As soon as we had beached the boat he stepped ashore, and in two strides was in the middle of the snarling group.Further parley ceased at once.Snatching the loudest of them by the breast of his shirt with his right hand, another one by the collar with his left, he flung himself backwards towards the boat, knocking the interveners right and left.But a protruding fragment of rock caught his heel, bringing him with his captives to the ground in a writhing mass.The rest, maddened beyond restraint of fear, flung themselves upon the prostrate man, the glimmer of more than one knife-blade appearing.Two of us from the boat--one with the tiller, the other brandishing a paddle--rushed to the rescue; but before we arrived the giant had heaved off his assailants, and, with no other weapons than his bare hands, was doing terrific execution among them.Not knowing, I suppose, whether we were friendly to him or not, he shouted to us to keep away, nor dare to interfere.There was no need.Disregarding such trifles as a few superficial cuts--not feeling them perhaps--he so unmercifully mauled that crowd that they howled again for mercy.
The battle was brief and bloody.Before hostilities had lasted five minutes, six of the aggressors were stretched insensible;the rest, comprising as many more, were pleading for mercy, completely sober.Such prowess on the part of one man against twelve seems hardly credible; but it must be remembered that Goliath fought, with all the moral force of the ship's officers behind him, against a disorganized crowd without backbone, who would never have dared to face him but for the temporary mania induced by the stuff they had drunk.It was a conflict between a lion and a troop of jackals, whereof the issue was never in doubt as long as lethal weapons were wanting.
Standing erect among the cowering creatures, the great negro looked every inch a mediaeval hero.In a stern voice he bade his subjugated enemies to get into the boat, assisting those to do so who were too badly hurt to rise.Then we shoved off for the ship--a sorrowful gang indeed.
As I bent to my oar, I felt very sorry for what had happened.
Here were half the crew guilty of an act of violence upon an officer, which, according to the severe code under which we lived, merited punishment as painful as could be inflicted, and lasting for the rest of the voyage.Whatever form that punishment might take, those of us who were innocent would be almost equal sufferers with the others, because discrimination in the treatment between watch and watch is always difficult, and in our case it was certain that it would not be attempted.Except as regarded physical violence, we might all expect to share alike.Undoubtedly things looked very unpleasant.My gloomy cogitations were abruptly terminated by the order to "unrow"--we were alongside.Somehow or other all hands managed to scramble on board, and assist in hoisting the boat up.
As soon as she was secured we slunk away forward, but we had hardly got below before a tremendous summons from Goliath brought us all aft again at the double quick.Most of the fracas had been witnessed from the ship, so that but a minute or two was needed to explain how or why it begun.Directly that explanation had been supplied by Mistah Jones, the order was issued for the culprits to appear.
I have before noticed how little love was lost between the skipper and his officers, Goliath having even once gone so far as to give me a very emphatic opinion of his about the "old man" of a most unflattering nature.And had such a state of things existed on board an English ship, the crew would simply have taken charge, for they would have seen the junior officers flouted, snubbed, and jeered at; and, of course, what they saw the captain do, they would not be slow to improve on.Many a promising young officer's career has been blighted in this way by the feminine spite of a foolish man unable to see that if the captain shows no respect to his officers, neither will the crew, nor obedience either.
But in an American ship, so long as an officer remains an officer, he must be treated as such by every man, under pain of prompt punishment.Yankee skippers have far too much NOUS to allow their hands to grow saucy in consequence of division among the after-guard.So now a sort of court-martial was held upon the unfortunates who had dared to attack Goliath, at which that sable hero might have been the apple of Captain Slocum's eye, so solicitous was he of Mistah Jones' honour and the reparation to be made.
This sort of thing was right in his line.Naturally cruel, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself in the prospect of making human beings twist and writhe in pain.Nor would he be baulked of a jot of his pleasure.
Goliath approached him, and muttered a few words, meant, I felt sure, to appease him by letting him know how much they had suffered at his strong hands; but he turned upon the negro with a savage curse, bidding him be silent.Then every one of the culprits was stripped, and secured to the lash-rail by the wrists; scourges were made of cotton fish-line, knotted at intervals, and secured to a stout handle; the harpooners were told off as executioners, and the flogging began.Perhaps it was necessary for the maintenance of discipline--certainly it was trivial compared with the practice, till recently, in our own army and navy; but I am glad to say that, compelled to witness it, I felt quite sick--physically sick--trembling so in every limb that my legs would not support me.It was not fear, for Ihad nothing to fear had I been ever such a coward.Whatever it was, I am not sorry either to have felt it or to own it, even while I fully admit that for some forms of wickedness nothing but the lash seems adequate punishment.
