Part 20 (1/2)

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”His blood was boiling with indignation at the unprovoked a.s.sault.”

Page 207.]

As he pa.s.sed a drinking-saloon a torrent of loud talk, spiced with oaths, flowed out from the place. Before he had fairly pa.s.sed the door a violent hand was laid upon him, seizing him by the collar with no gentle grasp. The ruffian had fallen upon him from the rear, and he could not see who it was that a.s.saulted him. The man attempted to drag him into the saloon; but he was evidently considerably affected by his potations in the place, and his legs were somewhat tangled up by the condition of his brain.

Christy attempted, by a vigorous movement, to shake off his a.s.sailant; but the fellow held on, and he found it impossible to detach his grasp.

His blood was boiling with indignation at the unprovoked a.s.sault, and his two fists were clinched so tight that iron could hardly have been harder and tougher. He levelled a blow at the head of the ruffian, who still kept in his rear, and delivered it with all the power of his strong arm.

The a.s.sailant reeled, and released his hold, for his head must have whirled around like a top under the cras.h.i.+ng blow it had sustained.

Christy turned so that he could see the ruffian. He was a stalwart fellow, at least fifty pounds heavier than the young lieutenant. His nose was terribly disfigured, not by the blow of the young officer, for, twisted as it was, there was no sign of a fresh wound upon it. One glance was enough to satisfy Christy as to the ident.i.ty of the ruffian.

It was Captain f.l.a.n.g.er, whose steamer Christy had captured, with a boat expedition sent out from the Bronx, in St. Andrew's Bay. He was a prisoner, but had escaped, and invaded the cabin of the Bronx, where he attempted to make Christy sign an order which would have resulted in delivering the steamer to the enemy. The heroic young commander, preferring death to dishonor, had refused to sign the order. The affair had culminated in a sort of duel in the cabin, in which Christy, aided by his faithful steward, had hit f.l.a.n.g.er in the nose with his revolver.

The ruffian had sworn to be revenged at the time, and he seemed to have chosen the present occasion to wreak his vengeance upon the destroyer of his nasal member. The blow his victim had struck was a set-back to him; but he presently recovered the balance of his head which the shock had upset. It was plain enough that he had not given up the battle, for he had drawn back with the evident intention of using his clinched fists upon his adversary.

”Hit him again, f.l.a.n.g.er!” shouted one of the brutal occupants of the saloon, who now filled the doorway.

The affair was rapidly becoming serious, and Christy was debating with himself whether or not he should draw a revolver he carried in his pocket; but he was cool enough to realize that he was on neutral ground, and that it would be very imprudent to be the first to resort to deadly weapons. He could not run away, for his self-respect would not permit him to do so. He braced himself up to meet the onslaught of the ruffian.

f.l.a.n.g.er charged upon him, and attempted to plant a blow with his fist in the face of his intended victim; but the young officer parried it, and was about to follow up the movement with a blow, when Monsieur Rubempre rushed in between them, struck the a.s.sailant such a blow that he went over backwards. In fact, the man was too much intoxicated to stand without considerable difficulty.

At this moment a couple of colored policemen rushed in between the combatants. The tipplers in the saloon picked up their comrade, and stood him on his feet. The Na.s.sau officers doubtless had a great deal of this sort of quarrelling, for drinking strong liquors was the princ.i.p.al occupation of the officers and crews of the blockade-runners while in port and on sh.o.r.e.

”What is all this about? Who began this quarrel?” demanded one of them, as he looked from one party to the other in the battle.

”I was pa.s.sing the door of this saloon, and did not even look into it, when that man rushed upon me, and seized me by the collar,” replied Christy. ”I tried to shake him off, but I could not, and then I struck him in the side of the head.”

”Look here, you n.i.g.g.e.r!” shouted Captain f.l.a.n.g.er. ”It's none of your business who began it.”

”I shall arrest you for a breach of the peace,” said the policeman.

”I don't reckon you will. Do you see my nose? Look at it! Don't you see that it is knocked into a c.o.c.ked hat?” said f.l.a.n.g.er fiercely.

”I see it is; but what has that to do with this matter?” asked the negro officer.

”That man shot my nose off!” roared f.l.a.n.g.er. ”I am going to kill him for it, if it costs me my head!”

”You shall not kill him here,” protested the guardian of the peace. ”You have been drinking too much, sir, and you must go with me and get sobered off.”

The two policemen walked up to him with the intention of arresting him; but he showed fight. He was too tipsy to make an effectual resistance.

His companions in the saloon huddled around him, and endeavored to compel the policemen to let go their hold of him; but they held on to their prisoner till two more officers came, and f.l.a.n.g.er was dragged out into the street, and then marched to the jail.

Christy was very much surprised that nothing was said to him by the officers about the affair in which he had been one of the princ.i.p.al actors. He had expected to be summoned as a witness against the prisoner they had taken, but not a word was said to him. He looked about to see if the detective was in sight, but he had disappeared.

”That was an ugly-looking man,” said a gentleman in the street, after the carousers had returned to the saloon. ”I hope he has not injured you.”

”Not at all, sir; he was too drunk to do all he could have done if he had been in full possession of his faculties, for he is a much heavier person than I am,” replied Christy. ”Why was I not summoned as a witness at his examination?”