Before
they could arrest him, Swaine flung himself towards Dyck with a knife in
his hand.
Dyck's hand was quicker, however. His pistol flung out, a shot was
fired, and the knife dropped from the battered fingers of Nick Swaine.
"Have his wounds dressed, then put him in irons," Dyck commanded.
From that moment, in good order and in good weather, the Ariadne sped on
her way westward and southward.
CHAPTER XIV
IN THE NICK OF TIME
Perhaps no mutineer in the history of the world ever succeeded, as did
Dyck Calhoun, in holding control over fellow-mutineers on the journey
from the English Channel to the Caribbean Sea. As a boy, Dyck had been
an expert sailor, had studied the machinery of a man-of-war, and his love
of the sea was innate and deep-seated; but his present success was based
upon more than experience. Quite apart from the honour of his nature,
prison had deepened in him the hatred of injustice. In soul he was
bitter; in body he was healthy, powerful, and sane.
Slowly, sternly, yet tactfully, he had broken down the many customs of
ship life injurious to the welfare of the men. Under his system the
sailors had good coffee for breakfast, instead of a horrible mixture made
of burnt biscuits cooked in foul water. He gave the men pea-soup and
rice instead of burgoo and the wretched oatmeal mess which was the staple
thing for breakfast. He saw to it that the meat was no longer a hateful,
repulsive mass, two-thirds bone and gristle, and before it came into the
cook's hands capable of being polished like mahogany.
Pages:
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57