“Who are you that dare to bandy words with me? Men, do you hear me? Put that boy in irons, or must I do it myself?”
“Look here, cap’n, let’s argy that matter a little,” said Stubbs. “What’s the boy to be put in irons for?”
“For grossly insulting me, and defying my authority.”
“He has prevented your committing murder, if that’s what you mean. You ought to thank him.”
“Take care, sir!” thundered the captain, “or I may put you in irons, also.”
“I reckon you might find a little opposition,” said the Yankee, quietly. “I’m a passenger on this vessel, Captain Hill, and your authority doesn’t extend to me.”
“We’ll see about that, sir,” said the captain, and he grasped Stubbs by the collar.
Now, the Yankee was not a heavy man, but he was very strong and wiry, and, moreover, in his early days, like Abraham Lincoln, he had been the best wrestler in the Vermont village in which he was born. He was a very quiet, peaceable man, but he was accustomed to resent insult in an effective way. He wrenched himself free by a powerful effort; then, with a dexterous movement of one of his long legs, he tripped up the captain, who fell in a heap upon the deck. The shock, added to the effects of his intoxication, seemed to stupefy the captain, who remained where he fell.
“Boys,” said Stubbs, coolly, to the two sailors, who had been ordered to put Harry in irons, “hadn’t you better help the captain into his cabin? He seems to be unwell.”
Just then the mate came on deck. He didn’t make inquiries, but took in the situation at a glance, and assisted the captain to his feet.