At the back of the world

by George Pugh; Jennie Pugh

Long before the dance was over there were several seamen lying helplessly drugged in the side room. Just before midnight, and while the dance was still going on, Slagan and his fellow crimps removed the helpless men down to a boat, and took them off to the ships at the buoys. Then Slagan pocketed his blood money and before daylight the vessels were at sea under all plain sail.

The following day, when the six American seamen did not turn up on board the “Jeremiah Crawford” enquiries were quietly made, and it was soon found out what had become of them; they had been among the twelve men “shanghaied” aboard the three waiting ships. The men’s shipmates, boiling with anger, wanted to go and wreck Slagan and his saloon, but the captain called all hands aft, and told them from the poop that they must not let it be known that they knew where their shipmates were.

“I know how you feel over it,” he said, “and I know how I feel, too, but I intend to pay that rascal in his own coin. Those Britishers are off to ’Frisco, and we are bound there, too, and you can bet your bottom dollar I mean to make the ship move when we start. And what is more, I intend to take that rascal Slagan with me!”

“All right, captain,” answered the men, “mum’s the word. We will wait events.”

Two days afterwards Captain Monk, of the “Jeremiah Crawford,” told Slagan to get him six men by the time the ship was loaded. He agreed, on condition he was paid three pounds per man. This, Captain Monk agreed to, and when the ship was finished and hauled out to the buoys, Slagan sent word to the captain he would bring the men off about 8 p.m.

Now, that day, a young Irish police constable had been transferred from Sydney to Newcastle, and promoted. He was appointed to this district with a view to watching the goings-on at Slagan’s, rumours of which had reached police headquarters. The constable was married to a fine strapping Irish lass, who was a great help to her husband. She wore her hair short like a man, and was no stranger to the wearing of men’s clothes. In fact, it was partly owing to her that her husband had got his position.

The constable knew he was there to get proof of Slagan’s shady doings, and it was accordingly arranged that his wife should disguise herself as a seaman, as she had done before, and watch the inside, while her husband watched the outside of the saloon. The policeman’s wife was a splendidly built woman, as straight as a reed, muscular as well, and absolutely fearless. So it happened that when Slagan was picking out the men he wanted for his purpose that night, he saw this likely-looking young fellow among them. But he was not taking any liquor—only a bottle of ginger ale. Slagan very obligingly opened a bottle for him, and it was a simple matter, as the stuff fizzled out, to knock the ash from his cigar into the glass with his little finger, and the mischief was done. Presently one of his spies came in and cautioned the crimp that there was a constable knocking about in the street.

“We must get the beggar out of the way, Mike,” said Slagan. “I’ll soon settle him, you watch him.”

Going outside, he walked up the street past the constable, smoking a splendid cigar. The constable got a whiff and wished he had one like it. In a few minutes the crimp returned, still puffing away at the cigar, as he passed the policeman he quietly dropped his cigar case. The constable, just behind him, saw the case and picked it up, and seeing there were two or three fine cigars in it, succumbed to temptation and put it in his pocket. He could not long resist the mute appeal of those cigars, so slipping into the shadow behind some houses, he lit one, and was soon enjoying a good smoke. It had a wonderfully soothing influence, and he leaned up against the wall, thinking of the sharp bit of work that had brought him promotion. He felt that already he had Slagan in his power and he saw himself in imagination with his sergeant’s stripes. Then all of a sudden he smiled a sickly smile, his head fell forward, his legs gave way beneath him, and he sank in a heap on the ground. A few minutes afterwards the spy, who had been watching him all the time, cautiously approached. He took the cigar case out of the unconscious man’s tunic, removed the remains of the drugged cigar from his mouth, and left him there.

The night was very dark, and about 8 p.m., while the dancing and singing were still in full swing, Slagan and his tools got the selected men off in a boat. The tug was ahead of the ship, all ready to start; when the crimp got alongside with his men the “Jeremiah Crawford” was hanging to a slip rope, and the captain was in his cabin waiting for Slagan and the sailors.