Three times he
hit the planks before he lay still.
The captain stood over him, his eyes blazing. He looked the
savage, barbaric slavedriver he was.
"Me, I'm Bully Green, and don't you forget it. Been shanghaied,
have you? Not going to touch a rope? Then, by thunder, you
white-livered beachcomber, a rope will touch you till you're
flayed. Get this in your coconut. You'll walk chalk, you lazy son
of a sea cook, or I'll haze you till you wish you'd never been
born." He punctuated his remarks with vigorous kicks. "Bully Green
runs this tub, strike me dead if he don't. Now you hump for'ard
and clap a hand to them sheets. Walk, you shanghaied Dutchman!"
The sailor crawled away, completely cowed. For one day he had had
more than enough. The captain watched him for a moment, his great
jaw thrust grimly out. Then, as on a pivot, he whirled toward
Jeff.
"Come here, you! Step lively, Sport!"
Farnum wondered whether he was about to undergo an experience
similar to that of the sailor. "Do you want to know what kind of a
ship this is?"
"No, sir. I'm perfectly satisfied about that," smiled his victim.
"Got no opinions you want to hand out free, son?"
"Think I'll keep them bottled.
Pages:
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239