"We will go aboard and look—see," said he to his stout spouse, and they forthwith stepped upon the ship's deck. As nearly everybody had gone ashore as soon as McDuff's back had been seen upon the levee, they met no one and wandered over the Enos at will. Finally Sengali sat upon the boxes of powder and, lighting his pipe, began to smoke placidly. He was aware of the contents of the cases, but being an old hand at the handling of dynamite, he had developed that serenity and carelessness which is one of their distinguishing qualities. He feared not either fire or shock.
Mrs. Sengali wandered over the apparently deserted ship and finally found her way into McDuff's room in the rear of the pilot-house. Here she made herself comfortable.
It happened that Cellini, a young and amorous Dago, saw her. He had been drinking heavily, and as the coast appeared clear he made his way to the forward part of the ship, hoping to entertain the stout and rosy Mrs. Sengali in a manner common to drunken Dagoes. He saw no one forward and made his way to the captain's room. Then he quickly entered and swiftly closed the door.
Sengali, smoking and pondering upon the future to be had in the world at Panama, was aroused from pleasant dreams by the shrill screams of his wife. He sprang up the companionway and rushed for the vicinity of the noise. The cries seemed to come from the captain's room, and he hesitated. It was a terrible crime to assault a captain upon his own ship. But his wife. She was in terrible danger, her shrieks were now being half muffled, showing that the person who had caused them was stifling them as best he could. The Dago waited no longer; he crashed against the door.
It gave way with the impact and Sengali landed in the room. Cellini was holding his wife, but let her go instantly, and drawing a revolver, fired at Sengali. The latter raced for the companionway, hoping to gain his bundle, in which reposed his trusty knife. The bundle was lying where he had sat smoking upon the cases of dynamite, and he tore it apart, seized his weapon and turned to mete out a just revenge upon his assailant.
"I keel you now," he roared and rushed at Cellini, who had come floundering down the stairs after him, but who, being drunk, had tripped and had thus lost valuable time.
Cellini, lying upon one elbow, took deliberate aim at the enraged husband. A fireman, who had seen the fracas, fled up the levee shouting for the police, and James, who had been drowsing in his room, rolled out of his bunk and went to the scene of the trouble, intending to quell it, as a mate should. Cellini's first shot from his position where he had fallen tore through Sengali's uplifted hand. He gave a yell and drew it down, staggering and flinging the blood about. Then he rushed again at his prostrate enemy, his knife upraised, ready for the finishing stroke.
James gained the vicinity just as Cellini raised his weapon for the last shot. Drunk and furious at the interruption of Sengali, he appeared not to care for the retribution the husband was going to wreak upon him. He aimed carefully at the foreman's head and pulled the trigger. Just then James kicked the pistol aside and it exploded.
A man on the levee at some distance vouched for this much of the final act. He saw James kick the weapon, saw it explode. The next instant the forward part of the Enos disappeared in a mass of flame.