Sullivan was the bigger and heavier man, but the Swede was a perfect young athlete, and had a cruel wrong to wipe out. The muscles of his arms and neck stood out like strong cords as the two rolled from side to side. Not a word was uttered by the officers or crew, who stood calmly looking on. Suddenly, by a quick movement, the Swede pinned Sullivan against the fife-rail around the mainmast, and with his right hand battered his face unmercifully. Then, seizing him by the throat, he flung him into the lee-scuppers, where he lay without movement. The Swede looked at his foe for a moment, then coolly walked over and wiped his boots on him. Next, turning towards the poop where Captain Monk and the officers stood, he touched his cap and said:-- “I am second mate of the Swedish ship _Oscar Brandi_, and my father is captain. I went on shore for a walk, and hearing the music I went into a saloon and called for a drink. I sat down to watch the dancers, and knew no more until I found myself on board this ship. What will my father say or think? What will my employers say?” He stopped abruptly, and walked forward with his head bent, overwhelmed with his grief. Within another minute the two remaining crimps were hotly engaged with two of the ship’s crew whose relatives had been “shanghaied” aboard the Britishers. The sailors made short work of the crimps, and fairly wiped the deck with them. Captain Monk then ordered the hapless three to be locked up in separate cabins and fed on bread and water for a few days. “It will give them time to repent,” he said to the mate. “It won’t do to put them with the crew yet awhile--there would be murder done. In a few days they can go forward, and the crew will save us dirtying our hands with the scoundrels. Our chaps will lead them a dance, and they will wish to Heaven they had never laid their hands on my crew.” Just then the mate noticed the young fellow sitting on the hatch with his head in his hands. He seemed utterly dejected and oblivious of everything about him. The rest of the men had gone forward, and were excitedly discussing the matter of Sullivan and his mates being on board, each one swearing to have his pound of flesh out of the hated “shanghaiers.” The captain and the mate walked along to the young fellow on the hatch. Putting his hand kindly on his bowed head, Captain Monk said: “Come, come, young man; you must not give way like that. Sailors should always make the best of everything.” Lifting his head at the kindly touch and words, the young fellow replied:-- “Oh, captain, whatever shall I do? I am not a sailor.” “Oh, never mind that,” said the mate. “You will soon learn here; so get forward with the others.” “Oh, captain, take pity on me!” cried the supposed young man, tremulously. “For Heaven’s sake, take pity on me! I am a respectable married woman! My husband is Police-constable Hogan of the Newcastle police.”