"What do you think of the strike, Captain Jack?" asked Bobbie.
"What do I think of it?" echoed the Captain. "What could any sea-captain think of it—any self-respectin' sea-captain? It had ought to be stopped. That's what. That's just the trouble with being on land, though; you can't do things like you would on the water. 'F I was runnin' a big factory, I'd do it ship-shape, and I wouldn't stand any mutinies. I tell you what, now, my factory'd be a model. In the first place, I'd give the factory a name, just as if she was a ship, and the men who came there to work would be my crew, and the very minute one of 'em didn't behave himself, and tried to kick up a rumpus with me as their Captain, I'd clap him into irons. I believe in ironing them, I do; and it almost makes me wish I owned a factory, and the sailors in it would strike, so's I could show the world what I'd do under the circumstances.
"I'll never forget the last mutiny I had to deal with. It was back in '83. I was skipper of the clipper Benjamin Q., of Nantucket. We were engaged in carrying coal from Sandusky to Kennebunkport, and one morning two o' the crew up an' declined to shovel another ton.
"'Why not?' says I, calmly.
"'It's too dirty. We thought this was hard coal, and it's soft. It takes us an hour to get clean after the day's work's over, and that makes nine hours a day's work. We won't work more'n eight.'
"'I guess you're reasonable,' says I. 'Knock off, an' go in and take your bath. I'll turn the water on for ye myself. I'll let ye use my tub.'
"So they went aboard, and I went in and turned on the water in my tub, and I put about two pounds o' starch in the water. They all took turns, and said they felt better.
"'Now,' says I, 'you fellers can do this every day. Seven hours' work, and one hour for bathin', and I don't want anymore kickin'.' The mutineers agreed, and thought I was easy. Every day for a week they took starch baths—though they didn't know anything about the starch. I took care o' that. Well, you know what starch is. There they was a-soakin' it into their systems for an hour a day, and, by the flyin' Dutchman, when Sunday came around every one of 'em was so stiff they couldn't move. Monday they was like iron—couldn't move a joint. And then I says to 'em, says I, 'Kinder stiff, ain't ye? Little stiffer'n ye thought ye was goin' to be, eh? Thought ye was goin' to take the starch out of me, eh? Did too—if ye only knew it. Now ye can go about your business, and the next time ye take it into your heads to mutiny, choose another Captain to fool with.' I had 'em carried ashore and laid on the dock, and I sailed away. What ever became of 'em I don't know, but I heard that one of 'em had made a fortune as a ossified man in a Chicago museum."
With which astounding story of his method of dealing with strikers, Captain Jack rose up and walked away, leaving Bob and Tommie wondering if it really could have happened as the old tar had said.