CHAPTER XXIV

Although he is faced with no mean antagonist, Baynes, without question, is slightly the better man of the two with his fists, as he is also the more powerful and has the longer reach. And there is very little doubt that if the conditions of the fight were those of an ordinary contest the seaman would come off the victor, even though he might have to last several rounds before finally deciding the matter.

As it is, however, the fickle chances of a fight in semi-darkness tend rather to equalise matters between the two. In fact, fortune comes to the aid of the weaker man, and, aided by a cloud suddenly blotting out the light of the moon, Stapleton gets in a blow which the other fails to ward off. The blow falls true on the mark, and Baynes goes reeling and stumbling to his knees.

Now is Stapleton's chance to break away and get clear of this drunken, fighting fool; but no--he is far too much exhausted himself to do more than stand, with his arms hanging limp at his sides and his head bowed forward, heaving deep breaths in the effort to get his wind.

Baynes is the first to recover. He sees that he must make an end of the affair. It is not proving so easy as he thought it would be to manhandle his antagonist to such an extent as to place him completely out of action for a few days. He has no mind to prolong a mere blindfold boxing contest such as this is becoming and, what is more, his blood is now thoroughly roused, and the cautious scheming of his original plan has given place to the fierce fighting lust of the primitive man battling with his fellow savage.

Yes, he must make an end of it--and the conventions of fair play and the rules of the game can go hang; the great thing is to finish the other man off--by any and all means possible.

With this intent, Baynes springs to his feet again and makes for his man. Stapleton stops his rush with a simultaneous right and left--or thinks to stop it. But the primitive savage now raised in the big seaman takes little heed of these punishing body blows. On he comes still and closes with his opponent, with one thought alone in his mind--to get him beaten.

Stapleton feels himself locked in a pair of arms like steel cables; his legs are pinned--this is wrestling now, and foul wrestling at that!--and his body is being gradually forced back; he is taken unprepared. He strains against the pressing weight of the heavier man; but strain as he may, he finds himself still being forced backwards, and feels that unless he can do something, and that quickly, in another minute his back will be broken.

But it is not for nothing that Stapleton himself has done some pretty good wrestling in his time. There are not many tricks of the game which he has not learnt and practised.

He knows that the other man will be obliged to take breath in a second or two, and that then will be his opportunity.

The moment comes, and with it a slight relaxing of the pressure. Then, as well he knows how, Stapleton cleverly slips downwards from the circling arms and gets half free.

In a second the two are closed again, but this time neither can be said to have all the advantage on his side, it is more equal.

They sway to and fro, and shift their feet rapidly, manœuvring to get a good hold.

And neither of them takes notice of the fact that in their struggles they are getting dangerously near the edge of the cliff.

Near it? Good God, they are over! Still heaving and struggling, locked in each other's arms, they come unseeing to the top of the precipitous bank overhanging the rocks on the foreshore. The soft earth breaks away beneath their feet, and in the dark they cannot see to save themselves--indeed, it would be too late in any case, so little is either inclined to relax his deadly grip of the other.

So the fight comes suddenly to an end--a tragic end.

Tragic enough at least for one of them. The heavier man falls underneath, and is dead as soon as he strikes the rocks below. Dick Baynes, who an instant before was a fine, powerful creature of mighty muscles and quick stirring blood, a man full of life, able to love like a man and fight like a man--is now a lifeless lump of dehumanised clay, broken and bruised beyond recognition.

This is what Netta, that delicate, fair, feminine thing, has won by her scheming. True, she meant well: her only object was to save her cousin from a threatened danger and she had no thought the result of her own actions would ever be anything like this--but what sadder epitaph can be written over the grave of one's dead actions than these very words: "He meant well; he never thought!"

Yet Netta must not be blamed too harshly; in truth, the mischief can be traced to a source much farther back than her own unthinking attempt at intrigue; it goes back to the evil brains of those who first planned the vile plot against the _Marathon_. The death of honest Dick Baynes is but a later fruit of that noxious growth; and the strong poison of that evil weed is not even yet exhausted.

* * * * *

The young sub-lieutenant is beginning to be rather worried about the skiff, and very much annoyed with Lieutenant-Commander Stapleton for not coming back with it.

