A Yankee in the Far East Part 24

My! but those chairs did look good to "New York" and me. Neither of us had sat on anything soft for nearly a week.

An irresistible impulse to sit down on something soft seized us, and, unabashed in the presence of all that gold braid confronting us, we were about to sink into their luxurious depths when his royal gazooks, with an imperious wave of his hand, bade us remain standing in his presence. It was really an awful break on our part--we should have waited for him to have invited his guests to take a seat, but we were so dazzled and dazed by the sudden transition from steerage to first that we were momentarily shy a few b.u.t.tons on the niceties--and besides, we wanted to sit on a cus.h.i.+oned chair--we _ached_ to sit on a cus.h.i.+oned chair, I'm telling you, but we didn't--I thought of Lal and stood.

It was up to _me_ to stand--I was up for trial before the most absolute monarch in the world, the commander of a s.h.i.+p at sea.

He asked me my name, and I told him.

"You are charged with a.s.saulting an officer in the discharge of his duty," he said. "What have you to say for yourself?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: And "Beef" came in]

I told him the circ.u.mstances, "And, captain," I said, "that chap fell down mighty easy, and began to howl before he struck the deck."

The captain ordered the damaged steward to be produced.

The purser and "Beef" had him on tap, around the corner somewhere, and "Beef" led him in limping and sniveling.

"Did this man a.s.sault you?" the captain asked, pointing to me.

"Yes, sir, captain, 'e did, sir, thank you, sir. Hi was guardin' a door accordin' to horders, sir, and 'e pushed me over and I got an awful bruise, sir, thank you, sir."

According to the evidence, I was the one to thank, but I guess he got his thanks bestowed where they belonged, all right.

"Beef" explained that the man was badly hurt and under the doctor's care, and he turned him tenderly around so the captain could see where his pants had come in contact with the deck.

And those pants did look bad, there was no doubt about that.

"Yes, yes," the captain said, in a commiserating tone, "the man is undoubtedly severely injured."

[Ill.u.s.tration: And those pants did look bad. There was no doubt about that]

"Yes, captain," "Beef" said, "and the other night at curfew, out on the well deck, Mr. Allen made a speech and advised a lot of steerage pa.s.sengers to knock down officers on the s.h.i.+p, no matter how many shoulder straps they wore."

This was a serious charge--mutiny on s.h.i.+pboard--and punishable, I am informed, with instant death.

With a shuddering gasp at the enormity of my crime--or was it ghoulish glee at having sufficient evidence to have me drawn and quartered--I credit him with the latter sentiment--a human being who would keep two free-born American citizens standing in his presence--men whom he knew had been living steerage on his s.h.i.+p for nearly a week--with those chairs standing tantalizingly, invitingly empty--the wearer of all that gold braid, lolling luxuriously in an easy chair, filled with such viands as "New York" and I had seen coming through--I'll never believe that man would shudder at crime. Rather, I think he was gloating over my ign.o.ble end, and devising ways of still more horrible torture--that's the kind of a man I think that captain was, and I'll bet on it.

But according to the rules he didn't dare pa.s.s sentence without giving me a hearing. While he was judge, jury and prosecuting attorney, he had to give me a chance to clear myself, so he asked me what answer I had to make to the charge.

"Well, captain," I said, "'Bee--'--I mean your chief of steerage, hasn't got the story straight. At an indignation meeting out on the well deck the other night, as he has insulted women on this voyage, after he had ordered the women below decks at what you call your curfew time, I voiced the sentiments of the male portion of your steerage pa.s.sengers by advising that if any of them caught an officer of the s.h.i.+p insulting a woman, whether she was an immigrant or an American, no matter how many bra.s.s b.u.t.tons or shoulder straps he wore, to knock him down; and if he was too big to handle with the fist, to use a club."

"Beef" jumped up and shook his fist at me and bellowed: "If Mr. Allen says I've insulted women, he's a liar."

Right here is where "New York" shone.

"I would like a word here, captain," he said. "Mr. Allen is stating facts. Your chief of steerage _has_ insulted women on this voyage."

That "impartial" judge, that embellished emblem of authority, said he had known "Beef" for a good many years, and he knew he wouldn't do such a thing, so, according to "Beef" and the captain, "New York" and I were both liars.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "If Mr. Allen says I have insulted women, he's a liar"]

Then that bedizened judge turned on "New York" and said: "You look like a clean-cut, up-standing man" (this last was the unkindest cut of all; it's a compliment to have some men call you a liar, but he needn't have used that word "up-standing"; Lord knows, "New York"

didn't _want_ to stand up)--"how do you explain your a.s.sociating with such a person as this man Allen?"

And then "New York" shone some more. He told the captain that he had found Mr. Allen a most agreeable and congenial companion on this voyage.

Oh, my! How this story does string out. I suppose "New York" saved my life. With "New York's" testimony the captain didn't pa.s.s the death sentence--he dismissed us with a magnificent wave of his embroidered coat-sleeve--the steward didn't die, but peeled potatoes, and I'm in New York, and Clinton only five hours away.

THE END