Voyage of the Destroyer from New York to Brazil | Page 6

the fireman, snipped off with a jack-knife in an argument over a bottle.
Now, John, you wouldn't think to see him, the drudge at work, would say bali to a goose. But on a New Year it was different. There was no arrest made.
A policeman brought aboard a sheath-knife that was found at the scene of the fray, merely with the request that "when the crew went ashore again they would leave their knives behind." This reasonable suggestion was strictly respected.
All of our stores were resorted at the Island, dried and repacked.
Moving to Fort de France Bay, December 21st, repairs were made there till January 5th, 1894, on which date the Destroyer again sailed, at early daylight.
Our condition at sea we find is better than it was. The Destroyer goes with some degree of safety now, benefited, to be sure, by her late repairs. The trade winds are still blowing very strong, and although towing in the teeth of the wind, the ship is kept free and handled in all respects without the wear and tear on a man's soul that was suffered in the early part of the voyage. But that, now, is neither here nor there. The procession has passed!
Mr. Mondonca, minister from Brazil, assured us sailors before leaving New York that all the sea south of the "Gulf" would be "like a lake"--We found it so! But what lake, I'll never tell!
Our company of thirteen, I have said, was made good at Martinique. One of the number now is Sir Charles, the "hero of Soudan." Sir Charles is not only in the expedition, but is one of us on the Destroyer, to pass the Rubicon in her, now that she has crossed the Gulf. Previous to this his sailing had always been in large ships, therefore he could not, for a long time, be reconcile' to the poetical motion of the Destroyer of lesser dimensions.
Sir Charles was, however, a stern disciplinarian.
Numberless were the duels he would have fought on the Santuit. But for the want of gentlemanly principles, no one accepted his challenges--not even the nigger cook, to whom he gave choice of weapons. This sanguinary spirit spurting from the third gunner's mate on the voyage, what will be the state of the Destroyer's decks? I ask myself, when the gunner himself appears and the fighting captain takes charge.
But the cook, seizing the frying-pan in his black fist, against all the rules of dueling, don't cher know, chased Sir Charles around the deck. That wasn't all; the nigger having gained on Sir Charles sufficiently to reach him, he thought, let fly the blooming pan, but hit something hard. Instead of Sir Charles's head, the steam winch caught the blow, and of course the pan broke into a thousand pieces. It was a bad blow for Sir Charles all the same. Capt. Sturges hearing of the mishap--he was bound to hear of it--it was the Santuit's slapjack pan that was broken, and hearing of Sir Charles's thirst for blood, called him to the bridge for an interview, which could be heard all over the harbor, to the effect that "any more such work on the Santuit, sir, and I'll make shark bait of your d----d carcass, d'ye hear? Now, go forward."
Sir Charles h'went!
Colonel B----, with a twinkle of humor, transferred Sir Charles then to the Destroyer--"to stand by the captain."
Now the crew of the Destroyer having had, I may say, a pretty salt time of it, were ready and willing for anything fresh. The hero of "many bases" dropped into the vacancy like one born for the place.
But what a fighter he was, to be sure! A duel on the Destroyer bless you, came to a focus in no time. No one up to the present had thought of personal combat--hadn't found time to even think of a quarrel. But now ten paces were marked off on the Destroyer's deck, and had not Sir Charles's friend and countryman, Wildgoose, the engineer, extracted all the bullets from the revolvers, some one on board might have been hurt! I know it is a sin for me to grin over the reminiscence of an enthusiast heading for war; but one may be chief mourner at a funeral itself and be obliged to laugh.
The chap was a good rifle shot, there was no doubt about that. He was known to have emptied a magazine of bullets into the body of a dead shark one day at the anchorage. It was a very large monster, but Mr. Brown, the Santuit's engineer, had already shot the brute through the head, killing him instantly. Nevertheless, our third gunner's mate blazed away, putting every shot that he fired near one centre close abaft the fin by a method of quick action with the trigger and lever which