IV.
“Shanghaied him, by thunder!”
Ed Davis grinned down at the sleeping Tom. The Sadie was dancing to the lilting ground swells, at dawn, far out beyond Catalina Island.
“Below there!” rang the voice of Clem, on deck above. “Ed, rouse that fellow up, or I’ll do it myself!”
Ed, who was about to turn in, after standing watch all night, shrugged his shoulders and grinned. Then he caught the sleeping Tom Saunders by the leg, hauled him roughly out of the bunk, and, planting two stinging blows, sent him up the tiny companionway with a kick.
Furious, half awake, cursing, Saunders gained his balance on the deck and stared at the ocean in blank bewilderment. Clem, at the wheel, let out a roar.
“Wake up, you slob! Take one o’ them buckets and a broom, an’ wash down the decks!”
Tom stared at the pilot house, saw Clem’s battered features, and comprehended at last. His heavy face contracted in anger.
“By thunder, I’ll make you sweat for this!” he burst forth, and came on the run.
Clem slipped a loop over the wheel and met Tom halfway. Nor did he waste any time or sympathy, for he was a captain, and his crew was in mutiny. Before Tom could get within fighting distance, Clem smashed him across the head with the butt end of a gaff. He reeled back, caught at the rail, and clung there weakly.