“Wot’s the answer? Wot happened?”
Micky McMasters sighed. He thrust his hands in his pockets resignedly.
“Hit’s hall hup!” he declared. “They’re electing a citizen captain to take my place. They’re voting for an engineer and mate. They say there should be equality on the sea as well as on the land. ’Ere comes hour substitutes!”
Mike glared at three Russians who had detached themselves from the others. One was a former coal-passer. Another had come aft from the forecastle. Ivan made the third.
The Russian stood beneath the rocking bridge and said sternly:
“You mutineers get below to the stokehold. We will guide the Shongpong out across the Pacific. We will make our own report without your aid. We need you on deck no longer.”
Red Landyard snatched up a belaying pin from the lee rail.
“—— you!” he shouted. “I signed on as mate—and I’ll be mate!”
“And I’m captain!” shrieked Micky.
The fight which followed was all one-sided. A hoarse command from Ivan was answered by a determined rush forward. The Bolshevik horde swarmed over the bridge of the wallowing freighter. Micky and Red Landyard fought them tooth and nail. They swung belaying-pins and a chart-case. They finished their end of the struggle upon their knees—to which position they were beaten by the press of numbers.