China was not troubling the jolly tars forward, nor were they disturbed over the wet decks on which they were sitting. Every man of them was soaked with salt water.
In the galley kettles were sliding across the range, and from there out on to the deck. Food was everywhere, except where it should have been.
Suddenly the jackies on the seven-inch gun deck set up a yell of delight. A steward descending a ladder carrying a kettle of hot beans suddenly lost his hold.
With a howl, he plunged headlong. Sam Hickey chanced to be right in the path of the human projectile. The kettle of boiling hot beans turned turtle just as it was hovering over the red-headed boy's head. Down came kettle, beans and all over Sam's head. Part of the contents scattered, catching other unlucky jackies who were sitting near him.
Hickey's yells could be heard above the roar of the storm, as he scrambled madly to his feet, tugging at the kettle to get it off his head. The handle had dropped down under his chin.
Shipmates sprang to his rescue, else Sam would have been seriously burned. As it was, his face was red and swollen, his hair was matted with beans and his eyes glared angrily.
"You did that on purpose," he howled, starting for the unlucky steward.
"Yes, of course he did," urged several voices. "He ought to be dumped overboard for the fishes."
"No; he's too tough, they wouldn't eat him."
The steward himself settled the question of his disposal, by scrambling up the companionway as fast as he could go. He knew the jackies well enough to be aware that they would like nothing better than having some sport with the "sea cook," as they call every man connected with the kitchen department.