Fry and the waiter did not anticipate such an eventuality, and they were going to rely on the police, as they usually did when faced with these circumstances. So when they saw the doorway blocked, they tried to get out to the alley that ran along the rear of the tavern.
The guards did not give them time. The whole gang turned against them. It was Kyle and Sexton, Len Cannon and Bryce who intervened. There were only a few unable to join the struggle, just a half dozen drunken sots stretched out in the corners, incapable of standing upright.
As a consequence, neither Bosun Balt nor Vin Mod could leave the room.
“We’ve got to take off …,” said the first, “we’ll only get beat up around here …”
“Who knows,” the other answered. “Let’s see how it goes … We may be able to profit from this brawl.”
And since both, while wanting to gain from it, did not want to suffer any losses from it, they remained safely out of harm’s way, behind the counter.
The fight began using non-lethal weapons, if that expression can be used to describe the vicious kicks and blows of the combatants. Soon they would probably resort to knives, and not for the first time—nor the last—blood would begin to flow in the tavern. Adam Fry and the waiter would have been overpowered by the attackers and reduced to helplessness if a few others had not joined up with them. Indeed, five or six Irishmen, with the hope of working out a future credit, came forward to repel the assailants.
It was turning into a full-scale brawl. Bosun Balt and Vin Mod, seeking the best shelter available, went to great lengths to avoid being struck by glasses or bottles flying everywhere. Men struck out wildly, shouted, howled. Overturned lamps flickered out, and the room was no longer lit except from the lanterns outside, recessed in the transom of the entryway.
In short, the four principal brawlers—Len Cannon, Kyle, Sexton, and Bryce—after first being on the attack, now had to defend themselves. In the first place, the tavern keeper and the waiter were not exactly amateurs in their boxing skills. Powerful counterattacks had just knocked down Kyle and Bryce, their jaws half smashed. Yet they got to their feet to help their companions, whom the Irish were backing into a corner.
The advantage favored one and then the other; victory could only be decided by some outside intervention. Cries of “Help! Lend us a hand” rang out in the midst of the fight. However, the neighbors seemed unconcerned about the goings-on at the tavern of the Three Magpies; such riots among sailors had become customary. Pointless, isn’t it so, to risk oneself in such a scuffle? That’s for the police since, as people say, they get paid for it.
The brawl gained momentum as the fighters’ anger rose to fury.
The tables were overturned. They struck each other with the stools. Knives emerged from pockets, revolvers from holsters, and shots were fired in the middle of the dreadful tumult.
As the tavern keeper kept maneuvering to reach the outer door or the entrance to the rear, a dozen policemen stormed in through the back of the building. It had not been necessary for neighbors to run to their headquarters on the dock. As soon as the police were warned by passersby that there was a blowup in Adam Fry’s tavern, they went there in some haste. And, with that official pace that distinguishes the English policeman, they arrived in great enough numbers to assure public order. Moreover, between those attacking and the others resisting, it is probable that the police would not notice any difference. They knew the one group was as worthless as the other. By arresting everyone, they could be sure of doing a thorough job.
And although the room was only dimly lit, the police recognized right off the most violent, Len Cannon, Sexton, Kyle and Bryce, having previously thrown them into prison. Those four rascals, anticipating what was awaiting them, tried to escape by crossing the little courtyard behind the building. But, where would they go, and would they not be picked up the following day?
Vin Mod chose to intervene at just the right moment, as he had said to Bosun Balt he would. And as the others were attacking the police unrelentingly in order to favor the flight of the guiltiest among them, he rejoined Len Cannon and said to him:
“All four to the James Cook! …”
Sexton, Bryce, and Kyle had overheard.
“When does it leave? …” asked Len Cannon.
“Tomorrow, at daybreak.”
And despite the police, against whom, by common consent, the whole group turned, despite Adam Fry who was especially trying to get them arrested, Len Cannon and the three others, followed by Flig Balt and Vin Mod, managed to escape.
Fifteen minutes later, the brig’s tender was transporting them on board, and they were safe in the crew quarters.
The brawl gained momentum.
2
The Brig James Cook
The brig James Cook,1 with a capacity of two hundred and fifty tons, was a solid ship with strong sails and a deep hull that assured its stability. Boasting a slender stern and a raised bow, it handled excellently at all sailing speeds, and its masts were slightly inclined. Its sails set close to the wind in a fresh breeze, and, when avoiding heavy seas, the ship slipped through the waves effortlessly at eleven knots.
Its personnel—as is already known from the conversation heard before—included a captain, a bosun, eight crewmen, a cook, and a cabin boy. It sailed under the British flag, having for its home port Hobart Town,2 the capital of Tasmania, due east of the Australian continent and one of Great Britain’s most important colonies.
For some ten years now, the James Cook had been carrying out its trade in the western Pacific, between Australia, New Zealand, and the Philippines. Its voyages were both successful and profitable, thanks to the seamanship and commercial acumen of its captain, a good sailor who also doubled as a good trader.
Captain Harry Gibson, at that time some fifty years of age, had stayed with the ship since it came out of the shipyards of Brisbane.3 He held a quarter interest in the brig, the other three-quarters belonging to Mr. Hawkins, shipowner from Hobart Town. Their business prospered, and the beginnings of this voyage also held out the promise of large profits. The families of the captain and the owner had been close for many years, Harry Gibson having always sailed for the Hawkins firm. Both lived in the same neighborhood of Hobart Town. Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins had no children. Mr. and Mrs. Gibson had a single son, age twenty-one, who was also going into commerce. The two women saw each other every day, which made their separation from their husbands less difficult, for the shipowner was located in Wellington,4 where he had just founded a bank with Nat Gibson, the captain’s son. It was from there that the James Cook was to bring them to Hobart Town, after having taken on its cargo in the neighboring archipelago of New Guinea, to the north of Australia, in the vicinity of the equator.
Scenes in New Zealand
The bosun was Flig Balt—no point in saying here who he was or what he was worth, nor what villainous plans he was contemplating. Suffice it to say that in addition to those instincts pushing him toward crime and the jealousy he bore the captain, he possessed a cunning hypocrisy that had allowed him to dupe the latter since the beginning of this voyage. Thanks to his references, which appeared to be authentic, he had been hired as bosun on the brig, at the same time that Vin Mod had embarked as seaman. These two men had known each other for a long time—they had traversed the seas together, passing from one ship to another, deserting when finding it impossible to perpetrate their evil deeds—and they hoped to carry out yet another during the last crossing of the James Cook before its return to Hobart Town.
Indeed, Flig Balt inspired great confidence in Captain Gibson, who was taken in by the bosun’s pretense of zeal and his expressions of devotion. Constantly close to the crew, he managed