The black men were lingering at the door, trying to get the captain’s meaning through their wool.
“Excuse me, Captain Holstrom,” I said, “but I think I know how this thing happened—and I feel it’s too bad to have innocent men beaten up.” I started to tell what I had seen, but he swore and broke in on me.
“Don’t butt into something that’s none of your business!” he snapped. He roared at the men: “Go do what I told you to do. Go punch the jokes out of that white gang or you’ll have no peace the rest of the voyage. Get out of here before I kick you out!”
It sounded like a very pretty row, judging it from where we were sitting in the saloon. It began in a very few minutes.
“Mr. Number-two Jones,” directed the captain, “go out there and oversee, and let me know when it’s time to break the clinch.” He loaded up his plate once more and kept on eating.
In about five minutes the mate returned. “I reckon it’s about time to knock ’em apart, Captain Holstrom,” he advised, shoving his head in at the door. “No great harm done, but they’re chewing each other bad, and that means expense for plaster and salve.”
If I hadn’t already lost my appetite for dinner, that grisly statement from Mr. Number-two Jones would have fixed me. I pushed back from the table.
“Come along, Sidney,” commanded the captain, kicking his chair out from under him. “Come settle your dinner. I’ll find a club for you.”
“I’ll obey the orders you gave me first, sir,” I called after him; “I won’t butt into something that’s none of my business.”
“Do you mean to say—” He had stopped and whirled on me.