While he relieved himself of all that bad language, the two stowaways, both negroes, stood silent, although there was a baleful gleam in their eyes. They were finally told off to do some work, but flatly refused to lift a finger. Then food was denied them until they did work, and the matter reached a deadlock. The captain finally decided to put into Free Town, in the Barbadoes, and turn them over to the authorities there after making arrangements for their return to St. Lucia.
When the ship reached Free Town the captain gave strict orders that no one should be allowed ashore, adding, "particularly those two doctors!" We did not like this, as Free Town is a pleasant place and we could have found relaxation there that would have broken the tedium of the voyage. We needed the break, too, for the captain had ordered that we should not be allowed to buy any more liquor after the events at St. Lucia.
However, we had commissioned the gunner to see what he could do for us and he had gone ashore with "the old man." In a little while a busy motor-launch, with the Union Jack flying free, came chugging alongside with our worthy captain and six of the Free Town police.
They tumbled on board and announced to the stowaways that they were under arrest.
"We are, are we?" these worthies asked. "Well then, come and get us!"
They tore off their coats and shirts and waited for the attack. The police made no move, and I did not blame them. These two outcasts were the finest specimens of "fighting niggers" I have ever seen. Their torsos were ribbed with muscle and they looked fit to fight for their lives. What was more, they seemed anxious to begin!
The police shuffled their feet, and I saw that they were afraid to tackle them. The stowaways saw it, too, and became cocky. They turned on the captain and officers of the ship and let loose a flood of damaging language quite as strong as their splendid bodies. Expurgated, it ran something like this:
"You white folks think 'cause you've got some gol' braid on yer coats that yu' kin run over us! Come on an' get us! If yu' wanter arrest us, come an' do it! Yu' aint got th' nerve! Yu're afraid, that's wot yu' are! Come on an' fight, white men, come on!"
Not one of the officers or police moved. The stowaways were right; they were afraid. Then Sugden and I broke the tension by cheering the stowaways. Like us, they were the under dogs and we were for them. We cheered and applauded their defiance, and this proved too much for the forces of law and order.
There was a wild rush, and after a few sturdy blows the stowaways were overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers. When the flailing arms stopped, they were flat on the deck with about six men sitting on each. The irons were brought and clapped on them, and the last we saw of them was when they were hustled on board the launch.