stomach--frightfully sick.His mind was more upon his physical suffering than upon what the mate was saying, so that quite a perceptible interval of time elapsed before the true dimensions of the affront to his dignity commenced to percolate into the befogged and pain-racked convolutions of his brain.
The mate thought that his bluster had bluffed the new hand.That was what he had come below to accomplish.
Experience had taught him that an early lesson in discipline and subordination saved unpleasant encounters in the future.
He also had learned that there is no better time to put a bluff of this nature across than when the victim is suffering from the after-effects of whiskey and a drug--mentality, vitality, and courage are then at their lowest ebb.A brave man often is reduced to the pitiful condition of a yellow dog when nausea sits astride his stomach.
But the mate was not acquainted with Billy Byrne of Kelly's gang.Billy's brain was befuddled, so that it took some time for an idea to wriggle its way through, but his courage was all there, and all to the good.Billy was a mucker, a hoodlum, a gangster, a thug, a tough.When he fought, his methods would have brought a flush of shame to the face of His Satanic Majesty.He had hit oftener from behind than from before.He had always taken every advantage of size and weight and numbers that he could call to his assistance.He was an insulter of girls and women.He was a bar-room brawler, and a saloon-corner loafer.He was all that was dirty, and mean, and contemptible, and cowardly in the eyes of a brave man, and yet, notwithstanding all this, Billy Byrne was no coward.
He was what he was because of training and environment.He knew no other methods; no other code.Whatever the meager ethics of his kind he would have lived up to them to the death.He never had squealed on a pal, and he never had left a wounded friend to fall into the hands of the enemy--the police.
Nor had he ever let a man speak to him, as the mate had spoken, and get away with it, and so, while he did not act as quickly as would have been his wont had his brain been clear, he did act; but the interval of time had led the mate into an erroneous conception of its cause, and into a further rash show of authority, and had thrown him off his guard as well.
