“Hurry up and get those chaps on board,” the mate called out. “I want to get under way.”
“All right, Mister Mate,” answered one of the crimps. “We’ll soon have them on board. Get out of that, you brutes!” he added, giving one of the dazed men a kick.
Sullivan and his men soon got their victims on board, but on getting on deck one of the fellows, a fine-built young Swede, seemed to partly recover his senses.
“I don’t belong to this ship,” he said, and made for the gangway. With an oath Sullivan sprang at him. A terrific blow on the side of the head, and the poor fellow dropped senseless on the deck. They then bundled the lot forward.
“EACH OF THEM WAS KNOCKED SENSELESS WITH A BLOW BEHIND THE EAR FROM A KNUCKLE-DUSTER.”
Finding no light in the forecastle Sullivan and his men stepped inside, and were in the act of striking matches, when each of them was knocked senseless with a blow behind the ear from a knuckle-duster. They were then dropped into the fore-peak and the hatch fastened down, while the new men were lifted into berths to sleep off the effects of the drugged liquor.
In the meantime, the second mate slipped down the gangway, and, standing on one side of Sullivan’s boat, capsized her. When she filled with water he cast her off and let her drift up-river.
The tug-boat dropped down, the tow-rope was secured, the buoy cast off, and before midnight the ship was outside the Nobbies and under all sail.
At daylight the “shanghaied” men were getting over the effects of the drug, and the captain called all hands aft to give them a good glass of grog. The new men were in a terrible state when they came to their senses and found they had been “shanghaied.” One young fellow, in particular, sat down on the hatch and, placing his head on his hands, seemed to give way to despair. He took no heed of what was going on, and spoke no word to anyone.