Gordon Young

“ They had the impudence of chosen men, and bawled cheers at the Heraldr's poop where Jeanne Vaughn and Eve stood among three or four figures.
Two mates bent above the accommodation ladder, expecting trouble. A fellow with a girth like a barrel's stood at the foot of the ladder to take a hand in quieting down the raffle. He was the boatswain.
The mates cursed stormily as the men with a rush, almost capsizing, crowded toward the ladder, clustering up unsteadily, their feet less sure than their hands. They clutched the man-ropes and stumbled. ”

“ They tumbled about, unable to decide where to go or what to do, roaring, singing, fighting, snoring, swearing, settling on hatches and in scuppers, getting in their own way, staggering if their feet moved.
They filled the deck-house and dungeon-like quarters in the forecastle, overflowing all about the deck. It was impossible to call a muster. They would not have answered Gabriel himself. The boatswain, a big Britisher, got orders to keep the crew piped down. The women aft were being made uneasy. Gorvhalsen and Matt Ward were not yet on board. ”

“ Gorvhalsen went down, deliberately tripped by one of the crew. For a half-hour he was unconscious. He knew that he had been tripped. As he fell he had seen by whom, but at the moment of falling he had not been able to help himself. The ring bolt which his head struck delayed justice for a time; but he nearly killed the man who had tripped him. He beat the fellow, a man half his size, with bare fists in the midst of the crew; then went toward the cabin, whistling.
The forecastle muttered. Somebody would stick a knife in him—yet. Or break an ax-blade over his head. ”