"Confound the fellow," he says to himself, "first he takes away our one and only steam bus and keeps it all the afternoon as if he was a blighted admiral with a barge of his own, and then, if you please, he must go and borrow the skiff-dinghy and proceed to make a night of it!"

It must be admitted that the officer of the watch has a certain amount of justification for his moan. However, as soon as eight bells strike and he turns over to his relief who is to keep the first watch, he shifts his burden of trouble on to the shoulders of the next man and promptly dismisses the whole affair from his mind. After all, it is none of his business: and seeing that in the ordinary round of his daily care-worn existence it frequently falls to his lot to be obliged to take on the troubles and anxieties of other watch keepers, he is quite entitled to pass on his own worries now; as he unhesitatingly does, and forthwith goes below to find a fresh grievance in that the watch dinner has not been kept properly hot.

The officer of the first watch has the same thing to turn over to his relief; and the middle watch keeper in turn passes on the knowledge to the rather sleepy and very disgruntled officer who turns up on the quarter-deck at twenty minutes past four to keep the morning watch. As his immediate predecessor has been kept waiting these twenty minutes he is not in the best of humour himself and a slight friction arises between the two, which happily vents itself in a shower of lurid objurgations directed against the skiff-dinghy and the misbegotten officer who has borrowed the boat and not brought it back.

The officer of the morning watch thinks it better, under the circumstances, to go himself to the commander's cabin instead of sending the quartermaster, to carry out the directions contained in the commander's Night Order Book--"Call me at 5.30."

He knocks as he pulls aside the curtain and steps into the cabin.

"Commander, sir? It is half-past five. And--er, the skiff has not come back yet, sir."

"Eh? What's that?"--The commander, according to his usual habit, is quite wide awake the moment he is called, and begins at once to take an interest in the affairs of the ship in which he combines the duties of upper housemaid with those of acting-God-Almighty.

"Didn't he say where he was going when he went away in the skiff?" he asks, on hearing the report now made to him.

"No, sir; that is to say, not so far as I know. Nothing was turned over to me about it. I took it for granted that he had gone across to some other ship."

"Never take anything for granted when you are officer of the watch," comes the answer, a rebuke without a sting since it is made in a kindly fashion and comes from an officer who is known, to be just about as efficient as they make 'em and keen as mustard on every detail of the navy he serves and loves.

The sub-lieutenant who had the last dog the evening before, when Stapleton took the skiff away, is roused to give what information he can; unfortunate youth, having looked forward to the pleasure of an all-night-in, not to go on watch again till he should start at eight-thirty to keep the forenoon, he is dragged from his bunk at quarter-to-six; and consequently has several caustic remarks to make about the habits and customs of the energetic commander; but he keeps these remarks to himself.

As a result of this interview a general signal is made asking if any ship has seen anything of the missing skiff. And in a few minutes the reply comes from a ship in an inshore billet that there is a skiff tied up at the landing-place without a boatkeeper, and that this skiff was noticed putting in there last night.

The steamboat is called away and sent in to see if this may happen to be the one in question. It proves to be so, as the boat's crew find out as soon as they get to the pier.

They find something else also.

They find, jammed amongst the rocks, washed by the incoming tide and half afloat at every wave, the battered and disfigured body of a seaman, whose wide staring eyes had in them the look as though they were still seeking something that could never be attained. A little brown silky-eared dog crouches at his head, licking the dead man's face and from time to time whining piteously, not understanding why his master lies there and will not speak.

And near him, just above the line of high water, another body in the uniform of an officer. But this one is not dead, as is presently found, only bruised and faint, and utterly worn out by pain, shock, and weariness. Indeed, he must have crawled half unconsciously out of reach of the tide before he quite succumbed.

Even as his rescuers come up to him he is opening his eyes and beginning feebly to try and struggle to his feet.

Very tenderly and carefully they help him, and carry him to the steamboat; nor is it until they have got him comfortably in the little cabin where he can see nothing that they bring the other man also, the dead man on board and lay the body on the deck for'ard, covering it with boat's flags.

And so they make their way back to the ship.

##