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"Why, say," he urged, "once I jumped into that fo'c's'le, at close range, I'd start right in, blim-blam-blim, fast as you could wink, nailing them gangsters, an' Bombini, an' the Sheeny, an' Deacon, an' the Cockney, an' Mulligan Jacobs, an' . . . an' . . . Waltham." "That would be mine," I smiled. "You've only eight shots in your Colt." Mr. Pike considered a moment, and revised his list.
His progress from Messina to Naples was unlike any military advance recorded in history. The Bombini government was paralyzed. The king sent to him, and offered fifty millions of francs and the surrender of the whole Neapolitan navy, if he would halt his men and stop the invasion. He knew little of the man who had sworn never to sheath his sword till Victor Emmanuel was King of Italy!
At the other end of the ship and I may as well give the roster, are: the second mate, either to be called Mellaire or Waltham, a strong man of our own breed but a renegade; the three gangsters, killers and jackals, Bert Rhine, Nosey Murphy, and Kid Twist; the Maltese Cockney and Tony the crazy Greek; Frank Fitzgibbon and Richard Giller, the survivors of the trio of "bricklayers"; Anton Sorensen and Lars Jacobsen, stupid Scandinavian sailor-men; Ditman Olansen, the crank-eyed Berserk; John Hackey and Arthur Deacon, respectively hoodlum and white slaver; Shorty, the mixed-breed clown; Guido Bombini, the Italian hound; Andy Pay and Mulligan Jacobs, the bitter ones; the three topaz-eyed dreamers, who are unclassifiable; Isaac Chantz, the wounded Jew; Bob, the overgrown dolt; the feeble-minded Faun, lung-wounded; Nancy and Sundry Buyers, the two hopeless, helpless bosuns; and, finally, the sea-lawyer, Charles Davis.
All their training in New York in ruling the slum brutes and weaklings in their gangs fits them for the part. As near as I could make out from Wada's tale, they first began on the two Italians in their watch, Guido Bombini and Mike Cipriani. By means I cannot guess, they have reduced these two wretches to trembling slaves.
Davis seemed to be giving the matter judicial consideration. The men at the capstan panted, rested, and looked on all save Bombini, who slunk across the deck until he stood at Murphy's shoulder. Under such circumstances the decision Charles Davis gave was eminently the right one, although even then he offered a compromise. "I'll hold the turn," he volunteered.
Kid Twist gained him in a single spring, and Kid Twist, his wrist under the German's throat from behind; his knee pressed into the German's back, bent the man backward and held him. Even as the rifle came to my shoulder, the hound Bombini drew his knife directly beneath Kid Twist's wrist across the up-stretched throat of the man. It was at this instant that I heard Mr.
The last to come out were Tom Spink, the boy Buckwheat, and Herman Lunkenheimer, the good-natured but simple-minded German; and these three came out only after repeated threats from Bert Rhine, who, with Nosey Murphy and Kid Twist, was patently in charge. Also, like a faithful dog, Guido Bombini fawned close to him. "That will do stop where you are," Mr.
As an instance, the other night, according to the ship's gossip, Bert Rhine made Bombini get out of bed and fetch him a drink of water. Isaac Chantz is likewise under their rule, though he is treated more kindly. Herman Lunkenheimer, a good-natured but simple-minded dolt of a German, received a severe beating from the three because he refused to wash some of Nosey Murphy's dirty garments.
"Fitzgibbon! Giller! Hackey!" I called in turn, and was obeyed. "Fay!" I called twice, ere the response came. Isaac Chantz stood alone, and Bombini now showed eagerness. "Chantz!" I said; "don't you think it would be healthier to go over to the fife-rail and be good?" He debated the matter not many seconds, resheathed his knife, and complied. The tang of power!
So fear-struck was Larry that he chattered and grimaced like an ape, and shouldered and struggled to get away from the dark and into the safety of the shaft of light that shone out of the chart-house. Tony, the Greek, was just as bad, mumbling to himself and continually crossing himself. He was joined in this, as a sort of chorus, by the two Italians, Guido Bombini and Mike Cipriani.
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