From the moment that the helm was put down, the ship was in an indescribable uproar. The maindeck, littered with ropes'-ends, coils of braces, and handspikes, was soon in hopeless confusion. Braces jammed, tackles got foul, and the men ran aimlessly about, chased by Black Davis, who, like an avenging demon, was swearing as only a ship's mate can swear, whilst he fairly surpassed himself with his fist and boot work. At the break of the poop the old man almost foamed at the mouth with fury. With clenched fists he raged up and down, roaring like a bull. "Let go them royal an' skysail braces, yew mongrel rip thar, what in hell'r yew doin' of? Gol darn my etarnal skin if ever I see'd sech a inseck. Neow y've gone an' fouled thet brace! Snakes, yew ain't more use than a lot o' cawpses. Hyeh, bosun! Jump across an' thump thet hayseed, will yew?" At the critical moment Sam, at the wheel, nearly had the ship in irons. With one rush the old man was upon him. "What in thunder air yew doin'? Y'll have her aback in a second, yew durned, sooty-faced heathen!" And he gave the darkey a cuff on the side of the head which would have sent him to the deck if he had not clung to the wheel. At last the yards were braced up on the other tack and the old man went below. Whilst the port watch cleared up the decks, the other retired to repair damages. "I shore thinks I've been in some elegant skirmishes afore now," remarked Broncho, as he felt himself over for breakages in the foc's'le; "but I'm an Apache if I'm ever into a fight that's more stirrin' an' eventful, not to say toomultuous. At one time I'm that tangled up in my rope I allows it's a whirlwind." "I believe you, my bye," said the cockney, as he limped painfully across to the water-barrel for a drink. "I drors h'it mild when h'I sez it's chucks ahead of a bloomin' 'urricane." "And you calls the play kerrect, Hollins. What with that old he-wolf a-howlin' in a mighty unmelodious way on the poop, an' Black Davis a-swarmin' all over me like a wild-cat, I shore reckons it's a heap thrillin'. Them two sports throws no end of sperit into their play." "And thet ain't fosterin' no delusions; they're hot stuff, pard, an' they earns their reputations," said Bedrock Ben. "That 'ere Black Davis jumps me offen my mental reservation complete every time." "When he gets a ship he ought to make a most successful master, if his training goes for anything," put in Curly. "I notice all the American deep-water skippers have the reputation of having been regular Western Ocean buckos in their time." "That bloomin' roustabout'll never live to command a ship," grunted Red Bill from the opposite bunk. "He's too successful with his fists to live long. He'll get cut up one o' these days, like that other New Jersey tough." "Yes, success isn't all jam," remarked Jack slowly. "It's got a remarkable habit of turning sour in your mouth, just as you are beginning to put on frills and throw out your chest."