“All off,” Mr. Murphy declared to the American consul and dropped his marline-spike, as Matt Peasley ripped left and right, right and left into Ole Peterson's dish face. “Watch the skipper—our skipper, I mean. Regular young human pile-driver.” He raised his voice and called to Matt Peasley. “He's rocking on his legs now, sir; but keep away from those arms. He's dangerous and you're givin' him fifty pounds the best of it in the weights. Try the short ribs with your left and feel for his chin with the right, sir. Very nicely done, sir! Now—once more!”
Mr. Murphy nodded politely to the American consul.
“Excuse me,” he said. “The bigger they are the harder they fall, and the Retriever's deck ain't no nice place to bump a man's head. I'll just skip round in back and catch him in my arms.”
Which being done, Mr. Murphy laid All Hands And Feet gently on deck, walked to the scuttle butt, procured a dipperful of water and threw it into the gory, battered face. Matt Peasley had simply walked round him and, with the advantage of a superior reach, had systematically cut Captain Ole Peterson to strings and ribbons.
He held up the blood-soaked gloves for Mr. Murphy to untie the strings, the while he sniffed a little afternoon breeze that had just sprung up, blowing straight for the open sea.
“When he comes to, Mr. Murphy,” he ordered calmly, “escort him to your old room. Have one of the men stow his dunnage there also; and tell him if he shows his nose on deck until I give him permission, he shall have another taste of the same. Mr. Consul, I should be highly honored if you would step into my cabin and hoist one to our own dear native land.”
“With pleasure,” the consul replied. “Though I cannot, in my capacity as a citizen of the United States, endorse your—er—mutiny, nevertheless, as a United States consul at Cape Town I shall take pleasure in certifying to the fact that the fallen gladiator was the aggressor, that he did not present his credentials, and that you had no official knowledge of his identity.”
“I wish you would make an affidavit to that effect, under the seal of the Consulate, and mail it to me at Hoquiam, Washington, U. S. A.,” Matt pleaded, as they reached his cabin. He reached into poor old Cap'n Noah's little private locker. “I've a suspicion, sir, I'm going to need your affidavit very badly.”
“I shall do so, Mr. Peasley. May I inquire what you purpose doing with Captain Peterson?”
“Captain Peasley—if you please, Mr. Consul.” Matt looked up and grinned. “I think,” he continued, as he inserted the corkscrew, “I shall ship that boy as second mate if he's willing to work. If he's sullen, of course he'll have to remain in his room—and I shall not permit him to present his credentials now.”