“To be put ashore!” Corway demanded. “I’ve been sandbagged and robbed, and evidently sold to you for a sailor, which I am not.”
“Not a sailor, eh,” the captain said, taking the cigar from his mouth and looking sharply at Corway. “What did you sign the articles for?”
“I never signed any articles.” By this time Corway was fully alive to his position and spoke with rising heat and ill-suppressed indignation.
“Oh, yes you did!” sneered the first officer, “but you were too drunk to remember it.”
“Repeat that, and I’ll choke the words back down your throat,” and Corway stepped menacingly toward him.
The captain held up his hand warningly and looked at Corway as if he was daffy, then said slowly and meaningly: “Be careful, young man; that is insubordination; a repetition will land you in irons. The boarding-house master swore that he saw you sign the articles, and he had other witnesses to your signature to satisfy me before I paid him your wages for six months in advance on your order.”
“I signed no articles, and I know nothing about it,” fumed Corway. “And I again demand, as an American citizen, that you put me ashore, or I shall libel this ship for abduction.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” sneered the first officer, who was unable to conceal his ill-will to Corway since the latter’s threat to choke him. “Give the dandy a lady’s handkerchief, and he’ll believe the ship’s a jolly good wine cask.”
Corway struck him square on the mouth. “Take that for your insolence, you contemptible puppy,” and following him up with clenched fists, as the officer stumbled back, said wrathfully: “If you speak to me that way again, I’ll break in your anatomy.”
“Here, Judd,” called the captain to the mate on the forecastle. “Take this fellow to the strong room and keep him there on ‘hardtack’ for three days.”