The Twentieth Century 203 



Well, I thought Flip was one I could count on. The least he could do was 

 to cut those lines they tied us with and I'd have a running chance. I could 

 hop about imtil the ship was safely over the Equator and then shout "Out 

 of bovmds" or something else as appropriate when we were safely over into 

 lattitude S.Ol. According to the laws of the sea they shouldn't be able to have 

 anything then. . . . 



In the mid-afternoon we crossed the Equator. 



Mush, the pale guy from the black gang, and I had aiTanged to meet before 

 breakfast that day and talk over some sort of aU-for-one-one-for-all protective 

 pact. Nothing came of it. We couldn't agree. 



All afternoon that day we chipped deck up on the prow — that was tops in 

 in misery. 



"We should be hitting the old belt right about now." 



I looked up into the sun's glai'e at the Bos'n. 



"What'd you say — ?" 



He was standing with shimmering waves of heat from the sizzling deck 

 coming up around him, sqmnting up at the burning sun with his head cocked. 

 His watch was opened in his hand. 



"The way I figured it, we should be crossing the Equator right about 

 now.". . . 



Mush and I anxiously watched tliose two doors that led into the purple 

 darkness of the shelter deck. If the Maverick and his bloody Father Neptune 

 brigade came at us, it would be from those doors. Sweat poured dovvm on my 

 glasses and I let it run — I hadn't any clean handkerchiefs. Finally, when the 

 eflFort of twisting aroimd and watching those ominous holes in the bulk- 

 head got too much for me, I went back to chipping wiih a bitter indiflFerence. 



The hell with them. If they came, they came. Being hauled through that 

 water couldn't be any worse than chipping rust bhsters on that burning deck 

 — it would be cool at least — and I decided if that bunch did show up with 

 their keelhauHng lynch ropes, homemade sphntered wood razors, rusty wire 

 shaving brushes, and buckets of flesh-eating lather ( made the week before, 

 the Maverick had told us, from a bucket of Soogie fermented in a mixture of 

 fishoil and crude oil — equal parts ) , I'd ask the Bos'n to please keep my 

 glasses for me. He was the only one on the prow deck who wore a shirt, and 

 he could tuck them away in his breast pocket. Then I'd be ready for my shave 

 by King Neptune's daughter — or was he to do the shaving and we marry 

 the daughter, before or after we were keelhauled? I didn't know the pro- 

 cedure, and I never found out. 



The Neptune brigade didn't show up. 



In the hot mess at supper the Maverick and a few others bellyached: What 

 did them lousers up on midships think — the crew was going to carry on the 

 ceremonies on their own time? Nuts! If midships didn't have the decency to 

 co-operate, and cut down the engines and give tlie crew time off when we 



