Mr. Trunnell | Page 9

deck, however, he gave a snort and started to his feet. Then he let out a yell like a madman and closed with me, my right hand luckily reaching his wrist below the knife.
It was up and down, and all over the deck for a time, the men crowding aft around us, but fearing to take a hand. The fellow had enormous strength, and the way he made that knife hand jump and twist gave me all I could do to keep fast to it. Soon I found I was losing ground, and he noted the fact, exerting himself more and more as he found me failing. Then it dawned upon me that I was in a bad fix, and I tried to think quickly for some means to save myself. In another mad struggle he would wrench himself clear, and his ugly look told me plainly how much mercy I could expect. I gave one last despairing grip on his wrist as he tore wildly about, and then I felt his arm slip clear of my fingers, and I waited for the stroke with my left arm drawn up to stop its force as far as possible. I could almost feel the sting of the steel in my tense nerves, when something suddenly caught me around the middle and pressed me with great force against my enemy. His face was almost against mine, but his arms were pinioned to his sides, powerless, and then I was aware that we both were encircled by the ape-like arms of the mate, Mr. Trunnell. How the little fellow held on was a marvel. He braced his short legs wide apart, and giving a hug that almost took the breath out of me, bawled lustily for some man to pass a lashing.
Suddenly a man rushed aft and passed a line around the stranger, and I saw that the young landlubber to whom, earlier in the morning, I had been so harsh was a man to be depended on. The young fellow tied my enemy up in short order, although the knots he used would not have done any credit to a sailor. But I was more than thankful when I had a chance to wring the long knife out of the murderous stranger's hand, and I spoke out to the smooth-faced fellow. "You'll do, my boy, even if you don't know a yard from a main-brace bumpkin. Pass a line around his legs and stuff a swab into his mouth if he don't stop swearing."
"Steady," said Trunnell, "none of that," as the swab was being brought up. "But, Captain Andrews, if you don't belay your tongue we'll have to do something." And the little mate squared his shoulders, and gazed calmly down upon the prostrate stranger who foamed at the mouth with impotent fury.
"So," I said, "this is the ruffian who jumped his bail and is aboard here on the sneak? I reckon we'll tack ship and stand back again to put him where he belongs."
I was breathing heavily from the fight, and stood leaning against the cabin to recover, while Mr. Trunnell and the fellow Jim, who had helped tie the skipper up, appeared to be in doubt how to proceed. The noise of the scuffle and our conversation had aroused the captain in the cabin, and as I finished speaking he came to the break of the poop and looked down on the main deck. I was aware of his hooked nose and strange, glinting eyes almost before I turned, as he spoke. He placed his foot upon the rail and gave a dry cough.
"I reckon there ain't any call to tack ship," he said slowly; "a pair of irons'll do the rest. Jest clap them on him, hand and foot, Mr. Rolling, and then rivet him to the deck away up forrads. If he don't stow that bazoo of his, you might ram the end of a handspike in his mouth and see if he'll bite."
"Who are you, you molly-hawk, to give orders aboard here?" roared Andrews, from where he lay on deck. "What's happened, Trunnell, when a swivel-eyed idiot with a beak like an albatross stands on the poop and talks to me like this?"
"He's Captain Thompson, in command, owing to the little--the little fracas you was mixed into last v'yage. We didn't exactly expect to have ye this trip, sir," said the mate.
"Well, I'm here, ain't I? Sing out, can't you see me? Has your hair struck in and tickled your brain so you don't know who's boss aboard here? Who's this galoot you've just kept from being ripped to ribbons? I'll settle matters with you later on for meddling in this affair, you kelp-haired sea-pig. Sink you, Trunnell; I never expected you to turn rusty like the