The Fuwalda was no exception to the rule. Her officers
were swarthy bullies, hating and hated by their crew.
The captain, while a competent seaman, was a brute in his
treatment of his men. He knew, or at least he used, but two
arguments in his dealings with them--a belaying pin and a
revolver--nor is it likely that the motley aggregation
he signed would have understood aught else.
So it was that from the second day out from Freetown
John Clayton and his young wife witnessed scenes upon the
deck of the Fuwalda such as they had believed were never
enacted outside the covers of printed stories of the sea.
It was on the morning of the second day that the first link
was forged in what was destined to form a chain of circumstances
ending in a life for one then unborn such as has never been
paralleled in the history of man.
Two sailors were washing down the decks of the Fuwalda,
the first mate was on duty, and the captain had stopped to
speak with John Clayton and Lady Alice.
The men were working backwards toward the little party
who were facing away from the sailors. Closer and closer
they came, until one of them was directly behind the captain.
In another moment he would have passed by and this strange
narrative would never have been recorded.
But just that instant the officer turned to leave Lord and
Lady Greystoke, and, as he did so, tripped against the sailor
and sprawled headlong upon the deck, overturning the water-
pail so that he was drenched in its dirty contents.
Pages:
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26