On the appointed evening the salon filled up early. Few of the ladies had dared to go to the steerage, and now flowered ruffles and curls fluttered with excitement as they settled into the cushioned seats. Promptly on the hour the imposing figure appeared in the doorway. At a sign from the Captain, who had risen, Douglass walked toward the front of the room.
Then it happened.
The three young men were now five. At Douglass’ appearance the two who were inside the salon sprang quickly to their feet, the three who had been watching from the deck came running in.
“We’ll stop him!”
“Get the nigger!”
“Throw him overboard!”
Ladies screamed, men jumped up, but Frederick only stood still while they closed in on him. Perhaps he had expected something like this. At any rate, his face did not change. The clamor increased as, cursing, the young men knocked aside any opposition.
But they had reckoned without the Captain. The stern old Britisher’s voice thundered out. His shipmen came running, and before the rioters could realize what had happened, they were struggling in the firm grasp of British seamen, who looked toward the Captain for further orders.
Captain Judkins was outraged. He glared at the offenders who, utterly bewildered by the turn of events, were stuttering their objections. The Captain chose to ignore everything except one obvious fact.
“Put these young drunks in irons until they sober up!” He turned away, leaving his competent crewmen to execute the order.