Thereafter for a space of three months, during which they continued to cruise the off-shore ground with fair success, taking altogether some four hundred barrels of oil, no incident occurred worth making special mention of here. Only it could not escape the notice of any unbiassed observer like the skipper, how, with the exception of the other boat steerers and the three officers above Merritt, all the crew seemed to worship C. B.; their faces brightened whenever they saw him. And then there came another explosion with Pepe again, who seemed to have grown moodier and more sullen, although he was just as good a whaleman as he had ever been.
It was during the trying out of some oil, just at the change of watches, that one of C. B’s boat’s crew, coming hurriedly on deck, charged into Pepe, who stood wiping his hands by the mincer, having just relinquished the baler to C. B., standing on the try-works platform. It was a pure accident, due to the quantity of oil on deck. And besides, the man, a Yankee from Vermont, was not in the best of health, for he was suffering from a severe outbreak of painful boils. But Pepe sprang to his feet and seized the unfortunate fellow by the throat, forcing him against the rail, and had already struck him a heavy blow in the face, when C. B. leaped from his place on the platform, and snatching Pepe’s just descending arm cried, “Let the man alone!”
Pepe turned like a baffled tiger, all teeth and snarl, and grappled C. B., everything forgotten but his present desire to do harm to the one who had got in his way.
A serious smile was on C. B.’s face as he easily held the furious man who, lost to all sense of danger, strove to get at his knife. Seeing or rather feeling this, C. B. lost his temper and, freeing his right arm, struck at Pepe’s face once, twice, with crushing force; then as if maddened beyond endurance he clasped Pepe in his arms and dashed him against the bulwarks where he lay limp and motionless. C. B.’s anger passed as rapidly as it had kindled, and falling on his knees in the oil by the side of the unconscious man he tore open the breast of his shirt and felt his breast, finding to his immense relief that his heart was beating, though feebly.
Then rising, he lifted the limp body in his strong arms and bore it aft out of the way of the oil. He was about to get some restoratives when a hand was laid on his arm, and turning he saw Merritt who said—
“Looky here! no more foolin’ with that nigger. He ain’t hurt any worth speakin’ of, an’ you’re only spoilin’ him. ’Sides, your pot wants lookin’ after. Get back t’ yer work and leave him t’ learn his lesson.”
C. B. obeyed mechanically, but with a dull feeling of regret at his heart, for he was afraid of that demon that had so suddenly arisen within him, remembering keenly as he did the last occasion when it had done so. And as he went on with his baling, he prayed fervently to be delivered from what he felt was the awful danger of taking a fellow-creature’s life in anger.
All the while he was thus accusing himself the rest of the watch, with the exception of Mr. Spurrell, who was asleep and heard nothing of the fray, were almost beside themselves with joy at the thought that the gentle kindly fellow whom they all loved could on occasion use the great strength they knew he possessed not only in self-defence but for the defence of others. The man whom he had rescued, in particular, was from thenceforward his devoted slave; no one could say a word even remotely disparaging C. B., but he was upon them like a faithful dog in defence of his master. And strangest of all, C. B. never heard another word about it from anybody. Pepe was all right to all appearance at the change of watches, and if the captain knew he never mentioned it.
Now I fear that there are many good people who will feel that C. B. was woefully lacking in what they consider should be the first attribute of the Christian—the ability and grace to submit not only to any violence offered to themselves, but to witness any shameful oppression of others with the same meekness of spirit. I verily believe, I must believe, judging from what I read written by these people and what I have heard them say, that if they saw the last extremity of murderous outrage being offered to their nearest and dearest they would only drop upon their knees and pray that God would pardon the perpetrators; they would not dare to interfere, actively, nor if they were able would they allow others to do so. Nay more, if any person did interfere, and in defence of their children happened to shed the blood of the aggressors, they would be the first to call him or them murderers.
It is an attitude of mind which I do not pretend to understand, but one that is all too common and widespread to ignore. It is far removed from the spirit of the ancient martyrs, in that its professors are usually the very first to cry out for protection of their own bodies and property by the forces of the law. And I can only characterize such people by the plain old name of coward. More, I do not believe that God saves a man to make him a coward, but to make him as brave as was the Gentle Saviour when he scourged the infamous rabble out of the Temple, alone and unaided. But our curious weaklings would have reserved their wrath for the scourge wielder, their pity for the scoundrels. Would! nay do so every day, as the columns of our newspapers bear witness.